“Babe, those are the same pair of ripped black jeans you’ve been wearing since I met you,” said Anne. “You still wear band shirts with holes in them the size of my head, that you’ve owned since you were like twelve.”

“So? They’re classics. Vintage. All the cool kids are wearing them.”

“Anne, maybe don’t leave him alone with the baby for the first eighteen years or so,” suggested Ev. “Just in case.”

“Sounds sensible,” mumbled Anne.

From the other side of the room, standing against the wall, Ziggy gave me a small shake of his head at the drummer’s antics.

I suggested Ziggy take the night off since I wasn’t leaving the building, and he’d already admitted I’d be safe surrounded by the Stage Dive crew and all. Never really occurred to me how full-on the role of bodyguard actually was. This would have been the perfect opportunity for him to catch up with his own life et cetera. But he’d declined. Apparently the man took his job seriously and was determined to be stuck to me like glue during all hours of the day. I can’t say I didn’t like having him around. Well, I could, but I’d be lying.

I grabbed an olive from the charcuterie board on the low coffee table. It had salami, prosciutto, nuts, cheeses, dried fruits, crackers, pretzels, breadsticks, decorative edible flowers, and everything else under the sun. I could have fed my face the entire yummy thing. Nearby bottles of wine and beer sat in ice-filled buckets. These people knew how to party in style. No question, I liked my new neighbors. Even Mal had a certain charm. In fact, his craziness was almost relaxing. There was no need to fumble for conversation topics or anything around him. You could just sit back and enjoy the show.

“We’re here!” called out a low voice from the front door.

In trooped the band’s bass player, Ben Nicholson, followed by a whole bunch of people.

“Mae,” said Lena. “Meet Ben and his wife, Lizzy. Next comes our baby star boy solo act himself, Adam Dillon.”

“Wish you wouldn’t call me that,” said Adam, a handsome slouchy rock’n’roll looking dude in his mid-twenties. Lots of hair and tattoos. Very cool. I’d certainly heard of him—his music was all over the radio and music TV channels these days.

“Wish on, my sweet.” Lena smiled. “Martha, his manager, and of course, Sam, her fiancé and the owner of the security company we’re all loving and using.”

The beefy-looking bald man gave me a nod. “Miss Cooper. Pleasure to meet you in person.”

I raised a hand in welcome. “Call me Mae, please. Nice to meet you too.”

“I trust Ziggy’s been looking after you.” He tipped his chin in the direction of my bodyguard, who gave a brief nod in return.