Adrian stretched and stood. He’d been in his studio writing for the last six hours and his back was killing him.

Being a father had reawakened something inside him he’d forgotten about. That innocent sense of wonder about everything. He had a life full of exceptional people and experiences, and seeing it through Miles’s eyes had brought him new appreciation for it.

And a creative rebirth of sorts. Since October he’d written fourteen new songs. A personal record and, if he did say so himself, they were all the best stuff he’d done.

Not all those songs were about Miles. Some were about Gillian. Goddamn, the woman had turned him upside down. Being in love was as novel as being a father. And also as exhilarating and scary.

“Jesus, Adrian. I’ve been calling you all day.” Erin sailed into the room and tossed herself into the chair across from where he stood.

“I’ve been working. Anyway, not like it stops you when you decide you have something to tell me.”

She laughed. “I’ve been playing trucks all morning, and we made cookies too. Handed a grubby boy off to a daddy and headed over here. Playing trucks is better than any therapy I’ve ever had.”

“Miles had band practice last night. Kid’s got chops.” He grinned. “I was itching to join in, I gotta say. Gillian says she feels it too when they’re out there. You should see them, Erin. Reminds me so much of us it makes me a little nauseated. Drummer needs more practice though.”

“Did you mention that to Miles?” Erin had picked up his notepad and flipped through it, pausing here and there.

Anyone on the planet other than Erin and he’d have snatched it back, horrified to have his emotions and inner world so exposed. But she was his best friend. They’d been making music for so long she knew all his worst thoughts, all his lows and highs. It seemed only natural to have her read through them all.

“Aid, this is . . . Wow.” She didn’t look up from the pages as she spoke, instead picking up a nearby pen and scribbling her own notes here and there.

“Yeah? You like?”

“You know I do, stop fishing. You’ve got enough for a double album here. And why not? You’re at a good place in your career and you’ve got this amazing experience to draw on.”

“All the women I know love to tell me to stop fishing.”

Erin laughed. “That’s because you have good taste in women.”

“I’m going to meet Reg Thorne in two weeks.” He said it fast. He’d made light of it when he’d discussed the trip to Miami with Gillian the week before, but this producer was the kind of man who Adrian felt could put the songs together in an entirely new way. It was exciting and slightly nauseating all at the same time.

She looked up, surprise on her face. “Oh, that would be awesome.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually nervous about it. Christ, I’ve had more than enough critical and commercial success, and this guy would obviously know that. But damn, I want him to like this stuff. I think he could push me into something extraordinary.”

Erin held up the pad. “These songs are extraordinary. You’ve been hiding them from me.” She frowned a moment.

“Not hiding. I . . . I just had to process it all. So much has happened since September. I just—”

“Weren’t ready to share. Which I get. By the way, I do hope I’m in on this one.”

“He likes to work in New York, Miami and Portland. You’d be away from home for a while.” Truth was, Adrian wanted her to not only be on the CD but to do tour dates as well. She’d done two surprise shows with him at the end of the summer, which had only made him more sure that it would only work if she was with him up there onstage.

“It would be doable. One of the guys would always be with me for bodyguard work. That was my deal with them. And then the other could be there with the wee man.”

“Yeah? So maybe there’s a chance you’d consider a tour too? A short one, of course.”

She snorted. “Duh. Do you think I would let some other bass player get in on this? This record could make history, Adrian.”

“Dunno about history, but it feels good.”

“You’re so f**king in love with Gillian.” She looked through one of the songs he’d finished earlier that morning.

The song was called “Spitfire.”

Erin picked up a nearby guitar and noodled a little, setting a slower pace than he’d first imagined, but it worked.

Buttoned up

Buttoned up, lashed down

Closed up tight till the lights go out

My spitfire comes

Yeah, she comes and comes again

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” Erin grinned. “You’re going harder here. I think it works on you. I’ve been meaning to go and have lunch with her, your spitfire. We’ve talked about it a few times but she’s always so busy.”

“Between her design business and her piano lessons she’s busy, and then of course there’s Miles and now me.” He grinned.

“She does seem to take care of you like you’re hers. She’s good for you. That kid of yours is astoundingly awesome. You have good things in your life. And I’m glad.”

“Things are good.”

“I’ve never seen you annoyed by a woman the way you get with her.” Erin continued to noodle on the guitar as he made notes and adjusted the lyrics to the tune she wrote.