“I doubt that. And at least I told you about my blog.”

“Well, you had to or I’d have never let you on my zombie apocalypse survival team.”

I scoffed.

“I didn’t tell you who I was because it’s not a big deal. I was still a bartender up until two years ago. My success is a very new thing, and I just wanted you to get to know me without it influencing what you thought of me. Besides, I’m not that famous.”

I made a noise that indicated I disagreed. On a fame scale from one to ten, he was probably a solid seven. And anyway, it wasn’t what everyone else thought about him that was freaking me out. It was the fact that I loved his music so much. God, no wonder I’d loved the sound of his voice from the very first phone call. Ugh.

I put my elbow on the table, still holding my twitching eyelid down. “I just need a little while to get used to this idea.”

“Do you want me to sing something for you?” He grinned.

“Not unless you want to resuscitate me after.”

He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah. That bad. I may be one of your biggest fans, seriously.”

“And yet you had no idea what I looked like,” he deadpanned.

“Your viral video is Claymation. And you’re not on your album cover! It’s just a picture of that weird red-eyed duck.”

“A loon?” He grinned. “You could have googled me.”

“Come on, who googles pictures of singers? Your appearance has no bearing on your ability to make good music.”

“Just like your appearance has no bearing on your ability to be a good dog-sitter?”

“Exactly.”

*

By the time our food came, things were almost back to normal—as normal as a first date with your favorite recording artist could be.

The margarita I was having was helping immensely.

My strategy for dealing with this new Jaxon development was to try to forget who he was. Jason assured me he didn’t get recognized very often, so hopefully that would aid in my attempt. If other people swooned, I was going to swoon in solidarity.

I was glad he hadn’t told me. He was right—it might have changed things, mostly because if I had known sooner, my resulting weirdness would have probably scared him off.

“So do I still get one question a day?” he asked, taking a bite of his taco.

“Sure, why not?”

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What does Kristen say about our date?”

I blanched. “Where to begin? Are you sure you’re ready for this? She’s pretty vulgar.”

He picked up his beer. “I like her already.”

“She told me to climb you like a tree.”

He practically choked on his Corona.

“I was also advised to shake your branches. I’m afraid to think too much about that one. And all this before she knew who you really were.”

He grinned. “And now?”

“Let’s just say that both her and her husband are rooting for you,” I said, talking into my margarita glass.

He looked thoroughly amused.

“She’s been sending me texts nonstop for the last half hour,” I said.

He nodded at my phone. “What do they say?”

I set my drink down and picked up my cell. “‘Ask him if you can touch his guitar.’”

He shook his head. “That’s not too bad.”

“‘Guitar’ is in quotes.”

His howl of laughter turned heads at the other tables.

“She wants to know if you smell like pine cones and flannel.” I tilted my head toward him. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

He beamed. “When do I get to meet her?”

“Hopefully never. She’ll interrogate you the whole time. Then Josh will get you alone on the premise that he needs help grilling or something and he’ll make threats about what he’ll do to you if you hurt me. You’re better off never meeting either of them, trust me.”

He laughed. “I can’t wait. Just let me know when. But it can’t be this weekend, though, I’m going for a short visit to Minnesota on Friday.”

“Oh.” My face fell a little. “You just got here.”

“Are you gonna miss me?” His eyes sparkled.

I held in my smile. “Who’s watching Tucker while you’re gone?”

“I was going to take him with me—unless my dog-sitter’s available.” He grinned. “But he’s coming with me on tour, though.”

I scrunched my forehead. “You have a tour? When is that?”

“June first. Four months, fifty cities.”

He was leaving in three weeks? For four months? Well, that sucked.

“Will you come visit me when I’m on the road?” he asked.

“Right now, I’m just trying to make it through this meal without hyperventilating.”

*

“Now, on to our next adventure,” Jason said after dinner, starting the engine of his truck.

“Where’s that?” I asked, rolling down my window.

“Home Depot.”

“Home Depot? For what?”

“For parts to fix your sink,” he said, backing out of the parking space.