A light laugh escapes her. “Good thing we’re not supposed to have sex.”

I give her the side eye. “Kissing, however, was an agreed-upon activity, Stella. Be prepared. I will brave the garlic.”

At the entrance to Union Square, she stops next to an old guy who’s busy covering the sidewalk with chalk art. The guy is good, his images lush with vivid color. There are some highly detailed reproductions of old masters—Leonardo, Michelangelo, and next to them, a rhinestone-wearing Elvis and a pouty James Dean.

The artist looks up and gives Stella a toothy grin. “Star Girl.”

“Ramon. Thought you might like a little caffeine.” She hands him a cup of coffee.

“You’re an angel,” he says before taking a sip.

“I thought I was Star Girl,” she says.

“All Star Girls are angels,” Ramon insists. “I’m gonna do your portrait now.”

“I’ll come back later and see,” she promises.

With a nod, we’re off again.

“That guy is good,” I tell her.

“He is.” A wrinkle gathers between her brows. “But he’s in his own world. Sometimes he’s lucid, sometimes he’s not. He forgets to take care of himself, so people around the neighborhood help him out when they can.”

Not just people—Stella.

“You really do look out for everyone, don’t you?” I admire the hell out of her for it.

But she clearly doesn’t like the attention. Her frown grows as her cheeks pink. “It’s not … I just … No one took care of me unless I asked for it, and I remember how that felt. If I see someone who needs help, I just … act.”

I sling my arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s what makes you Star Girl.”

We eat on a bench under the trees. Our bagels are still warm and soft. “This is ridiculously good,” I say around a mouthful. “Garlicky as hell, but good.”

Her eyes light up, her cheeks stuffed with food that makes her look like a chipmunk. “Told you.”

She swallows, licking an errant dab of cream cheese off her lip, and grins like a kid in summer. I lean over the mess of coffee cups and sandwiches and kiss her. A squeal of protest vibrates against my lips, and I smile, not moving away.

“John,” she protests again, her mouth on mine, “I stink.”

“I warned you.” I nip her bottom lip, then suckle it. “A little garlic isn’t going to put me off.”

She doesn’t stink, though. Maybe it’s that old adage that people eating the same thing don’t notice. Or maybe I just want to kiss her more than anything else. But she simply tastes of Stella, buttery sweet like toffee on my tongue. Her mouth softens, and she leans into me, her fingers gripping my shoulder, tracing the edge of my collar. I feel that touch at the base of my spine.

We kiss under the sun, our lips learning each other’s. Weirdly, we’re both sort of laughing little huffs of breath between kisses. I don’t even realize we’re swaying until we almost topple.

My arm shoots out to brace us, while the other wraps around Stella’s shoulder to haul her against me. She snickers, and I press my lips to her smiling mouth one last time. “You make me dizzy, Star Girl.”

Blue eyes shine up at me. “That’s Star Lord to you.”

“Don’t mess with my Marvel idols, Button. It would be all kinds of wrong to associate you with Peter Quill. Some things are sacred.”

Stella shakes her head with amusement, but then her attention snags on the surrounding park and she sits a little straighter. “You make me forget where I am.”

She doesn’t blush, but her shoulders hunch a little like she’s trying to make herself smaller, and it hits me that she’s embarrassed. Though I really want to, I don’t touch her again. “You not into public displays of affection?”

Her mouth quirks. “I’m not sure.” She shakes her head slightly, biting the corner of her lip. “I’ve never done it before. Have you?”

Public displays? Yeah. A lot of my sexual encounters were out in the open. Blow jobs in the after-party room, quickies in the hall, group sex in hotel suites. I shift in my seat, the hardwood bench suddenly really fucking uncomfortable. I’m not exactly ashamed of what I’ve done in the past. But to equate that to what I’m doing with Stella feels all sorts of wrong.

She’s watching me carefully, and her smile grows crooked. “By the expression on your face, I’m guessing you have.”

I clear my throat. “Actually, I’m haven’t.” When her brow quirks in disbelief, I hold her eyes with mine. “There’s never been any affection involved before.”

Funny how that makes it harder to bear. For both of us, apparently. Because we both look off, each of us suddenly way too interested in what’s going on in the park. I take a hasty sip of my coffee. It’s a flat white, creamy and too hot to drink fast. The tip of my tongue smarts in the ensuing silence.

Stella takes another bite of her sandwich, then eyes me thoughtfully. “I like kissing you. In private or public, it doesn’t matter.”

Warmth spreads over my chest in a slow-moving spill, and I smile.

“But I draw the line at copping a feel of my boobs. That’s private-time fun,” she finishes with a blunt practicality that has me laughing.

“Noted.”

We finish our food, and then Stella takes me walking down Broadway into SoHo. Again, I experience the strange phenomena of not being recognized, and I don’t think it’s due to me wearing a ball cap low over my brow. It’s Stella, who shines like a star. Shopgirls know her, guys selling watches on the corner know her. A man named Amin tosses her an icy bottle of water when we pass his bodega. He won’t take any cash for it. Stella, after all, helped him find his missing cat one day.

“Forget Star Girl, you’re the Queen of Manhattan,” I say after she takes a drink of her water.

Stella snorts. “You live someplace long enough, you get to know people.”

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head, taking in the cinnamon sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the way her penny-bright curls bounce with each step she takes. How can I not write a song about her? She is poetry made flesh and bone. “I’ve lived here on and off my whole life and I don’t know anyone the way you do.”

“You know Sam.”

“Who sells guitars. I don’t interact with anyone outside the music business.” I glance at her, not wanting to see pity in her eyes. But she simply walks along, her expression thoughtful, and I try to better explain myself.

“It’s not that I don’t like people. I meet hundreds of them in any given year. I’ve just never been particularly able to initiate a conversation.” It’s a bloody miracle that I couldn’t keep from teasing Stella all those times.

“You’re an introvert who’s also a rock star.” A grin flashes in her eyes. “That’s it. You come alive during the performance, but when it’s over, you want your alone time.”

I think about it for a second and snort. “It’s true. God, what a profession for an introvert to pick.”

“Would you choose something else if you could?” She sounds genuinely interested.

“No.” I don’t even hesitate. “I love it. Even with all the pitfalls, I love it with all I have.” Our hands find each other’s and I thread my fingers through hers. “I miss performing for the fun of it, though. The simple joy of making music. All the guys lost it when I …” I take a slow breath. “Anyway, it was like a skip in a record, knocking us all off track. But they got it back. Except for me.”