“Here.” A boxed sandwich from Pret A Manger is thrust under my nose. A second later, Gabriel sits next to me on the stage.

I’m caught between snatching the sandwich and admiring the effortless way he moves. Which is just ridiculous, I grump silently, sinking my teeth into honey wheat bread. Lusting over the way a man moves. What next? Writing poetry about the scruff along his jaw?

Sadly, I could. I really could.

The first bite of food hits my mouth, and I sigh in relief. “Thank you,” I mumble between chews.

“It’s nothing.” His shoulder lifts with a light shrug as he surveys the stadium.

He’s brought me egg salad with arugula. My favorite. I clutch the sandwich in my hands like it’s a precious gift before taking another bite. And another. Damn, I was hungry. “It’s something.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He pulls a bottled water, covered in condensation, from a bag and twists the top off before handing it to me. “God forbid you choke on your food and are unable to talk any more.”

The water is ice cold, and I feel it going down, spreading through me. Sweet hydration.

“How did you know my favorite sandwich?”

He keeps his gaze distant, but his chin lowers a bit. “It’s my business to know everything about my people.”

His people. His flock.

“I don’t see you handing out food to anyone else.”

He finally turns my way. Brilliant blue eyes crinkle at the corners with sardonic humor, the curve of his lip tilting slightly. As always, my breath catches. The crinkles deepen.

“No one gets quite as hangry as you do, Darling. It’s for the good of all to keep you fed.”

I suspect he calls me by my last name as a taunt, but he always says it as though it’s a caress. I shake the feeling off with a roll of my shoulders. “I don’t even care if you’re insulting me. It’s true. I was about to eat my own hand.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” His arm barely brushes mine. “We need you to work.”

My cell phone rings. “Hold that thought,” I say as I answer my phone. “Yellow?”

“‘Yellow’? That’s how you answer your phone? It’s your mother, by the way.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom, I’m familiar with your voice.”

“Well, you never know,” she replies with an expansive sigh. “It’s been so long since you called, you might have forgotten.”

Smiling, I set my sandwich down. “Mom, you could make guilt an Olympic sport.”

“I try, angel pudding. Now, tell me all about your new job. Are they nice to you? Do you like it?”

This is not the conversation I want to have with Gabriel and his bat-power hearing in close proximity, not to mention his eyes are on me in clear amusement. But I can’t exactly say that. “Of course they’re nice to me. I wouldn’t stay if they weren’t.”

Not exactly true. I’ve had some shit jobs with even shittier bosses over the years, but I’m turning over a new leaf: accept nothing but what brings me joy from now on.

“And I love it, Ma. Truly.”

“Well, that’s good. And those band boys?” Her voice dips. “Are they as sexy as they look on TV?”

I told her what I was doing via text. But I hadn’t expected her to know about Kill John. I make a gagging noise into the phone. “Seriously? You’re trying to scar me for life, aren’t you? You do not need to be asking about sexy rockers.”

At my side, Gabriel snorts and takes a bite of my sandwich. I snatch it back, giving him a side glare as my mom keeps talking.

“Please,” she drawls. “If I didn’t like sex, you’d have never been—”

“La, la, la… Not hearing you!”

Gabriel chuckles, so low only I can hear it. But it does illicit things to me, sending tingles where I don’t need them.

“Born!” Mom finishes emphatically.

“Mom.”

“Don’t whine, Sophie. It’s unflattering.”

A click sounds, and my father’s voice filters in. “My baby girl doesn’t whine.”

“See? Daddy knows,” I put in, grinning. It’s an old game I play with them, and I don’t care if I’m twenty-five; it feels good to act like a kid. Safe and secure.

Here I am, sitting on a stage, about to go on a European tour with the world’s biggest band. But for a few minutes, I can just be Sophie Darling, only daughter of Jack and Margaret Darling.

“You spoil her, Jack,” my mother is saying. “I have to counteract the ill effects with doses of hard realism.”

I am essentially my mother—only younger and with ever-changing hair color. I have to cut my parents off before they can get going. Their back and forth can go on forever, and I have a hot, nosy, sort-of boss to eat lunch with—something that suddenly fills me with bright anticipation.

“Look, my lunch break is about to end. Let me call you tonight when we stop for the day.”

“All right, honey,” my dad says. “Just remember, men love women who play hard to get. Extremely hard to get.”

I don’t need to look over to know Gabriel is rolling his eyes.

“And yet you and Mom started as a one-night stand…”

“Damn it, Margaret. You tell this child too much.”

Still laughing, we say our goodbyes, and as soon as I hang up, Gabriel speaks again. “And now your slightly unhinged verbal onslaughts become clear.”

“Eavesdropping is rude, you know…”

“I would have had to cover my ears to avoid overhearing that ruckus.” His gaze slides over me with clear amusement. “They talk as loudly as you do.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“Details.”

I smile, despite myself, and give his shoulder a nudge with my own. It’s like trying to move a brick wall.

Gabriel takes my sandwich again, and because I’m feeling generous, I leave him to it and take the other half instead. He finishes his side in two neat bites, then wipes his mouth with a napkin.

“Your parents are lovely, chatty girl.”

Warmth floods my chest. “Thank you. I miss them.”

He nods in empathy. “Do you not see them often? You talked before of living off ramen…”