Surprise! We’ve decided to release the first FIVE chapters of Blue Note via our blog. Check back next Friday for CHAPTER THREE! 

Chapter Two

Niels’ neck hurt like he’d slept on the couch all night. His left leg was asleep, also like he’d slept on the couch all night.

He opened one eye.

Yep, couch.

Great. Maybe he could just…shift Hattie’s legs off his lap, sneak back to his room, and act like he slept in or some shit. He could use a shower anyway.

Except when he started to move Hattie’s legs, her eyes fluttered open. “Hi,” she smiled. “Shit.”

She moved her legs the rest of the way off of him, leaving his lap cold and empty.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Why? I kept you safe all night.”

She studied him, ran her fingers through her hair like she was going to make a ponytail, let it fall, and moved her legs back across his lap. “Thank you. Can I make you breakfast?”

She worked in a restaurant, which meant she was guaranteed to be a better cook than he was. “Maybe, but not yet. I kind of want to see what my mom thinks she’s going to do about food.” He patted her knee, since apparently they were touching each other now. “Merry Christmas?”

“Oh yeah, your mom,” she said, way less of a complaint than it deserved to be. She relaxed her legs against him. “Merry Christmas.”

“So…” Neils began. He knew Hattie was homeless until late last summer but wasn’t sure what her life had been like before he met her, other than the occasional random snippets of info and the stuff about her dad. “Did you get Santa every year, or were you one of those kids that figured it out early, the hard way?”

“We didn’t celebrate Christmas.”

What the hell? “Everyone celebrates Christmas.” He even knew some Jewish kids in New York who celebrated Christmas. Not the religious shit, but the presents and goodwill and all that.

“Everyone except my parents. My mom said it was a waste of time and that it caused trouble. She said only entitled kids needed a stranger to bring them presents. So, we did our own thing.” She grinned. “Merry my first Christmas? I did get you a present…”

Ooh, really? He tried to hide his smile.

“Because you clearly celebrate Christmas like it’s the best day of the year.”

“Only when my mom’s not here.”

Hattie laughed and nudged his thigh with her toes. “She can’t be that bad.”

Ahh, so naive. He was about to educate her, but his mom graced them with her divine presence before he could…She was dressed to the nines – headed for tea with the queen, her outfit said – and had her hair all done up in a glossy twist.

She froze where the hallway opened to the living room; her lips shaped in a perfect ‘o’ of agony. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“He doesn’t,” Hattie stated. She massaged his thigh again with her toes. “I’m just the girl from downstairs.” She offered her hand to his mom. “Hattie Bordelon. It’s nice to meet you.”

His mom actually walked over and shook her hand, thank Christ. “Giana Poulsen.” She looked at Hattie’s legs draped over Niels’ lap. “Did you have some sort of fire in your apartment?”

Hattie squared her jaw. “I was unable to stay there, yes.”

“She has a stalker,” Niels supplied. He eased Hattie’s legs onto the floor and stood. “It’s bad. Merry Christmas?”

“Glaedelig jul,” his mom said back, Merry Christmas in Danish. She hugged him and then looked at Hattie. “It’s very popular in America to have a stalker. Do you never tire of it?”

“Um.” Hattie gave Niels a sort of what the hell look. She was learning what it meant, to deal with his mom. “The stalker, yeah. America…not really. Not yet.”

A joke. She’d tried to joke with his mom.

Who was having none of it. “Have you called the police?” Her mouth was set so primly, it made him wonder what kinds of judgy thoughts circled around in her head.

“No, because…” Hattie shrugged again. Shrugging was her thing. “It’s my mom. And her friend. I didn’t want to be rude.”

His mom’s left eyebrow arched itself like a gymnast going into a bridge. “Politeness seems to be the only reason I’m here.” She rounded on Niels. “Do you collect people who either don’t have mothers or can’t stand them?”

Ouch. Right after Jace’s Mom died too.

His mom was a piece of work.

“Yes,” he said, tight. “I bought a baseball card album, but she and Jace refuse to fit in it.”

Hattie laughed, more at his mom’s comment than his. “I think that’s magnetism at work.” She met Niels’ eyes under the hood of her brow. Was she nervous about something? “I should go get your present…thank you…thing that I have lying around.”

“Mmm,” he argued. “I believe you promised us breakfast.”

“Yeah?” When she stood, she grazed his thigh with her fingers. “What would you like? Hand sandwiches?”

Holy innuendo.

“They’re called finger sandwiches,” he pointed out.

“If I called them finger sandwiches, your mother might not realize I meant my fingers,” she said, playfully.

His brain numbed. He couldn’t figure out what she meant, or if he even wanted to know what she meant.

She smiled at his mom. “Excuse his horrible hospitality. He doesn’t eat real food.”

“Oh, I know,” his mom teased. “It’s the only reason he fits into those dreadful pants.”

Niels frowned. What was wrong with his black jeans? Were they too skinny? Too black?

He liked his pants.

Hattie liked his mom apparently; she laughed way too hard at the pants comment and set to work ripping apart his kitchen in search of food. “You live in Denmark?” she asked his mom.

Niels did not need to be here for this delightful exchange. He ducked out of the room and subjected himself to an ice cold shower.

Months ago, when he’d met Hattie living on the streets and winter was coming, he’d offered to lease her an apartment in his building for one year. In exchange, she would work at his soup kitchen and have another job, save money and become self-sufficient.

Obviously she wouldn’t be living in his building anymore because at the rate of attrition in her bank account she would have over twenty-six thousand dollars by the end of the year. Plus, he’d promised to double her final tally, which would put her at fifty-two thousand. Not bad for a homeless kid.

His only rule, besides that she work and save her money, was that they not date. She’d hinted around at first, and he wanted their relationship to be clean cut; no strings attached. Otherwise he would always wonder if he only did it because he liked her, and she would always feel like he bought her.

Plus, if they dated and it went south, he bet she’d run off again and he wouldn’t be able to help her.

Or something.

Over the months, his memory had gotten skewed by his feelings for her and none of it made sense anymore.

He knew he was unique: Most guys his age weren’t celebrities, and even the ones that were didn’t do much charitable work. Most guys his age weren’t virgins either, or careful about who they dated like Niels was.

Niels had seen both sides of the coin. His dad had died sick, virtually homeless. He wasn’t letting that happen to anyone else if he could help it, especially not someone as incredible as Hattie.

He wasn’t going to let himself hurt Hattie the way his dad had hurt his mom.

He got out of the shower and toweled off. He put on some kind of hideous sweater with a red-nosed reindeer with bells hung on its antlers. It jingled when he walked. He put on his skinniest pair of black jeans to annoy his mom.

He wasn’t exactly quiet when he went down the hall in his Christmas sweater, but he froze just past the entry to the hall when he realized his mom and Hattie were talking about him:
“-long have you cared for him?” his mom asked.

There was silence, and then Hattie said, “It doesn’t matter. He’s a man of rules. We’re not dating, we’re just friends.”

His mom sighed. He could practically see her expression, the thin lines of concern on her brow and the pressure on her lips. “He has rules because he’s afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t respect them,” Hattie said. Dishes clattered delicately and something stopped sizzling on the stove. Hattie added, “If he comes around, he comes around. Until then, you should know he’s pretty amazing, aside from the skinny jeans.”

Hey, fuck her too.

“Secret superhero or something,” Hattie finished.

Christ. She was going to ruin everything. He had his mom convinced he was just some typical spoiled teen rockstar. If Hattie told her he’d started a soup kitchen, she would know why. No one else knew, except the band.

He didn’t want his mom to know or guess things about him, or tell Hattie what was going on in his psyche. It was simple: His dad had died homeless. No one deserved to die that way, not even his dad.

“Music isn’t everything,” his mom said, in her usual condescending way, as she stood in an apartment paid for by music. “The band will split up, he’ll get old, and what will he have left?”

“He knows,” Hattie said.

Time to stop her from saying more. He jingled his shirt extra loud and stepped into the kitchen. “Music is the universe.”

Hattie laughed at his words, and then got a look at his shirt and laughed even harder. “Good morning, Mr. Poulsen. You look like you slept on a plaid couch.”

And then took a frigid shower, but she didn’t know that tidbit.

He set an oblong package on the kitchen counter bar – a violin he’d found for her and had fixed up so that it looked pristine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the one she had. She pretended not to look at the box or the amazing job he’d done covering it in skull-themed wrapping paper.

He sat at the stool beside it, and Hattie slid a plate of food across the counter. “Eggs, bacon, and some thick biscuits with gravy, made from said bacon. I’m sorry it’s a diner breakfast. My skill set is pretty confined to sandwiches and diner food.”

Where the hell had she found bacon?

“And limited by the paltry ingredients you have on hand,” Niels’ Mom pointed out.

“That too, but everyone has bacon,” Hattie teased.

Ha. He hadn’t known about it. “I think my fridge grew that bacon,” he warned. “I definitely did not buy it.”

She rolled her eyes. “It smelled safe enough.”

He made a tuh of disbelief, but took a bite.

It wasn’t bad. Not the best, but better than he’d expected, even knowing she used to work in a diner.

“Are you staying for the Christmas party?” he asked Hattie.

She glanced at the wrapped violin. “Yeah, no. This is your family time.”

He wanted her there. More than he wanted to admit. “And this is your first Christmas,” he teased.

She sighed, but he could tell from her almost-laughing expression that she would stay – be part of a real family Christmas.

Part of his family Christmas.

You can preorder Blue Note on Amazon, Kobo, or Barnes and Noble.