“Good grief, Jamie, will you sit down and relax already?”

“I can’t help it,” Jamie wailed as she paced the living room like a caged cat. “I’m so scared and so excited! Are you sure this place is presentable enough? Are you sure there’s nothing left for us to do to get ready?”

With a half-laugh, Nat used her long fingers to tick off household tasks. “Everything’s picked up and put in its proper place. Garbage has been evicted. Walls are spotless. Not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. Furniture looks fresh from the store. Carpet can’t be vacuumed anymore without getting sucked up. Kitchen’s got enough food to satisfy an army. Table’s all set with our best dishes, and you can eat your dinner off the bathroom floor. You and I are fresh from the shower, too. Yeppers, I’d say we’re good to go.”

Turning to the mirror for the hundredth time, Jamie asked, “Does my hair look okay? Did I use the right shampoo? Do these pants go well with this shirt? Maybe I should have chosen a different perfume—”

Nat rolled her eyes and slapped her own forehead. “Oh, give me a break, girl! He’s not the president of the United States, or the prince of England, or the Pope.”

“No, he’s not. Just one-fifth of America’s number one pop band.”

Rising to her feet, Nat said in her firmest tone, “Now, I’ll have none of that from you, missy. Chris is going to be treated like any other guest, like a normal, decent human being. Understand?”

Jamie’s face went redder than her cherry T-shirt, were such a thing possible. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” Slowly, she turned away from the mirror and approached her roommate. “I’m just not used to this kind of thing, you know? I never had a guy outside of family at my place before.”

Nat’s expression softened a little, and she made a short nod. “I can understand and appreciate that much. Just try not to have a heart attack, okay? At least not until after Chris leaves.”

Now it was Jamie’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, you are a riot, Nat. Totally first-class.”

Before either girl could say another word, the doorbell rang, causing Jamie to jump three feet off the floor. She would have knocked the door clean off its hinges had Nat not stepped in front of her with a raised hand and said, “No, no, allow me.”

Sure enough, when the door was dragged aside, there stood Chris Kirkpatrick—positively irresistible in every way. Jamie’s knees dissolved at the sight of him while Nat told him with the coolness of a cucumber, “Good evening, sir. A most magnificent pleasure to meet you.”

“Hi, Nat,” said Chris with a tentative wave. His soft gaze tangled with Jamie’s and Jamie half-expected to fall into a swoon. “Hi, Jamie.”

“H-hi, Chris.”

“Did I make it in time?”

“Right on the button,” said Nat after a quick consultation of her wristwatch.

It was all Jamie could to talk at all, let alone keep her voice steady. “W-won’t you come in, Chris?”

Nat stepped aside and held the door all the way. “Nuestro apartamento es su apartamento,” she told Chris with a deep bow at the waist and a flawless accent.

Chris laughed and bowed in exchange as he stepped over the threshold. “Muchas gracias, querida.” As Nat closed the door, he looked all around the living room and commented, “Nice place you got here, ladies. Very nice.”

“Thank you,” said Jamie, feeling her stomach tingle and her cheeks flush at the same time.

Chris took a deep whiff. “Mmmm…and it smells awesome!”

This emboldened Jamie enough to say, “Hope you’re good and hungry, because we’ve cooked up a real feast.”

Nat said, “After spending more than two hours on the meal, he had better eat it and like it.”

This earned her another laugh from Chris. “I don’t think there’s any fear of that,” he smiled. “Jamie tells me you’re a terrific cook.”

“Terrific enough to start her own restaurant,” Jamie couldn’t resist putting in.

Nat only pretended to act modest as she replied, “Well, I may not be a five-star chef, but I managed not to burn anything tonight. Shall we proceed, lady and gentleman?”

“You mean I actually gotta share this feast with you two?” Chris asked as he followed Nat into the dining room with Jamie close behind him.

“Hey,” Jamie said, “even the people who throw the food together have to eat, sooner or later.”

Nat added, “Where do you think we get all that energy to throw all that food together in the first place?”

Chris jutted his lip in a pout. “Oh, okay. I’ll try to save you at least a few bites.”

Of course, there was more than enough food on the table to feed three mouths. As promised, an enormous platter was heaped with large, plump tacos, all fried to a lovely golden crisp; Chris could tell from the steam and the faint crackle that they hadn’t been out of the pot for very long. On the side, the girls had put out brown rice, corn mixed with black beans, jalapeño peppers, and plenty of tortilla chips with fresh guacamole. For beverages, they’d thrown some orange juice, pineapple juice, and lemonade concentrate together with ice-cold Sprite.

Chris was practically drooling before he sat down, with Jamie on the right end of the square table and Nat on the left. He took as much food as could fit on his plate, and that first bite of crispy, spicy, cheesy chicken could only be described as heavenly. When Jamie asked what he thought of the tacos, he just said between bites, “Can’t talk. Must eat.”

Nat nodded in hearty approval. “Works for me!”

They had a wonderful time eating and chatting, and Chris did participate in conversation after his second taco. He made Nat swear on her life that she would share this recipe with him, and Jamie couldn’t stop laughing at his wisecracks throughout the meal.

It was such a cozy atmosphere; it was easy to forget the strain of the last few months. Indeed, Chris felt better than he had in a long time. For the first time in ages, he felt like a one-hundred-percent normal person, rather than the target of some nosy cameraperson, pack of juvenile nutcases, or psycho girlfriend.

He wished the night would never end and he savored the time he did have as best he could.

When they finished dessert (homemade churro bowls filled with ice cream and smothered in hot fudge and caramel sauce), Chris leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head and gave a great sigh of contentment. “Oh, yes…this is the good life. My wholehearted compliments to the chefs.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Jamie smiled. “That was delicious. If I had a better dinner before, I can’t remember it now.”

“That makes the time and effort all worthwhile,” said Nat, also smiling.

“Jamie’s right, Nat. You really should invest in the food industry. You really should start your own restaurant.”

“You really think so, huh?”

“I know so. I’d pay good money to eat there.”

“What could we call it?” Jamie asked. “Nat’s Diner? It’s short, to the point, and it means something.”

“That’s not bad,” Chris said, “but it needs a little more pizzazz. How about Nat’s Bistro? Or Nat’s Nifty Kitchen?”

“Nat’s Nifty Kitchen?” Even Nat couldn’t repress a giggle. “Are you serious?”

Chris shrugged. “Hey, at least it shows some creativity.”

Jamie suggested, “Or how about this? Nat’s Hoppin’ Boppin’ Poppin’ Hash House!”

Chris and Nat both stared at her for a split second before Chris palmed his face and Nat said, “Sweet sufferin’ succotash, Jamie, I don’t think so!”

“Hm, maybe you’re right. That name alone is quite the mouthful.”

“People would get indigestion before they set foot in the door,” Chris said as he slowly withdrew his hand and opened his eyes.

“I do kind of like Nat’s Bistro, though,” Nat conceded. “Still short and simple with a tad more appeal.”

After swapping several more names worthy of a public eating place, Chris said, “Hey, ladies? This is gonna sound a little weird, but where’s the men’s room here?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Nat told him. “You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

When Chris disappeared from the dining room, Jamie also let out a great sigh and slumped in her chair. “Holy Toledo, Nat, I still can’t believe it,” she said in a half-whisper.

“Can’t believe what?”

“Like you don’t know! I’m talking about him, in here, with us.”

Nat reached for a toothpick as she casually responded, “Believe it or not, honey, I’m having a hard time believing it myself. So I believe you when you say you don’t believe it.”

“Okay, don’t hurt yourself.”

In the bathroom, Chris took his time to wash his hands and douse his face. As he dried off on the soft green hand towel, he noticed a CD player on a corner shelf with a stack of CDs.

Unable to resist, he stepped closer to that shelf and gently thumbed through those CDs. He discovered a Michael Jackson album, a Tim McGraw album, two Beatles albums, even a Luciano Pavarotti album. He saw Huey Lewis and the News, Celine Dion, Genesis, Madonna, the soundtracks for several popular Disney movies, and, to his great amusement, Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys.

Oh, Justin will love that. These girls have superb taste in music, though I’m not so sure about the Backstreet Boys.

Then his eyes fell upon a CD set apart from the others. The case stood just a little behind the player, and when Chris picked up the case to see it better, his entire body froze up and his eyes more or less popped from their sockets.

His own image stared back at him, with the title spelling out: *NSYNC: CELEBRITY.