He's got more of the homecoming king aura.
After about fifteen minutes, we reach a big restaurant right in the middle of the city, its terrace overlooking the river. Once we get seated, I wait a few seconds for Noah to take his turn guiding the conversation.
“You having a hard time figuring out what to sing tonight?” I ask when he doesn’t pipe in.
“A bit, yeah,” he says. “My style and Austin Sheppard’s don’treally jibe. He’s got more of a generic pop feel, and my music has a little more…”
“Soul?”
His mouth tugs up at the corner. “Yeah. More soul.”
My conscience wriggles. I shouldn’t have suggested that word. I know Austin is capable of singing with soul, but it’s also true that, based on his released music, there’s not a lot of that on offer. I still feel bad, though. I don’t like feeling like Noah and I are connecting over anything negative about Austin. And I’m also not supposed to be bad-mouthing Austin’s music.
“I don’t really have any songs that fit his style,” Noah says.
“You know, he actually writes some music that’s similar to yours,” I say, hoping to right my wrong. “Fusion owns it but won’t release it because it’s not on-brand. But I’ve listened to some of his stuff from his old YouTube channel, and it’sreallygood.”
Noah’s brows go up. “Really?”
“Really. His songHeart on Fireis my favorite.”
He’s frowning like he doesn’t know what to think, so I pull out my phone and navigate to YouTube. I angle my phone away from him so he can’t see my search history—which is full of Austin’s channel.
“It’s very different from the stuff you usually hear from him,” I say as I tap on the song and hand my phone to him.
He listens for about thirty seconds, then hands it back to me. “Huh. Guess we aren’t as different as I’d thought. You said you’re a fan of my music?”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Um. Yes. Huge fan. If you couldn’t tell, this is really weird for me—meeting one of my music idols.”
He smiles. “So, do you know most of my songs?”
“Tryallof them.”
“Good,” he says as the waiter sets his salad in front of him.
I frown. It’s a weird thing to say, like I just passed a test or something.
He’s still wearing that half-smile, then leans forward, putting his elbows on the table. “How well do you knowStars Align?”
I search his face, trying to see what he’s getting at. “Very well. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Then you know it’s written as a duet.”
My heart starts racing. “Yeah…”
He leans even closer, pinning me with those brown eyes. “How would you like to sing it with me?”
“Sing itwithyou?” I have no idea what he means. Are we about to busk on the streets of Lyon? What is the man getting at?
“Tonight.”
I swallow, my eyes glazing over as I stare at him. This isn’t real. It’s a dream. A terrible, cruel dream where Noah Hayes asks me to do a duet with him at a sold-out concert, only for me to wake up at my telemarketing gig.
“Mia?”
“Hm?” I reach under the table and pinch my leg. Hard.
“Is that a no?”
