EPILOGUE
MIA
Summer is gettinginto full swing, and tonight, that smells like fresh cut grass, chlorine, and barbecue. It sounds like the kids of our friends splashing in the outdoor pool we shut down specifically for this summer kick-off party. It looks like Austin’s sister, Siena, lounging on a white lawn chair, her baby bump rounding out the middle of her swimsuit while her husband feeds her strawberries and opens a Dr. Pepper.
But most of all, summer looks like the hunk walking toward me, hair wet and wavy from swimming. He’s wearing the shirt I bought him in Europe and a pair of Aviator sunglasses, despite the fact that it’s almost dark outside.
Austin pauses on the pavement a few feet away, tips the sunglasses down, and checks me out from head to toe.
“Mmhmm,” he says in a scary-good impression of the exact womanizer I used to think he was.
“Nice shirt,” I say.
“What shirt?” he says, looking down at the hairy, poorly drawn abs printed on his torso—the shirt I bought him on tour. “This is an actual photograph of what lies beneath.”
“There are about a million photos on Google to contradict that. Not to mention my own personal experience.”
His brow hitches, and he scoops a hand around my waist. “And how would you rate that experience?”
“Somewhat pleasant,” I say, putting a hand on said abs. “But I could be convinced to change my answer.”
Austin smiles.
“Pause on the PDA,” Gemma says, coming up right next to me. She motions with a hand for Austin to back off a little. “Gotta say bye to my sister. My flight leaves in a couple of hours.”
“I can’t believe you’re really going,” I say as I wrap my arms around her.
“Me neither,” she says. “Worst use of PTO ever. But at least I’ll see Grams. It’ll be hot as Hades, so I’ll be spending as much time as possible indoors.”
I sigh. Even hopping onto a red-eye flight, Gemma looks like she’s going to direct a Fortune 500 board meeting. “Text me all the time, okay? And let me know if you need backup.”
“I’ve got this,” she says as she gives Austin a quick hug. “Sunset Harbor won’t know what hit them.”
I absolutely believe her. Between Grams and her, there’s plenty of spitfire to go around.
She gives a little wave and walks off, and within two seconds, Austin has his hand around my waist. “Where were we?”
“Austin,” Paul says breathlessly as he jogs up to us.
Austin shuts his eyes as if to plead for serenity, then turns to him. “What’s up?”
Paul smiles. “Two things.” He shows his phone screen to us, and my jaw slips open.
I look at Austin, who blinks, then looks at me.
“You met the crowdfunding goal,” Paul says. “And shot past it.”
I throw my arms around Austin, who squeezes me tightly. We’ve been writing music together since we got home from Europe, but the crowdfunding goal has only been up for contributions for a week. A week, and it’s already funded.
Which means we get to make an album together. An album all our own.
“You ready for the other news?” Paul asks.
We break apart, and Austin nods as he threads his fingers through mine.
“I got off of a call with Fusion a few minutes ago,” he says.
Austin and I give each other a look. He’s been working to pay what he owes as a result of canceling his contract with them, and it’s a huge chunk of money.
