He stops in the doorway. “You’re buying me a new shirt. This one’s soaked in sweat.”
I chuckle.
“Stop laughing, asshole.”
The door shuts, and I’m sure he’s flipping me off behind it, but I’m thankful when the silence returns.
I scribble a line into my notebook, words coming fast and furious since Romy left.
Maybe Beau’s right. Maybe this ranch is exactly what I need. For inspiration or peace or mental torture, I don’t know.
It could be a good thing or a bad thing, but if I’m stuck here, I might as well benefit from it.
Chapter Eight
Romy
The sun slips behind the hills, but the plethora of string lights trailing from one tree or pole to the next cast a warm glow.
The huge buffet that Jensen must have planned for weeks is over, though a few of the desserts are still out for people to enjoy as they mill about. The fire is low enough that it’s not throwing too much smoke, just warmth into the crisp evening air. Someone fiddles with a Bluetooth speaker, then curses when it loses connection.
Everyone groans. I look at my phone to see how much longer I might be required to stay. Maybe I can slide out early.
After numerous people try to fix the speaker, Beau walks over with Zander’s guitar.
My stomach sinks.
He sets it in front of Zander with a grin, but Zander scowls and shakes his head.
“One song,” Beau nudges, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “They deserve a little concert after all the hard work that went into tonight.”
The hard lines on Zander’s face soften. “Which was amazing. Thank you for the spread and your gracious hospitality,” Zander says, voice dry, but his mouth curves in a half smile.
Flutters erupt in my stomach. It’s the same half smile that won me over every damn time we were together.
“Get on with it then.” Beau nudges the case closer with his foot.
The people closest cheer in agreement, egging Zander on. I roll my eyes so hard they nearly stick. Zander’s gaze finds mine over the flames of the fire, and thankfully I have the excuse of the heat from the flames for why my cheeks are so red.
Zander smiles and opens the case. The guitar gleams in the firelight, the warm wood reflecting the flickers of the flames. He slings the strap of the guitar over his shoulder and positions the guitar in his lap. The movements are flawless, showing how his guitar is just an extension of him. He adjusts the strap, strums a few test chords, letting out a breath.
And then?—
He sings.
I wonder if anyone will notice if I bolt.
His voice isn’t the one filling a stadium when he’s on tour or the polished studio version that plays on the streaming services. It’s lower, rougher, and more intimate. The notes drop into the night sky and float away, quieting the murmurs of the bystanders.
I tell myself to not watch. I tell myself to drown him out with my thoughts or go help Delaney chase down the last marshmallow sticks for the girls. And I definitely tell myself to get up off the log across from him and disappear into the backdrop of darkness so I’m invisible to curious eyes.
But I don’t move.
My gaze finds him as if it’s being pulled by magnets. Zander sits forward, head tipped slightly down, lashes lowering as his thumb drags steadily over the strings. There’s tension in his jaw, a faint furrow in his brow. I always loved when he did an acoustic rendition at his concerts, and everyone would raise their phones and shine their flashlights. It always felt more personal, as if he was letting me in a little. How naïve was I?
The fire crackles, and people link arms, swaying together. I sit stiffly, arms wrapped around my knees, trying not to let the heat pooling in my chest spread.
Of course he had to pick this song.
