But Cricket knows me too well. She studies my face with those perceptive blue eyes of hers, the ones that always seem to see straight through me. For a moment, I’m terrified she’ll figure it out. That she’ll see the truth written all over my face.
Instead, she gives me a gentle smile. “Maybe you should get some rest after dinner. You’ve been working so hard on your music lately.”
The kindness in her voice, the way she still cares about my well-being even while she’s falling for someone else, is almost too much to bear.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Maybe I should.” I swallow back my feelings. I can’t be in love with Cricket. It’s too late for that.
CHAPTER 22
Cricket Jenkins
Monday, November 30
I curlup on the basement couch and grab my laptop to work on my book. Micah and I spent the morning at school, switching my schedule all to online classes and bringing home all my things from my dorm. What I really want to do is change to an English major, but I don’t have the guts. I know my father will be furious I’m moving back home to take online classes, and that’s all I have the fortitude to deal with right now.
He’s also going to freak out that I’ve agreed to be Micah’s manager. He’s not going to see it as a “real job.” That’s just the way my father is. It doesn’t matter that we already signed with a major record label.
Once I was done with everything at school, I toured three homes with River. He’s not in love with any of them, but he’s scheduling more walk-throughs for tomorrow afternoon.His excitement for moving to Willow Shade is palpable. I’m happy for him.
Micah comes into the room, his guitar slung around his neck. “What do you think of these chords together?”
He plays them on his guitar, and I nod.
“That sounds good. Kind of melancholy, though. Is that your new song?”
He rakes a hand through his already-sticking-up hair. “Yeah. I can’t get the melody quite right.”
“Why is it so sad? You usually write happier songs.”
He shrugs and won’t meet my gaze. “It’s just something I’m playing around with.”
“Can I hear it?”
He frowns and toes the carpet. “It’s not done yet.”
I stare at him, not comprehending. “You always let me hear your half-written songs. What gives?”
Micah shakes his head and tosses me an annoyed look. “I don’t know. It’s not to the sharing point yet.”
“All right. Fine.” I go back to my laptop.
“Are you writing more of your novel?”
“Yes.”
He comes over to the couch and plops down next to me. “Can I read it?”
I close my laptop. “Not yet. It’s not to the sharing point yet.”
Micah groans and stands up. “Whatever.” He plays some chords and returns to the bedroom where he’s been working.
I listen to him tinker around with the melody as I reopen my laptop and try to get back into the writing headspace. After fifteen minutes of rereading the same paragraph, I decide I’m not in the mood to write and pull out my book instead.
Twenty minutes later, the music stops. I hear Micah’s footsteps in the hallway, then he appears again, this timewithout his guitar. He hovers there for a moment like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
“Everything okay?” I ask, lowering my book.
He runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse. “Can I… can we talk?”
