“Because…” He struggles for words. “Because I wasn’t trying to prove anything then. I was just processing my feelings.”
“That’s exactly what you need to do now. Stop thinking about what Atlantic Coast expects or what other people will think. Just write from your heart, the way you always have.”
He’s quiet, considering this.
“Micah, impostor syndrome is normal. Even the most successful artists deal with it. But that fear that you’re not good enough, it doesn’t mean you actually aren’t good enough. It just means you care about doing well.”
“What if I let everyone down?”
“You won’t. But even if something doesn’t go perfectly, that doesn’t make you a fraud. It makes you human.” I lean closer. “And I’ll be right there with you, remember? You’re not doing this alone.”
For the first time since he sat down, some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “You’ll be with me in Nashville?”
“Of course.”
He bites his lip. “You really think I can do this?”
“I know you can. I’ve always known.” I give him a small smile. “Would you do something for me?”
He looks at me, the hesitation gone from his gray eyes. A zing of attraction races through me.
“Anything,” he whispers.
I wish he meant it. I wish we were talking about us right now. But we’re not, and I force myself away from those thoughts. “Would you ask your doctor about some anxiety meds? I really think they would help you.”
He drops his gaze and lets out a breath. He’s quiet for a moment. “But I don’t need?—”
“Micah.” I try to show how much this means to me through my voice. “Please?”
He meets my gaze. He doesn’t say anything. Just sits there and stares at me. Finally, he sighs. “For you.”
“No. Do it for yourself.”
A small smile crosses his lips. “Okay, Jiminy.”
His gaze shifts, and he motions for my glasses. I lean forward so he can slide them off my face.
He takes out his microfiber cloth. “I still don’t know how you can see out of these when they’re so dirty.”
I laugh and nudge his knee. “You’re good at changing the subject.”
He takes a deep breath. He finishes cleaning my glasses and slides them back onto my face. “Okay. Maybe… maybe the meds will help. And maybe I should stop overthinking the album and just focus on writing one song at a time.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
Micah leans close to me, and I can feel his breath on my lips. He’s so close, and he’s moving even closer. My heartstarts beating rapid-fire, and I can’t think. Is he about to kiss me?
In a quick movement, he leans closer and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, Cricket.”
I can’t move. He kissed me. What does that mean? Was that another friend kiss? Or did it mean more? I can’t breathe, but I force myself to speak. “Want to play me the song you’re working on now? Maybe talking through it will help.”
He hesitates, biting his lip.
“Come on. It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s not that?—”
“Then, what?”
