Laundry first. Always. When running a guesthouse, laundry was a constant. But it gave me ten minutes where I didn’t have to think. Just fold. I stacked linens on the old pine table in the laundry room and made a neat wall out of cloth.
Noah was up before me this morning, having slipped out of bed early while whispering for me to stay. I knew he’d been avoiding answering his messages for a while, and you could only avoid life for so long.
Despite knowing that we’d gone viral the night before, I was surprisingly content. Last night had been … big. The video. The pub. The feeling that the room was on our side. It sat in me like a warm brick.
Humming, I dumped a new load of towels into thewash and then made my way toward the kitchen for my morning cup of tea.
Voices in the lounge stopped me.
Voices, plural. A male voice I didn’t recognize—too bright. Salesman bright—then Noah’s. Low. Careful.
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but in the end, that’s what I did.
I walked toward the sound and stopped just outside the doorway. Noah sat by the fire in a black jumper, hair a mess, one hand on the back of the sofa like he needed to grip the furniture to keep himself still. The other man wore a navy suit coat and a gold watch at his wrist. A sheaf of papers sat on the loveseat next to Noah.
“… is clean,” the man said. “The press is sympathetic. We lock this down now and book you a showcase. London tonight, New York by the weekend. They want the story. New album. New chapter. Your duet is already clipping. This is the moment, Noah. This record deal is fantastic. It’s a fresh start.”
“I’m not going to London,” Noah said. He sounded tired, not angry. “If we do it, we do it on terms that don’t break me.”
“Sure, sure,” the man said fast, reassuring. “Creative control. Smaller rooms. But we need dates. We need a plan. And her.” He flicked his eyes toward the stairs like he knew I was there. “They wanther. You’ve seen the comments.”
Noah turned and caught me hovering at the door. The air in the room shifted. The man half-turned, clocking me properly.
“Skye,” Noah said. “This is Matt. My agent.”
“Hi,” I said, because manners are muscle memory. Itucked a piece of hair behind my ear. My palms were damp. “Sorry to interrupt. Tea?”
“No time for tea,” Matt said with a friendly smile. “We’ve got a flight in a few hours. I wanted to bring the paperwork so Noah could see there’s a genuine offer. And to say congratulations, because last night was lightning in a bottle. We’d love to have you along with us.”
“Thank you,” I said. It came out flat, but that’s how I felt.
Like a balloon with the air let out of it.
Matt looked between Noah and me and then cleared his throat. Standing, he smoothed his hands down his coat and looked down at Noah. “Ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll be outside.”
And then Noah and I were alone with the contract and the fire and my stupid heart. Standing, Noah walked over to me.
“It’s a good offer,” he said, his voice soft.
My heart shifted inside me, pulling its walls up. I could see it in his face already. He was leaving.He won’t be staying for me.
“It sounds like a significant offer,” I said.
“It is.” He nodded. “I told him I don’t want a fast press run. I want time to write. I want to do it differently. But yes. It’s big.” Noah dug his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
“You should take it,” I said. No hesitation, and that surprised even me. “You’ve worked for it. Your name is cleared. And, this is your career, Noah. You sang something good last night and people heard it. This is … what you do.”
“It doesn’t have to be what I do without you.” Hestepped closer and my breath hitched. “Come with me. Sing with me. Not as a plus-one. As you. Your voice is—Skye, your voice is the bit I’ve been looking for.”
My chest gave a painful little twist. I looked down at the contract again so I didn’t have to look at him. “I don’t want to go on the road,” I said, forcing the words out. “I like my mornings here. I like knowing which tap sticks and which guest will ask for extra towels. I like running out of coffee and having to sprint to the shop in my slippers. I like knowing where the spare fuses are.”
“You can like all of that and still sing,” he said, too fast, like he could outrun my no. “We could make this work. We could do long weekends. We could?—”
“Noah,” I said gently. “I’m not leaving my life to chase yours.”
“It isn’t chasing,” he said, and now there was a thread of frustration lacing his voice. “It’s building. Together. I have to think about my band, too. This isn’t just about me.”
“Which is why I think you should take it.” I smiled though it didn’t reach my heart.
