“Vin,” he says gruffly, cupping his hand along the back of my neck.
I pause, feeling the weight in my chest, then surrender to a fleeting moment and rest my head against his chest. As Alek’s thumb draws gentle circles on my neck, I let my eyes fall shut, relief and confusion mingling inside me. When he presses a kiss to my hair, I step back, exhaling and trying to process the softness I still feel for him.
“You can’t write?” he asks tentatively.
“No. There’s a block and I can’t seem to work through it,” I admit, a little unsure.
This isn’t something we’ve talked much about, so I’m a bit wary about doing it now.
“What can I do to help?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. It’ll come when it’s ready.”
Pausing, I search his face. Quiet patience and warmth shine back at me.
Letting out a shaky breath, I allow myself to be vulnerable. “It’s terrifying, you know? Music is woven into who I am. When it disappears, it feels like a part of me vanishes until the harmony returns.” I press my hand to my heart, hoping he understands.
He lifts his hand towards my face, but drops it before it makes contact. “I’m sorry, baby girl. Fucking hate that such a large part of you is missing right now. Hate even more that I can’t do anything about it.”
My heart does that infuriating thing where it softens, no matter how hard I try to resist.
“Let me get you a beer,” I say abruptly, pulling away to turn and hurry inside.
What are you doing, Hayvin?
I bring the beer out, planning to hand it off and retreat, but his voice, low and pleading, tugs me back before I can escape.
“Will you meet me somewhere tonight?” he asks.
Will I?
“I don’t know.”
Alek nods, accepting my answer. “If you do, I’ll be at Songbird’s tonight at seven.”
Songbird’s? Why in the world would he be at a music bar?
Before I can ask, he fires the mower back up, putting an end to our conversation.
Not that I had anything else to say.
Do I want to go?
Do Inotwant to go?
Will I regret it if I don’t?
Yes. Yes to all the questions.
All day, I teeter between going and staying home, but in the end, curiosity tips the scales.
By six-thirty, I’m dressed and restless, and by seven, I’m stepping into the dim glow of Songbird’s. My eyes adjust, and familiar faces slowly come into focus.
Charlie and Keaton.
Everleigh.
Charlie’s best friend, Amelia.
