To say the last three nights were the pinnacle of my existence would be an understatement. Izzy may have attempted to drowsily pull herself from my arms Friday morning to make it to work on time, but I had much different plans.
The kissing kind.
The showering-together kind.
The making-her-breakfast kind.
We’d compromised, and I’d done all the things I wanted, and I accepted all the blame when I’d stopped by her office with lunch a few hours later.
Since Becca lives with Izzy, I don’t think she bought the excuse that Izzy had to save me from a giant rattlesnake that had me locked in my room, but it was worth a try.
And if I thought Friday was good, it was nothing compared to waking up slowly with Izzy yesterday morning after a night of movies in bed, popcorn for dinner, and kissing her whenever and wherever I wanted.
It’s the type of relationship songwriters have written about for centuries; hell, I might even have a song or twenty that it would apply to, but understanding the cliché enough to write about it and living it are two very different things.
I’ve realized I was wrong before. It’s not a missing part of me or a homecoming, because those would suggest a definable hole. But Izzy doesn’t fix me—she frees me to chase dreams I never even knew existed. And somehow, that’s even better.
My phone vibrates with an incoming call, and I slip from bed when I see Andre’s name on the screen.
“This had better be good,” I whisper, answering my phone after silently shutting her door behind me. “I was still in bed.”
“And, based on the last few days and the updates I’m getting from your security team, should I assume that bed was not, in fact, your own?” he asks.
“It’s a solid assumption.”
“Well, make sure to tell Izzy hello for me.”
“I’m hoping to pretend this conversation never happened and instead focus on much more enjoyable things to do with our mouths.”
Andre sprays some liquid or another from his mouth. “I have not had enough coffee today to hear that shit from you,” he says once he has stopped sputtering. “There may not actually be enough caffeine in the world for it.”
“Don’t hate me because you ain’t me,” I joke.
“You know what? Never mind. You don’t get to know about the call I just got from your manager.”
“Henry called you?” I ask. My manager has called me a couple of times over the last few days, but I’ve been busy, so I haven’t gotten around to calling him back.
“Yeah, apparently his superstar client is refusing to answer his phone. Bold move to start playing the diva card fifteen years into your career. No one really knows what to do with it since you’re usually on top of your shit.”
“If by ‘on top of my shit,’ you mean I usually have literally nothing else going on in my life besides my work, so I’m very responsive and focused on my job twenty-four seven, then sure.”
“That’s exactly what I meant. It makes the rest of our jobs so much easier.”
Well, shit. I guess when he puts it like that, maybe I do need to get my life figured out. I’m about to head back to the studio and focusing on Izzy as my full-time job likely isn’t going to work.
I’m not sure what that means for me, but I still have time to figure it out.
“Sorry, Andre. I promise I’ll return his call.”
“Good. He needs to talk to you about hosting the Heartland Music Awards next weekend.”
It’s the second-biggest night in country music, but one I said I wouldn’t be attending when I thought my music career was about to be flushed down the toilet in an epic swirl of writer's block and inactivity. It’s also the night of Bryn and Jameson’s wedding, so I’m not sure what Henry and I would need to talk about. My team knows I’m busy and I’m sure they told him that when he asked about me wanting to be the host this year.
“He can’t actually care that I’m busy. It’s not like the hosts get paid much money.”
“Sure, but it’s a prestige thing,” Andre replies.
I roll my eyes, not caring that Andre can’t see me. “I think my overflowing trophy case is enough prestige for one lifetime.”
