“I knew you could do it.” Becca’s smile is infectious. “And just think about it. If we get in with W&R Mercantile, it would be huge for us. Itwillbe huge for us.”
I don’t want to jinx us, but I think she might be right.
Becca turns in her chair to study me, then says, “Okay, spill. You haven’t mentioned Jaxon once, and that’s suspicious.”
My face warms immediately, and I cover my eyes with my hand. Where do I even start? The flight? The almost date-feeling dinner? The fact that I now know what a fifty-thousand-dollar steam shower does to a person’s nervous system?
“Oh my gosh. That good? Or that bad?”
“It was…easy,” I say finally. “For the most part. Which is weird because it shouldn’t have been. Not with our history.”
Becca doesn’t say anything. Just waits.
So I spill everything: the date that wasn’t a date, feeling like I was part of his life, watching him record his music, the shower fiasco, Jaxon’s tenderness, the way he held me as I cried and didn’t make me feel like I was broken.
I rub my eyes and take a deep breath before saying quickly, “He may have also recorded a song that may or may not be about me.”
Becca gasps. “Izzy…”
“It’s unconfirmed! It just felt that way.”
If this wasn’t fake.
“But still.”
“I know. It’s dangerous.”
“And romantic.”
“Stop,” I say, covering my face. “Don’t say that. It’ll make it seem real.”
“Maybe it is real,” she offers.
Maybe it is real. But his decision to end things less than four hours ago suggests it’s not real enough to ever last.
“Or maybe it’s just another of his hundreds of songs about growing up and love, and I’m just projecting like every other woman he’s ever been with who thinks his songs are about her.”
“That’s not really your style,” she says. “I bet it’s about you.”
Even if it is, I’d be better off reminding myself that he’s written emotional songs about women and life since he was eighteen. This is who he is—even if he needs me to remind him of that.
I stare at my screen, zoning out while she starts working again. Finally, knowing I have to finish my story, I glance over at Becca, chewing my lip.
“What?” she asks.
“He came by earlier.”
Her brows rise. “Jaxon? Didn’t you just fly on an airplane with him for like four hours?”
I nod. “Yeah. And when he left me, he was his usual cheerful self. When he returned, though, he looked wrecked. Like someone had kicked his puppy.”
“What happened?”
“He had breakfast with the coffee group.”
Becca bursts out laughing. “Oh no.”
“Yeah. Accidentally sat with them.” I think about it. “Or they sat with him? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. They weren’t very nice, unsurprisingly.”
