We worked like that for a while, replaying sections, tweaking transitions, talking through the set like it was something we’d been doing together for years instead of weeks.
“This part,” Mark said, pointing at the screen. “Your guitar tone here? It’s warmer than the rest. I like it.”
I nodded, but my mind drifted briefly back to the thought I’d wrestled with at Griffin’s: Theo.
Just for a second, the idea flickered, then I shook it away. No. I couldn’t.
I tightened my fingers around the guitar neck, letting the weight of that decision ground me. I wouldn’t let myself go there again.
Touring with him, reopening something that had already hurt me, leaving Pecan Pines, leaving this.
Leavinghim.
I glanced at Mark, bent over the laptop, completely focused. There was something about the way he fit here so naturally, the way it felt right.
It made my chest ache and reminded me why leaving didn’t even feel like an option.
My thumb brushed over a familiar nick in the guitar’s neck.
I’m sorry, I thought.I might not give you everything I promised.
Dad had wanted to see me make it big so badly. But maybe the New Year’s Eve performance, the crowd, the sound of his guitar ringing out under the winter lights, was enough.
Mark straightened suddenly and bumped his shoulder gently against mine. “You’re thinking too hard again.”
I blinked. “Am I?”
“Yeah.” His mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Which means it’s time for a distraction. And I have just the thing.”
I raised a brow. “That’s not ominous at all.”
He laughed and nodded toward the corner of the room. “I brought some things we could try out for the festival.”
I frowned. “Were we supposed to talk about our outfits today?”
“Not exactly,” he said, eyes glinting. “But you did say you wanted to see me in it.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. “I did?”
Mark just grinned and disappeared into the small side room, leaving me staring after him. A moment later, he stepped back out.
He was wearing a silver jacket over his white shirt, the fabric catching the light in a way that made him look almost unreal.
It wasn’t flashy, not exactly. It was bright. Painfully bright.
The jacket caught the studio lights and threw them back at me.
“Okay, take it off,” I said, laughing, lifting a hand to shield my eyes. “Before you blind us both.”
Mark barked out a laugh. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious,” I said, still grinning. “Is it even safe to stare at that for too long?”
I dropped my hand just long enough to peek at him again and immediately winced.
“You know,” I went on thoughtfully, “maybe that’s why most wedding receptions use subdued lighting. As a safety precaution. Can’t have guests losing their eyesight before they cut the cake.”
“Hey,” Mark protested.
