Nothing serious.Nothing anyone else will ever see.
I’m not brave enough for the scrutiny that comes with sharing something like that.Writing is just so personal—there’s no way it’s not.And to open yourself to ridicule and judgment?
It’s not an easy thing to do, and something I won’t do.
Not ever again.
Once upon a time, I had a boyfriend who swore I was his muse.That we’d write songs together forever.
Nathan Thorn.
Yes, him.The platinum record winner, Nathan Thorn.
I try not to think about him.Or the way we were tangled together—young and electric and convinced the world was ours.
He left.
He was meant to.
He was destined for bigger stages than this small town could ever offer.
Good for you, Nate.I truly hope you’re happy.
What?I do!I mean, sure there was the time I saw him with some starlet on the red carpet and scoffed at how thin and perfect she looked and how stupid he did in a monkey suit—but that was just sour grapes.
They both looked divine.
Whatever.Nathan doesn’t need me to wish him well.
He is the goddamn epitome of a hometown boy made good.
As for me?I like my life.I do.
“Yes, I do,” I say out loud, firm enough to convince myself.
The bell over the door jingles.
“Morning,” Justin says, stepping inside with his eyebrows raised.“Talking to yourself again, Sweet Cakes?”
Ugh, I hate that nickname.
I don’t even bother correcting him anymore.Justin means well.
He’s a nice man—neat, dependable, a junior high math teacher who color-codes his lesson plans and makes sure his car is inspected a full month early.
We’ve been dating a few months, and he’s fine.
Handsome in a safe, catalog sort of way.
Nerdy enough to be interesting.
Sweet enough to be comfortable.
He isn’t earth-shattering.
He doesn’t make my pulse stutter.
But he’s steady.
