And that’s the one song I can’t stop hearing.
The one where I wrote myself a happy ending to the holidays.
Which has never happened in my twenty-four years on this earth.
A heavy gust of wind rattles the windows and throws thick raindrops against the glass.
We both look outside.
“Did you check the weather before you came up here?” I ask him.
“Light rain predicted. It should pass.”
“Soon?”
“Couple hours at most.”
I picked up enough food at the store to get me through two or three days, but when my song came on the grocery store speakers, I noped out of grabbing anything else.
I’m in that weird space where my career is taking off, but I can still go to the grocery store and not get recognized. Waverly flips out occasionally when I tell her some of the things I’ve done and places I’ve gone solo, but I like it.
And I know the next few months—or possibly even the next couple days—will determine if I’m ever able to go to the grocery store on my own again. On top of not wanting to hear my own song, I don’t want to get recognized.
“Great,” I say. “Once the owners get up here with a chainsaw, the weather will have passed, and you can spend your holidays guilt-free, knowing that you did nothing wrong.”
Cash looks at my guitar, then at the fireplace, ignoring my comment about not feeling guilty. “You know how to build a fire?”
“Cooper showed me how at their house once last winter, and I’m apparently a pyromaniac at heart because I beg to do it anytime we’re together somewhere with a fireplace.”
“Got enough food and everything?”
“There’s a shop about ten or fifteen minutes away.”
Another massive gust of wind rattles the window, and the raindrops hitting the glass take on a new sound.
An icy sound.
Crap.
Crap crap crap.
If this is alight rain, I don’t want to know what a heavy rain or an icy rain is.
“You’re really okay here?” he says.
“Totally fine. Iama fully grown adult. It’s a thing that happens with time.”
“You lived near LA your whole life?”
“Mostly.”
He glances at the window beside the fireplace again.
Wind howls over the chimney.
Dammmmmmittttt. I hitsendon the message, then put my phone down again. “Owners have been notified. They were quick to respond when I couldn’t get the key code to work earlier, so I’m sure they’ll be quick again, and we can get you on your way home first thing in the morning.”
He nods. Glances at the empty fireplace again. “You really want to be alone for the holidays?”
