“You did too.”
“Oh, I know.”
She bites down on my shoulder a little.
“Hey, now!” I say, arcing away from her, but pulling her with me because our legs are tangled together.
“That was a big wow for me, too,” she says quietly when we’ve settled again.
“First time in a girl’s pants?” I ask teasingly. “And first time with a girl in your pants. Lots of girls in pants going on here.”
She laughs and props herself on her elbow. “I really can’t believe that just happened.”
My stomach does a little anxious flip. “Like, good can’t believe it?”
“Yes,” she says, sliding her mouth over mine. “So good.”
Later we curl up side by side on the bed, still naked and happy, and eat peanut butter right out of the jar.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper into her ear.
And I know I mean it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
TWO DAYS LATER, LUCA FINDS ME AT THE BOOK NOOK. I’ve been sitting here for a good half-hour, staring at the keys, the music, my hands. Not playing. Every now and then, Patrick clears his throat dramatically. Eva’s nestled in one of the upholstered chairs by the front window watching YouTube videos of this famous ballet dancer Misty Copeland. She gets up every five damn minutes and wanders around the store, tossing me a smile like she’s casually browsing instead of making sure I’m still alive.
This goes on and on until Luca’s shaggy head appears in the storage room doorway. I watch him as he hovers, my eyes never leaving his.
“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to me on the piano bench.
“Hey.”
“Not playing much today?” He gestures toward my still-closed music books.
“I can play without them.”
“Yeah, but you’re not. And you never play without them for important pieces. Aren’t these important pieces?” He flicks the edge of my Schumann book.
“Did you come to harass me about the audition or talk?”
“Don’t you know me at all? Both.”
He grins and nudges my shoulder and I nudge back, and that’s when I know we’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay.
“I’m sorry, Gray.”
“About which part?”
“All of it. It’s been hard, adjusting to Eva in the house. Not because we don’t want her there. It’s just . . . Mom’s always trying to help her, you know? And, I’m sorry, but Maggie—?”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that already.”
“Because I mean it. I wish things were different. For you, for Eva.”
