Adele wolf-whistled as Brighton settled on the stool, and Charlotte could feel Manish’s and Elle’s eyes on her. She could only stare at Brighton, though, the girl she’d met at twelve, kissed at seventeen, and promised to marry at twenty-two.
Loved always.
Her heart sprinted under her ribs. God, Brighton looked amazing up there, under the lights, on a stage. But this, now, knowing what Brighton had been through with the Katies, how long it had been since she’d taken this kind of leap…
She was luminous.
“Hi, everyone,” Brighton said, and more cheers and whistles erupted. She smiled. “This is a song I…well, yeah, I wrote. You may have heard it already, but that’s another story.”
Charlotte stopped breathing.
Brighton laughed, looked down for a second. “Anyway, I wrote this song a long time ago for the girl I loved then.” She met Charlotte’s eyes. “The same girl I love now. Lola, this is for you. This has always been for you.”
Charlotte felt rather than heard whispers undulate throughher quartet, felt Wes turn to look at her, felt Sloane’s eyes boring into her. She couldn’t process any of it, because Brighton.
Because the first notes to “December Light” were starting to unfurl under Brighton’s fingers, more whispers moving through the audience at the now-familiar tune. Brighton didn’t seem to care, though. She kept playing, her eyes on Charlotte, and then…
She started singing.
Charlotte hadn’t heard her voice in five years.
Not like this, not with their song on her lips.
It was breathtaking, pure magic, sultry and soft, her tone like a swirl of dark chocolate.
Winter lake, December light,
tears on your face, but I’ll make it right.
The song wrapped around her, around all of them. Charlotte couldn’t tell if her heart was breaking or mending.
That Tiffany lamp, a rainbow on the floor,
pieces of glass holding your whole world.
Whatever was going on in her chest right now felt like both life and death, a becoming and an undoing. Onstage, Brighton slowed down, quieted, her eyes closed as she sang softly, sang words Charlotte had never heard before.
December light, here we are again
standing together, come snow, come sand…
Her eyes opened. Looked at Charlotte. The entire room held its breath, waiting for what came next.
December light, it’s you and it’s me,
dressed all in white, the start of a new story.
Breaking. Charlotte’s heart was definitely breaking. Because Brighton was magnificent. A true storyteller, weaving simple words with magic, captivating her audience, casting a spell. Everything felt soft, languid, everyone moving closer to one another, their eyes softly blinking at this love story unfurling from the stage.
Charlotte’s love story.
And she knew.
She knew all she had to do was ask.
That’s all it would take, and Brighton would come back to New York. She’d try again. Not at the expense of her own music—Charlotte could see the passion there, the drive sparkling in her eyes again—but she’d do it all in New York.
She’d do it for Charlotte.
