“Hey,” Sloane said, leaning close to her. “It’s okay to want that. To wanther. It is. And it’s okay to go after her. Anyone can see you love her, Charlotte. In Winter River for those few days? You were happy.”
Tears finally spilled, and Charlotte didn’t even bother to wipe them away. “It couldn’t work. I’m in New York, and—”
“Yeah, yeah, so am I. And Wes is in Colorado.”
Charlotte stopped, her mouth dropping open. “Wes?”
Sloane fought a smile, but it won over her lovely face anyway.“What can I say? I’m a slut for people who make complete fools of themselves for me.”
Charlotte laughed, clapped her hands. “Did he really play Manish’s viola that night? I’ve wanted to ask you so many times.”
“He did. And horribly. It was truly abysmal.”
“And that won you over?”
Sloane sighed, her expression growing serious. “I’ve always loved him. I was just…”
“Scared.”
Sloane nodded.
“And you’re not anymore?” Charlotte asked, her heartbeat picking up speed.
“No, I still am.” Sloane shrugged. “I’m just ready for something more than justnotbeing scared, you know? Something more than safe. More than okay.”
Charlotte blinked, Sloane’s words settling around her. She felt herself nodding, her blood already racing withhowandwhenandwhere.
She picked up her glass, held it up between them. “To something more than okay.”
Sloane clinked her wine against Charlotte’s, and they both drained their glasses to the very last drop.
Chapter 30
February in Nashville was usuallypretty chilly—or chilly for the South, at least—but this week before Valentine’s Day was frigid, icy winds blowing through the streets, made all the colder by a crystalline blue sky and a weak winter sun.
The weather was good for the bar business, though, sending patrons indoors, making them desperate for a little warmth via the company they kept or three fingers of bourbon. Either way, Brighton leaned against Ampersand’s bar, looking out at a packed house. Energy sizzled down her arms to her fingertips, heat from all the adrenaline pumping through her keeping her more than insulated against the cold air that blasted into the room every time the door opened.
This never got old.
She’d been performing at Ampersand for a little over a month now, at least twice a week, and she loved every second of every show. The audience response was good too, and she even had plans to record a performance in a few weeks, use it as a demofor other venues. She was still in the hole with her roommate, Leah—she’d been to two potluck dinners since the new year—and couldn’t quite afford a studio session yet.
Still, she wasplaying.
She was creating too. Five new songs in the last month, most of them about heartbreak and trying to move on and achy memories, but that was sort of her brand. At least, it was right now, and she was just fine with that.
“Hey, hey, Ampersand!” Adele said into the mic on the small stage. “Freezing your asses off?”
Cheers went up, hands in the air clutching liquor-filled glasses.
Adele laughed. “Well, we’ve got a local fave here to warm you the hell up with her tales of betrayal and woe.”
“Excuse me,” Brighton said, even though Adele couldn’t hear her.
“Give it up for Brighton Fairbrook!”
Applause rippled through the bar, along with a few whistles from regulars who knew Brighton pretty well by now. She wove through the crowd, then hopped onstage and hugged Adele before sliding her guitar over her shoulder and launching into her first song, a tune called “Good At Falling” that made her feel like a badass. She always played something energetic first, then greeted the crowd after she had hooked them. It was a strategy left over from her Katies days, one of many.
As she played, the stage lights bright and warm in her face, she couldn’t help but think about the Katies, about Emily and Alice. She always did, at least once a show, but it was just that—a thought.
