“Because I know now that we could create something special. Together.”
She taps my chin. “I’m talking about a deal: you come write for me again. And I put your name on my song.”
The bitterness rises in my throat, and I nearly choke onthe taste of coffee, the revulsion harsh at the back of my tongue.
I step back until I’m flat against the closed door. “I don’t think so.”
Her eyes glimmer. “But I hear it now, Beau. I hear the love in those lyrics. What you gave me... it wasn’t just a song. It was your open heart. A promise to me. And maybe it still could be.”
Then she says it:
“I truly believe this was always meant to be our love song.”
The words seize me like a plunge into an icy river. Before I can respond, she tiptoes and leans in, eyes fluttering closed, lips stalking mine. I twist just in time for her lips to land on the corner of my mouth.
“No!” It’s a heart-splintering cry, bursting with shock and carrying across the drive as if she could stop the scene from afar.
In a flash, I see Maisie—and the situation through her eyes.
She’s a frozen pillar, clutching a brown paper bag to her chest.
And then it falls. A slow-motion drop to the ground as Maisie releases her tight-fisted grip. I drop my coffee mug, an echo of her reflexive action, reaching my arm out as if to somehow steady her.
Her face twists, disbelief warping into sorrow.
Sabrina lifts her face again, lips inches from mine.
I lurch away. “Sabrina, don’t you dare.”
Maisie turns her back to me.
“Maisie!” I shout, voice cracking as I leap down the steps. But she’s already walking quickly, stiffly, and purposefully away from me, the bagabandoned on the path.
“Maisie, wait!” I reach the spot where she stood seconds before, breath caught in my throat. Sabrina clears her throat behind me.
“You’ll regret this, Beau.” I turn, the fire in my chest finally catching.
“Do your best, Sabrina.” I spit my words at her. “You took my music. Twisted it. Claimed it. But what you stole from me—my lyrics, my trust—was mine alone to give away. You never had any right to it. Nothing of me belongs to you anymore. Now get away from me and don’t come back.”
Her eyes ignite and her mouth opens and closes as if trying to come up with an angry retort.
A sharp huff instead. The stomp of designer heels.
Then the car door slams, and her engine growls into gear.
Tires screech as she peels out of the driveway and out of my life.
Good.
But I don’t feel relief.
I feel panic.
Because somewhere down that same road is the only woman who matters. And she thinks I just broke her heart.
I scoop up the slightly crumpled mess of a bag without pause, my body already in motion. Sprinting after Maisie isn’t a choice. It’s instinct, love driving every barefoot step, praying I’m not too late to undo what she saw.
I dash down the gravel drive, bag clutched tight, feet stinging with every strike of rock. None of it matters. Because at the end of the lane, slumped on a fallen log, I find Maisie.
