“I’ve been asked to keep this a secret,” the DJ continues, his voice slipping into that radio-announcer excitement that promises something big.
I glance at Andy and Lindsey, their eyebrows raised in twin expressions of delighted confusion.
“Our next performer needs no introduction,” the DJ says.
The lights dim. Chatter quiets. The house lights shift to an inky blue and the crowd tilts forward, their heads craning in unison to peek at the side entrance of the stage like a field of flowers swaying in the wind.
Logan steps onto the stage in a navy tuxedo, guitar slung over his shoulder, his hair artfully disheveled. The breath-seizing astonishment from seeing him grace the stage doesn’t wear off until Mom cradles my hand in hers, and then I hear it: the screeching squeals of the enraptured teenage girls lining the stage that restart my lungs, the rising cheers as every phone in the room points at Logan.
If happiness was a sticker chart, I’d give this moment all the gold stars. His smile stretches wide and genuine, dimpling the cheeks I’ve missed like crazy.
The room explodes into an ever higher-pitched wave of shrieks and howls, whistles and woos that feels more like the start of a concert than a wedding reception. The teenage girls in the crowd are practically vibrating with energy, bouncing on their toes,clutching their phones to their chests as they scream Logan’s name.
Through the blur of movement and sound, I catch Lindsey’s gaze across the dance floor. Her hand is pressed over her heart, her face radiant, her eyes shining as she mouths a silent thank you to me.
I can hardly comprehend it. Sure, she’d asked me weeks ago if Logan could sing at her wedding, but after everything that’s happened between us, I never thought for a second he would actually come, let alone perform.
And yet—there he is, standing under the soft glow of the chandeliers, looking devastatingly handsome, like he’s walked straight out of my dreams.
I follow Mom and Chrissy to the back of the densely packed dance floor; it’s the only spot left with a little bit of room.
Logan adjusts the microphone stand and leans in, flashing that boyish smile I love so much.
Chapter 30
“There’s something I’ve been working on that I’d like to share with you all tonight,” Logan says, his silky voice carrying through the room effortlessly.
A collective gasp seems to sweep through the banquet hall. The chandelier light catches in his dark hair as he adjusts the microphone stand, then lowers his hand to the guitar, his fingers brushing the wood.
“You’ll be the first in the world to hear this song,” he continues, and the crowd rustles with anticipation.
Applause breaks over him in waves, and phones rise everywhere, screens pointed his way. I lean into Mom’s shoulder to steady myself, afraid my knees might give out.
“A special person helped me with this one,” Logan adds, his eyes skittering across the sea of faces until they lock onto mine. When he winks, heat flushes from the core of my body to my toes, and up to my ears, and my grip on Mom’s arm tightens.
“The song is called ‘Pretend,’ and I hope you enjoy it.”
His fingers coax the first notes from the guitar, and recognition strikes me like lightning. This melody—the same one that floated through my window that first day, before it turned into musical chaos, before I knew who he was.
Then he begins to sing.
“We danced around the lies we spun,
A game we played, a race we’d run.
But in the hazy middle of pretend,
I found a love I’d choose again…over and over…”
I don’t care how cliche it sounds to say that his voice sweeps me off my feet because that’s exactly how I feel. They’re my words that he sings—fragments I scribbled in margins, thoughts I never meant for anyone to see, let alone breathe life into with so much emotion.
“You changed the song inside my soul,
Made broken parts somehow feel whole.
And though we said it’s just pretend,
My heart knew better in the end.”
