The chorus swells, and tears spring hot and unbidden to my eyes, blurring his image on stage.
When the final note fades, silence hangs suspended for one breathless moment before the room erupts. People leap to their feet, clapping wildly, phones raised high to capture the moment. Logan bows to the crowd, then waves like I imagine he’s done countless times.
He hands the guitar to the DJ and steps from the stage, high fiving everyone around him. He accepts handshakes and shoulder claps while navigating his way to me, his smile never once leaving his perfect face.
I wipe frantically at my cheeks, trying desperately to make myself look presentable again. It’s hard to describe the emotional rollercoaster I find myself riding. Every journalist in the country could write a pernicious article about me and noneof it would chip away at the overwhelming joy arising in my chest.
I still can’t believe this is real, not until Logan stops before, and I catch the scent of his cologne, the same one I couldn’t get enough of on our flight to Alabama.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, my voice embarrassingly wobbly. Up close, he’s even more dashing in that navy tux tailored to perfection.
His hand rises to my face, thumb gently sweeping away a tear. “I came for you.”
The simple truth in those words steals what little breath remains in my lungs. I inhale shakily, suddenly conscious of the circle forming around us. “What about your career?”
“I quit the record label.” He says it the way someone mentions the weather, like it isn’t a big deal at all. “But if the reaction to my latest single is any indication, I’ll be fine on my own.”
I shake my head in wonder. “I still can’t believe you sang my lyrics.”
“Told you it had potential.” His smile deepens as he steps closer until there is but a fraction of space between us. “Now that I’m independent, I’m going to need a songwriter I can trust. Know anyone who might fit?
Fresh tears blur my vision, but I manage a smile anyway. “I might know someone.”
“Good.” He lifts both hands to my face, thumbs warm against my cheeks, and for a moment the noise of the room feels far away. “Because I wouldn’t settle for anyone else.” His gaze drops to my lips, then returns to my eyes. “All the money, all the fame in the world means nothing if you’re not in my life. I’d give everything up for a chance to be with you.” His eyes hold mine, sincere and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen from him. “I love you, Maisie.”
When his lips touch mine, the room falls away. The steady pressure of his mouth, the slight tilt of his head, the way his hands slide into my hair would buckle my knees and send me to the floor if my arms didn’t circle his neck, pulling him closer, every nerve ending aflame as I melt against him.
He pulls back only a fraction, just enough to press his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips. “From this moment on,” he whispers, “I don’t want to go a single day without you. Not ever.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back, and the words feel truer than anything else I’ve said.
Reality slams back in as the crowd erupts, cheers mixing with wolf whistles. A teenage girl in braces and a pink dress edges forward from the front row, napkin and pen clenched in her hands, her eyes wide with the hopeful certainty that she’s about to get an autograph.
Logan chuckles and glances at me, his eyebrow raised as if asking for permission.
I give him a gentle shove. “Go.”
As he signs autographs and poses for selfies, well-wishers surround me from all sides. Mom squeezes my hand, her eyes shining. Even Lindsey approaches with genuine congratulations. But their words slide past without sinking in, because my attention is locked on the man across the room.
As the DJ blasts the next song through the speakers, Logan finds me again.
He takes my hand and draws me close, his arms settling around my waist with quiet certainty. I lean into him and rest my head against his chest, listening to the simple, reliable beat of his heart.
There’s no pretending left now. No careful lies. No space to hide in.
And in the calm truth of that moment, with the music drifting around us and his warmth holding me in place, it feels strangely perfect to know that he is mine, and I am his.
Epilogue
My fingers bounce between my weekend essentials and my toiletry bag as I try to force everything into a carry-on. The suitcase disagrees. When my phone chimes with Claire’s ringtone, I dig for it between stacks of T-shirts and the one fancy top I packed just in case.
“Hey, you,” I say, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can keep folding. “I’m losing a war against my suitcase over here.”
"Well, pause your travel crisis for a hot second." Claire's voice bubbles with that can't-wait energy that makes me stop mid-fold. "Guess who texted me yesterday?"
I squint at the sundress in my hands, trying to decide if it deserves space in the bag. “Please tell me it’s Sarah.”
"Bingo! And she wants to hang out."
