Their voices fade to an easy rhythm in the background as I kneel and carefully transfer my guitar from the hard shell Dad bought me years ago into the soft case.
I hoist it onto my back, pleased with how weightless it feels. I’m lighter, freer. No more lugging the hardshell around.
Gratitude swells in my chest. Because of Brandon, the walk to the café feels less daunting—almost thrilling, like stepping into something new.
For once, I have a good feeling about performing. I’m not bracing for disaster. Instead, I’m trusting tonight will go well.
And it does.
24
Unsorted
Brandon
Two Weeks Later
It’s the perfect Sunday afternoon. Lily-Anne and I find a shady spot in the garden withThe Philosopher’s Stone, the summer breeze lifting the book’s pages.
We haven’t made it far through the story. She’s been busy practising for her gigs, and apart from our morning guitar sessions over coffee, I don’t see her as often as I used to. I’ve been saving the next chapters until she’s free. The story’s interesting enough—they’ve just arrived at Hogwarts—but if I’m honest, I’m mostly reading it for her.
Ellenor’s been too absent to supervise our lack of progress, and judging by the one time I ran into her at the pub, I have a pretty good idea why.
Lily-Anne hums under her breath as we settle on the grass. I recognise the melody as one she composed. She’s been performing her own songs at the café lately, each one more confident than the last. I’ve been to every show. So have Ellenor and Sean. And, to our equal parts gratitude and mortification, so have Rupert and Barbara, cheering boisterously at the more inopportune times.
I’m not sure how I feel about this next one, though. It’ll be a little different. Jack has asked Lily-Anne to perform with him on Saturday night. He’s also invited a talent scout, who will almost certainly turn out to be A&R executive Hilary Green—that’s if his last few attempts to get a record deal are anything to go by.
I have to hand it to him: he’s persistent. Still, I doubt her interest has much to do with him; Hilary scouts for a London label that once handled his uncle’s records. My guess is that Jack wants to present himself and Lily-Anne as a duo, hoping she’ll sign them both. Maybe he’s finallyrealised that doing covers of his uncle’s songs won’t get him far.
But riding Lily-Anne’s coattails might. Not that I’d ever say that to her—it would only dampen her enthusiasm, and she deserves to be excited. If Hilary shows up, it’ll be a real opportunity for Lily-Anne.
The thought is a professional one.
The other is not.
It arrives without warning—an instinctive, inexplicable urge to take hold of her waist and draw her into my lap, to feel that closeness properly. The force of it startles me. Heat flares low and deep, my body reacting before I can rein it in. For a split second, I consider inventing a reason to excuse myself—one of those cold showers I’ve come to rely on—but I don’t move. I shift my weight, angling away as I fix my attention on the page, unsettled by my own reaction.
“Can’t remember where we’re up to?” Lily-Anne asks.
I realise I’ve been flipping the pages idly. I quickly locate the dog-eared page.“Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat.”
“Oh, let me read this one,” she says, eyes lighting up. “The Sorting Hat’s song is my favourite—I want to try singing it.”
Her singing draws Ellenor outside, who listens with approving nods. “I wish I could sing,” she sighs when Lily-Anne finishes, before proceeding to weigh in, unbidden, on my Hogwarts House. “Brandon’s a private person. Keeps to himself. That’s a classic self-preservation trait. And he was quite ambitious, once upon a time. So, he clearly belongs in Sly—”
“No, he’s obviously a Hufflepuff!” Lily-Anne retorts.
“Pfft.”
“He is!”
“Pfft.”
“He’s hardworking, kind, loyal—”
Ellenor rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease. Will you stop underestimating him already?”
“I’m not!” Lily-Anne splutters. “Stop recruiting for your house!”
