He studies me. “You seem to be putting yourself under quite a lot of pressure.”
I huff a laugh. “Pressure? It’s beenweekssince Toby. I’ve had plenty of time to get my act together.”
“Toby?”
“Oh. He’s my ex.” I silently curse the slip. “We broke up recently—but it doesn’t matter.”
He nods, the silence stretching between us until I can’t stand it.
“I’m hoping I can get over this creative block with your help,” I add. “And I know what you’re probably thinking, but I swear, it’s not a confidence thing. It’s more of a…”
Oh God. It’s definitely a confidence thing.
I scramble to pivot. “The thing is, I used to be obsessed with music. Still am, really. Slept with my guitar beside me like it was a teddy bear. Had teddy bears too, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
I draw a quick breath. The amused way he drawled it,ob-viously, like it’s two separate words, sends an unsettling shiver through me.
Also,oof.Did I seriously just tell a grown man—a stranger, basically—about my teddy bears?
I wish I could call the words back.
“So…?” He leans a fraction closer, and the crowd behind us blurs. A faint whiff of cologne reaches me, something deep and masculine, with that clean, earthy scent that lingers after rain, throwing my thoughts off-balance. “What is it?”
“What’s what?”
“You said it’s not a ‘confidence’ thing. What kind of thing is it?”
“It’s…complicated. I’ve lost the drive lately. I honestly don’t even know if I want to play. I just…want towantit again. If that makes sense.”
“It does.”
He seems so calm, while I feel like a flustered schoolgirl.
“Do you play?” I ask, eager to get off the topic of me.
His lips curl. A flash of teeth, a hint of smile lines. “Sort of.”He gestures towards the exit. “Shall we get going?”
I nod, but something twists in my chest. He didn’t really answer my question.
He reaches for my guitar. “Here—allow me.”
Panic spikes, and I jerk the case back.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s just…it’s what I have left of Dad.”
A shadow flickers across his face. Like sympathy, but deeper. Then he cocks his head at my suitcase, and I hand it to him with a sheepish ‘thanks’.
“Of course. The car is this way. Ready?”
“Yes. Please.” I could really, really use some air.
As we walk, I open my mouth to ask what he meant bysort ofplaying music—because I’m suddenly hoping he does. It might help to be around someone who can still play.
“Do you really think he’ll be able to fix you, when I couldn’t?”Toby whispers, cool and smug. “But go ahead. Follow him, just like you followed me. See where it gets you.”
I clamp my mouth shut and clutch my guitar like a life raft, praying I’m not making another mistake.
