I draw back, smoothing my shirt as I stand.
“No. Tomorrow I’m going to London.”
She looks up in surprise. “Why?”
I keep my expression perfectly solemn as I help her up. “That, I cannot tell you. It’s a secret.”
She groans—half-exasperation, half-laugh.
A wry smile tugs at my mouth. “You don’t like surprises, do you?”
“Not really. There have been a lot of things out of my control lately. Although…I think I’m doing better. And my music is coming along well…”
“Very well, I’d say.”
She smiles and tucks a loose strand behind her ear, the movement captivating my attention for a beat too long.
“So no surprises,” I say with a low clear of my throat. “Alright, here it is—I’m meeting with a luthier tomorrow. I made an appointment to ask what could be done to restore your guitar.”
Emotion flickers across her face, a mix of hope and fear. “You think it can be repaired?”
“I’m not sure. I was going to show him photos and get his opinion.”
She frowns. “Why not just take my guitar if you’re going in person?”
“I didn’t want to take it without your permission.”
“But…why not just ask me?”
“Because I didn’t want to raise your hopes,” I say quietly.Because you’ve had enough people let you down.“I don’t know if a repair is possible—or if you would even agree to fixing it if it was.”
She stills, the only movement her fingertips brushing the glass beads. “I can handle bad news, you know,” she says. “I’m not…fragile.”
“I know.” I hold her gaze. “You’ve shown more strength in the months I’ve known you than most people show in years. This is simply something I wanted to do for you.”
She smiles, fond and amused, and I falter.
“What?” I ask.
“Brandon, you flew around the world to bring my mum here because you knew how much I needed her. You’ve done countless other things to make my life easier. And now you want to drive back and forth between here and London. And all of it instead of just talking to me.” Ever gentle, she adds, “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I’m okay. And I don’t think I need fixing anymore.”
My throat tightens, voice hoarse. “I never thought you did.”
I reach for the usual excuses, but I finally recognise what they are: fear dressed up as logic and righteousness.
If I keep choosing safety, I’ll lose her.
“You’re right, of course,” I say.
We exchange a tentative smile, and an idea occurs to me—one that should have been obvious.
“Lily, will you come with me to London tomorrow?”
Her answer is immediate and bright. “Yes. I’d love to!”
She hugs me—a quick embrace that’s over far too soon, though her fingers slowly trail down my arms before she steps back.
Then her gaze drops to the bracelet, her eyes lighting up with fresh excitement. “Hey…this might be a long shot, but do you think there’s any chance the luthier could use the sea glass somehow?”
