“Why does it feel like you’re so nervous?”
“I don’t know!” I stand, pacing the small stretch of rug in my living room. “I guess part of it is because I spent years wanting to be this badass boss. I took the job with Timantha because I wanted tobeTimantha. But after spending a week being off...off the grid, off the clock. I’m questioning everything I thought I ever wanted.”
With a sympathetic sigh, she says, “Sweetie, you’re allowed to change your mind. High-powered, badass women decide to leave their careers to live off the grid in tiny homes all the time. Women who once wanted marriage and kids might realize they’d rather live in a community of other women instead. There is no right or wrong answer here, and you don’t need to feel ashamed of your evolution. Max, what is it that you truly want?”
“I want him,” I whisper, the admission feeling heavy and light at the same time. “I want nothingness. Stillness. I want the quiet he carries.”
“And you deserve that,” she says, her voice softening but remaining firm. “You deserve the man who stays. The man who chooses you every single day without being asked.”
“But what if he doesn't?” The question catches in my throat, raw and jagged.
She levels me with a look, her eyes searching mine for the woman she knows is still in there. “Sometimes people stay, Max. That’s a risk you have to take.” She pauses, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her face.
“What?” I ask, bracing for the hit.
“I guess I’m just wondering...” She tilts her head, her gaze sharpening. “When did you become the woman who waits for permission? Stop wondering what he’ll do and tell him whatyouwant!”
She’s right. Who even am I anymore? I’m a boss, a tech genius, a woman who builds empires from algorithms. I don't wait for things to happen; I make them happen. But here I am, reduced to a heap of nerves because I fell in love with a boy.
I open my mouth to give her a sharp-tongued rebuttal. To tell her she’s right and I don’t pine. I certainly don't let mountain-sized men disrupt my badassery. But the words die in my throat because I hear it.
I freeze.
“Do you hear that?” I ask, cutting her off entirely.
Eslin tilts her head, listening toward my apartment window. “Hear what? The traffic? Someone's car alarm?”
But I’m already standing. That’s not a car alarm.
There’s a sound threading through the air—faint at first, filtered through the glass of my high-rise, but unmistakable. A bass line I know too well. A rhythm that lived in my bones long before I had language for what it meant.
My heart starts racing.
“Max? Where are you going?” Eslin calls out as I move toward the balcony.
I don’t answer. My hands are trembling as I push aside the heavy curtains. The sound grows louder, clearer, vibratingagainst the glass and echoing off the brick of the buildings across the street.
And then the words hit.
Girl, I think you’ve gone for far too long…
The song I played every single day when I was younger. I’d keep it on repeat, letting the melody fill the quiet spaces of my room whenever I needed to believe that someone, somewhere, was actually going to love the smart-mouthed, quirky, nerdy me.
Eli didn’t know it then, but when he played it for me in the mountains, I cried. Quietly. Because it felt like a prayer finally answered. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for someone to feel this way about me—to love me with the kind of intensity that moves mountains and crosses borders. And now, hearing it vibrate through the humid Atlanta air, I realize I don’t have to wait anymore.
The man I thought only existed in the margins of my favorite books is standing on the pavement, holding a boombox and my entire heart in his hands, proving that he didn't just find me—he chose me.
The tears I was barely holding back spill over, fresh and uncontained. I don’t bother wiping them away.
Eli stands there, broad shoulders filling out a black suit that looks like it was painted on him. He’s got a damn boombox balanced against his shoulder like it’s 1980-something and he’s here to claim his woman.
For a split second, I wonder how he even found me because I hadn’t actually sent him my address, yet. But then I see Timantha standing right next to him, looking entirely too proud of herself.
I nearly trip over my own feet as I scramble into my fluffy slippers, not even bothering to grab a jacket. I bolt out the door, my heart out-pacing my feet as I frantically mash the elevator button. The ride down feels like an eternity, the mechanicalvibration of the lift taunting me while the bass from the street vibrates through the floor.
The moment the doors slide open, I burst through the lobby and out into the Cinnamon Grove air. I don't care that I'm in pajamas. I don't care that people are staring. I just run.
“Max! Maxine! Get your tail back here and put a coat on!” Eslin is screaming behind me, her voice echoing off the brick walls. “Have you lost your damn mind? You're in your slippers!”
