I stand to go back into the apartment, put my guitar away, and grab my phone and keys when I realize I’ve locked myself out. I let out a groan, dragging my hand down my face. I’m not getting enough sleep or something. My brain has up and left. I lean my guitar in the corner of the sunroom, with my notebook, and hope none of the neighbors disturb it.
I jog down the rickety steps and walk up two blocks to The Ugly Mug where Melanie works. It’s a gorgeous summer day that would elicit optimism in even the grumpiest of washed-up musicians. I find myself whistling the melody I’m attempting to write as I walk.
It doesn’t take me long and I swing open the door to the dark restaurant to find Melanie right at the host stand, waiting for me. She grins and warmth radiates my insides.How did I go so long without seeing her smile?
“Hey stranger,” she says, tucking a strawberry blonde wave behind her ear.
“Hey, Strawberry Girl.” I smile, leaning against the host stand.
Melanie’s cheeks pinken and I feel desire rush through me. I used to make her blush all the time. Or at least teenager Josh thought so. “Lunch?” she asks, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.
“You don’t want to eat here?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
“I need to see the sunshine,” she says, stepping around me and pushing open the door. She looks back over her shoulder. “You coming?”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later,we’re sitting outside a café called Tisha’s, sipping lemonade and quietly reading our menus.
Melanie closes hers and looks up, clearing her throat. “Did you have fun last night?”
“I did. It was great seeing Chris and Aaron.”
Melanie’s expression is warm, nostalgia brimming in her blue eyes. “It’s always nice to see old friends.” Our hands are nearly touching on top of the small table, knuckles a mere centimeter from each other. It would take nothing for me to reach out and lace her fingers through mine. Instead, I pull my hand away and scratch at the nape of my neck, smiling in return.
“I told them about our secret relationship. I’m not sure they believed me.” I laugh and Melanie does too, but her eyes are guarded.
Before she can say anything, the waitress comes to take our order. We order salads, and just as I’m about to once again plead with her to sing with me, we’re interrupted again.
“Well look what the cat dragged all the way up the coast.” The voice belongs to my sister’s high school boyfriend, Liam Harper. I haven’t seen him in nearly twenty-five years, and I’m surprised he recognizes me. He’s pushing a double jogging stroller and stops at our table.
“It’s more likeacross the countrythese days.” I laugh, standing up and holding out my hand. He shakes it but then surprises me by pulling me into a hug. “What’s going on, brother?” I ask, pulling back.
“Not much. You back in town?” Liam arches a brow.
“Just passing through,” I murmur, glancing sideways at Melanie. “Are these two cuties yours?” I ask, crouching down to say hello to the little girls.
Liam looks down fondly at them. “These are my daughters, Lucy and Leah.”
“Hi there.” I wave at them. “I’m Josh.”
The littlest girl puts her hands over her face and turns into the side of the stroller, but she’s grinning shyly. The older one waves at me. “Hi, Josh. I’m Lucy.”
“Hi, Lucy.” I smile. I sit back down and motion to the empty chair at the table next to us. “Join us, Liam,” I say. “I’d love to catch up.”
Liam grabs the chair and turns it, sitting backward on it. “I only have a few minutes. We’re walking to a play date.” He shakes his head with a crooked grin. “Just file that under things I never thought I’d say.”
Melanie laughs, patting his forearm. “Honestly? Me neither.”
“So, Josh, what brings you back to town?” Liam asks. I can’t read his expression, and I wonder how much he knows about the past—Melanie and me.
Before I can answer, Melanie does for me. “Josh is writing a solo album,” she says, eyeing me carefully. She doesn’t realize that technically, all of my albums are solo albums, and if I have my way, it’ll be aduoalbum with her. “He came back for inspiration.”
I sigh and nod. “Yeah, it’s coming up on Cara’s anniversary”
“As if I could forget,” Liam deadpans, but his expression softens, carrying quiet compassion.
“I thought maybe coming home would spark some creativity,” I admit. The truth is, this is a Hail Mary for me. If I can’t write this album, I’m afraid I’ll be dropped—but I don’t dare say that out loud.
