Melanie sits back down on the beige couch and lets out a relaxed sigh. I sit next to her. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” My voice is earnest. “I can tell them no.”
Melanie bites her lip, meeting my gaze. “I’m okay with it. Let’s start with ‘Every Song’ and see how it goes,” she says softly. “It’s actually been fun for me. Playing with someone—you—again.” She drops her shoulders. “I’ve been such a loner, I forgot what it feels like to collaborate. I kind of love it.”
I can’t resist now. I lean in and tip her chin toward mine, planting a soft kiss on her mouth. “Good,” I murmur, smiling into her lips. I pull back and look at her seriously. “Melanie, the past three weeks with you have been some of the best times of my life.”
Melanie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, and a delighted smile crawls across her lips. “Mine too,” she admits.
“So, what do you want to do? We’re here. Let’s do something fun.” I reach for her hand.
“I’m starving.” Melanie stands, grabbing her guitar case and zipping her ax safely inside. “Can we start with that?”
“Definitely.” I do the same and sling my case over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, we’ve stashed the guitars in the trunk of my car and we’re walking up Chestnut Street to Franklin Social, a hip eatery in Old City. Melanie picked it, saying she came here on a Hinge date a while back—the only good thing about the date was the food.
A hostess greets us and leads us to a two-top table in the back of the restaurant. A busboy quickly comes and fills our two water glasses, letting us know our server will be with us shortly. I thank him and take a sip of water, clearing my throat. I watch Melanie, reading the menu. Even after all these years, her beauty alarms me. She has always had strawberry blonde hair, but in the sunlight, it looks like spun copper. She has a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. I remember as a teen, she hated those freckles. I loved them, a tiny perfect map I could trace across her skin. Her startling blue eyes have tiny flecks of green in them, like sea glass, and a glint to them when she laughs.
Melanie looks like summer today, dressed in light denim shortalls and a white tank top. Her oversized black sunglasses are perched on her head, working as a headband. She wears a dainty gold cross at her collarbone that matches the tiny hoop earrings that move when she does. And that tattoo—so different from anything I ever imagined her getting—a garden of hibiscus flowers from her shoulder to elbow. I’m taken with her.
“So, what do you think you’re going to get?” A blush rises to her freckled cheeks when she catches me staring.
I blink my eyes, shaking my head. “I haven’t even looked yet.”
Melanie huffs a laugh. “What have you been looking at all this time then?” Her brow knits together.
“You,” I breathe, not bothering to hide my feelings.
Melanie swats my hand, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Josh,” she whines, “read your menu. I’m starving!”
Another ten minutes and we’ve settled on two appetizers and two entrees that we’re going to share. Melanie forgoes an alcoholic drink, and I try to tell myself it’s not because of me but I’m sure it is, and I love her that much more for it.
“I’d rather eat my calories,” she tells me, reaching for a tostada as soon as the server sets it down.
“Well, I appreciate you,” I murmur, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.
The truth of the matter is, I’ve been feeling lost for some time now. I don’t know what I was doing in Nashville, but somewhere along the way, I stopped waking up with purpose and started going through the motions. With my band, with Keira, with my health. I stopped thinking about what really mattered, and it got me into trouble. We’re quietly eating, both of us seeming to be lost in thought. I realize it’s now or never.
“Mel,” I start, cautiously reaching for her hand. “About yesterday.”
Melanie pauses mid chew and meets my gaze. She swallows and reaches for her water with her opposite hand, so she doesn’t break our contact. She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t take her eyes off mine.
“I’m sorry. To have unloaded all of that on you.” I stifle a cough. “The thing is…for the past few years, I’ve only focused on one goal—make the music, get the record deal, do the tour, chase success. My world revolved around those things, and I shut out the people in my life who matter most to me. I hardly ever talk to my parents anymore, except when I go home for Christmas. I have no friends in Nashville anymore. I shut everyone out who could have pulled me out of the downward spiral I was on. Mistakes were made. People were hurt. My accident forced me to really look at who I am and what the hell I’m doing with my life. So even though I didn’t need AA in the typical way, the twelve steps are helping me fix what was broken.”
I lick my lips and pull my hand back. I pluck a French fry from my plate and chew thoughtfully before continuing. “The thing is, while I was figuring it out, I was letting down everyone. I let my band down when I refused a tour. I let Keira down when I refused to take things to the next level. I quit drinking and quickly realized how many of my friendships revolved around making music and getting trashed afterward.” I let out a breath.
“Josh…” My name falls from Melanie’s lips in a whisper.
I shake my head, reaching for her hand again. “No, please let me finish.”
Melanie nods, flicking her gaze from our joined hands to my eyes.
“I came back here with zero expectations. I just knew I needed to go back to my roots—to go home. I didn’t know you’d still be here, let alone be single. I didn’t have any idea we’d pick up where we left off…but I’m so glad we have. It feels right.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “If you agree to do this with me…to makeourmusic again, then everything else will have all been worth it. Because it led me back to you.”
Melanie runs an index finger under her lash line, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know what to say,” she says softly. “I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t even know how to find you. I’m sure you have someone running your social media, so I never even tried to reach out.”
“I do my own actually—I follow you on Instagram,” I admit with a sheepish shrug, a slow smile crawling across my lips.
Melanie’s eyes water then, and she swallows. “You do? I never post anything.” A laugh bubbles out of her.
