I shift in my seat, fixing my gaze on hers. “Mel, I don’t think I’ve really been living all this time. I’ve felt more alive these past three weeks with you than I have playing sold out shows. I just needed you to know that.” I swallow the knot in my throat.
“Thank you for telling me.” Melanie sniffles. “Want to get out of here? There’s a music store I want to show you.”
We split the check—Melanie insists—and a few minutes later, we’re strolling hand in hand up Chestnut Street toward Rustic Music, a music store featuring vintage instruments and a vast collection of vinyl.
The store is quiet with only one employee and a few browsing customers, but I follow Melanie around as she excitedly points out vintage guitars to me. “This is where I got my new one.” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles.
“Let’s play.” I gesture to a bench with several guitars on stands around it and an amp. We plug two electric guitars into the amp and put on the headphones. Immediately, Melanie starts playing our song, and we laugh at the way an electric guitar changes the sound. We play a verse and then carefully put the guitars back. Melanie grasps my hand and leads me to the back of the store where they keep the vinyl, and several old record players shoppers can test out. We laugh as we flip through, pulling out The Beatles, Pink Floyd, and Nirvana. The rich sound of the vinyl is warm and alive. I forgot how much I enjoy the textured layers of the imperfect recording. When Melanie replaces Nirvana’s “About a Girl” with Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” I hold out my hand—an invitation.
Melanie hesitates, just for a breath, before she laces her fingers with mine. Her cheek brushes my shoulder, and I think I feel her lean in. Suddenly, I remember the feel of her body like it was yesterday, and I can’t help but spin her around the store. An audience of other shoppers pauses to watch us sway, but we pay them no mind. There is no one else in the world but the two of us.
By the time the last note fades, Melanie’s eyes are glassy. Her breath is caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Our gazes lock and she steps back, blinking a little too fast.
“Wow,” Melanie says, smoothing down her hair, then letting her fingers flutter at her collarbone. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Me neither,” I rasp.
I wasn’t expecting any of this.
21
MELANIE
Before we head home, I take Josh for ice cream at the Franklin Fountain—an old-time ice cream parlor that only fits ten people comfortably, but there are tiny café tables inside and out and the homemade ice cream is to die for.
Josh and I each order a cone and join hands as we start the slow walk back to his car, licking the sticky ice cream as it drips own our hands. It’s been ages since I’ve felt this content. Josh has been the missing puzzle piece in my life for decades now. I have always wondered what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I find the right one? Why did no one choose me? It’s taken me forty-one years to be okay with not being someone’s everything, but maybe I am meant to be Josh’s.
We’re quiet as we walk, and I let my mind wander. I let myself hope that there is more for us than just a summer thing. That this could be our second chance. I don’t know what that would look like yet, but for the first time in my life, I’m not scared. I’m not afraid to make a change. I think that’s saying something.
“How’s the mint chocolate chip?” Josh asks, a mischievous smile on his lips.
“So good.” I let my eyes roll back in my head. “How’s your fudge brownie?”
Josh holds his cone out for me to have a lick and I lean in, taking a long, slow lick and eyeing him as he watches me. Then, before I can stop him, he smears the chocolate cone all over my lips and the outskirts of my mouth.
“Josh!” I squeal, laughing like my younger self.
Josh doesn’t laugh. His eyes turn smoldering, and his hands wrap around my neck, tugging me to him. “You’ve got something on your mouth,” he murmurs, his lips inches from mine. “I better get it.”And then his mouth is on mine, kissing me deeply, like the other day outside my bedroom. Our tongues swirl together, and the mixed taste of mint and brownies on his cool tongue has me exploring every inch of his mouth. We are in the center of the sidewalk, pedestrians needing to step around us. I might hear a few wolf whistles, but I’m too caught up, too engrossed in our kiss to notice. Josh backs us off to the shoulder without breaking our kiss, threading his fingers through my hair with one hand and holding his ice cream with the other. His mouth claims mine with hunger that has been earned, like he’s been aching for it.
Our teeth clash together as we part, Josh sucking gently on my lower lip before kissing the rest of the chocolate off the corners of my mouth. He leans his forehead into mine.
“People are staring,” I whisper, biting back a giggle.
“I don’t care.” Josh straightens and brushes a hair off my face. “I was thinking—and you can say no if you want to—but it’s getting late. Why don’t we see if the Renaissance has any rooms left for the night?”
An involuntary grin spreads across my face and butterflies flood my insides. The thought of being alone with Josh in a swanky hotel room and not my tiny apartment sends a shiver through me. “I’d like that,” I murmur.
Josh picks up my hand and licks away the melted ice cream that now coats it, a sultry look in his eyes. “Good.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking back into the hotel. The lobby is much quieter, and I am buzzing. I lean against the counter as Josh talks to the front desk, his flirtatious smile working to his advantage.
“Hey, aren’t you that musician who sang out here earlier today?” the clerk asks. She’s about our age with honey-colored curls and clear green eyes. I wait for Josh to check her out, but he doesn’t. He reaches for my hand instead, giving it a familiar squeeze.
“We both did, yeah.” Josh flicks his gaze to me, a smile grazing his lips.
“That’s so cool,” the clerk murmurs, clicking around on her screen. “It looks like the only thing I have left for tonight is a Parkview suite on the top floor.”
“Saturday night in the summer, I guess.” Josh says with a chuckle, lifting his hands, then turns back to the clerk. “We’ll take it.” He slaps his credit card on the counter, looking at me with mischievous eyes.
