He shrugs, smiling a little. “No idea. But that doesn’t scare me anymore. I know I’ll figure it out.”
I run my fingers up his back. “Yeah, you will.”
Vince studies me for a minute. “I, um, need to decide about my apartment too. My lease is up soon.”
I roll to my side. “Well, you know my answer to that. Move in with me.”
He chuckles. “I was thinking I could move in here instead of the guesthouse, though.”
I chuckle and lean in for a kiss. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah? You’re okay with that, even with Georgie?”
I curl up against him. “I’m more than okay with it.”
He kisses me sweetly before rolling onto his back. I curl up beside him, leg over his and head resting above his heart.
“I love you, Vince.”
He hugs me tight. “Love you too.”
Outside, the night settles in.
Inside, we stay exactly where we are—together, choosing now.
The fear isn’t gone, but it no longer owns the room. Whatever comes, I trust us to face it together.
25
VINCE
What a beauty.
That’s what I tell myself as I stare at a bright red acoustic guitar in a storefront window of a music shop just down the street from work.
I didn’t mean to go by here. I’m just cutting through the block, passing by on a walk during my lunch break, but the guitar made me stop. Its polished wood is stunning and perfect, the strings brand new, and the silver tuning pegs glint in the sun as if beckoning me to touch them.
My fingers itch to play it.
The rest of the bay window is full of instruments too—all polished wood and warm brass. Each one begging for someone to come claim it. I can almost hear the hum of the place from out here, feel it vibrating low in my chest like a memory.
I should bring Georgie. She’d love to explore the guitars and try different picks. She’s been plucking at chords with me for three weeks now—little bits here and there. Quick lessons squeezed in between dinner and homework. She has good hands and fast fingers. Avalon does, too. They deserve more than my half-assed, on-the-fly lessons. But I haven’t found a lesson plan I could adapt to their skill level.
This store should have what I need, right?
I rub my thigh absently, the ache a dull companion I’ve learned to live around, not through. The weather’s decent today—not too cold, and no breeze. It’s why I went for a walk on my lunch break, wanting to smell the surf and catch some sun. Hoping to find my courage to talk to Declan.
It’s the kind of day everyone thinks of when they imagine California, and I’m loving it. It’s starting to feel like home, not just somewhere I landed.
The guitar glints again, pleading. It’s like the day led me here. To this moment.
I push the door open.
The bell chimes overhead, soft and bright. It feels like stepping into another world. The place is warm and crowded with bodies—a couple of teenagers arguing quietly over picks near the counter, a man testing out a saxophone with clumsy reverence, and someone playing scales on a piano in the back.
The smell is instantly soothing. Old wood and metal and something faintly sweet.
I like it already.
