“It’s so good to see you again,” Hannah greets me with a hug. “Glad you could make it. I hear you’ve been held prisoner.”
I roll my eyes before I can stop myself, and laugh. “That’s pretty accurate. Although technically, I self-committed to the sentence.”
“And this is Natalie,” Mia continues, gesturing to the redhead.
Natalie pulls me into a hug and whispers, “Welcome to the madhouse.”
“And this is Ada and her son, Owen,” Mia makes the last of the introductions.
“Say hello,” Ada prompts her son.
“Uh, hi,” the kid says, brushing a mop of blond hair from his face before turning back to his mom with a huff. “Can I, Mom?”
“Yeah, go on,” Ada agrees, and Owen darts out of the room in a blur. “Sorry about that. I swear, I’m raising a gentleman.” She holds up a bottle of white wine. “Drink?”
“Yes, please.”
Owen tears past us again, this time bundled up in full winter gear, a cute mutt hot on his heels.
“That’s Freddie,” Hannah says. “He and Owen are best friends.”
Ada smirks. “Mine’s had way too much sugar. What’s your excuse, Han?”
“He’s fueled by love and attention.” Hannah laughs. “We’ve got that in common.”
“Owen’s got good energy,” I tell Ada as they dart out the back door, cold air rushing in their wake. “Reminds me of my little brother at that age.”
“Your brother?” Mia raises a brow. “I find it hard to believe you weren’t chaos in cowboy boots as a kid.”
“Oh, I like that.” I grin, pulling out my notepad. “Could be a song.”
Ada hands me a glass of wine, and I take a sip.
“So, tell us about the album.” Hannah settles onto one of the barstools. “Miles mentioned you’ve been working nonstop.”
“He did?” I take another sip to hide the heat creeping up my cheeks.
“I think he missed you at Christmas.” Natalie hops onto the counter. “It was kinda cute seeing him all sad.”
My chest tightens remembering that night. Miles left for me. Ditched his friends on a holiday because I was alone. Didn’t even hesitate. Just… came home.
I probably shouldn’t read into it. He’s a good guy. That’s what good guys do, right? Show up.
Except, I can’t remember many who have for me. I’d convinced myself I was fine with it—that I had it handled, that I didn’t need to rely on someone, that I never wanted to.
I take a sip of wine so I don’t have to examine that feeling too closely.
“Recording is… It’s going. Today was good.”
Hannah beams. “That’s great!”
“I can’t imagine creating something from scratch like that,” Ada says. “I can barely help Owen with his fourth-grade art projects.”
“Back to Miles,” Natalie cuts in, “he practically sprinted out of dinner on Christmas. Helped with dishes and everything—what was up with that?”
“You’re so nosy,” Mia chides.
Everyone looks at me, waiting for an answer.
