I shake my head. “No, he’s right. My songs aren’taboutanything. They’re just empty words. I need to write music that comes from something real.”
Liam stares at me, and I watch the dots connect in his brain. “This is where the heart breaking comes into play?”
I nod, wondering how to phrase this in a way that freaks him out the least.
“I’ve got this friend from school, Harry. I trust his opinion. And he says the best song I’ve written is the one I wrote about… aboutyou. Four years ago.”
Again, that possessive triumph flits across Liam’s expression. “Thesong you wrote about me? I know of at least three, from back then. They’re all on my CD.”
“This one isn’t from back then,” I say. The songs I wrote back then aren’t in the same realm of sophistication as my newer stuff and will never see the light of day. “I wrote it in school. It’s angry and emotional and… meaningful,” I finish. “Problem is, I haven’t written anything quite that meaningful since, and I think when I finished that song, I sort of locked the ability away. Buried it, snuffed it out. But if I want this music rep to take my lyrics seriously, I need to write more songs likethatone. Which means I need to feel the way I felt while I was writing it.”
Liam’s smirk swallows his face. “I’m your muse?”
“Appears that way.”
“So this entire reunion,” he says, gesturing back and forth between us, “is so you can tap back into our connection for your art.”
“You do owe me,” I say quickly, willing the proclamation to remain true even as doubts creep in.
Liam’s amusement melts into a glare. “I don’t see it that way.”
“And that,” I bite out, “is the entire summary of our problems.”
“If anything,” he goes on, eyes flinty, “I think you oweme. How’s that college diploma treating you?”
“Well, I’m still a broke waitress, so things haven’t changed much since we were friends.”
Liam scoffs. “You and I were neverfriends, Paige.”
I know what he means, but the comment stings, nonetheless.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, while his fingers wring around his napkin. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course we were friends.”
I roll out my shoulders, try to reset my expression to neutral. “We tried to be friends, anyway.”
“Wewere,” Liam insists. “We were friends first.” I catch his eyes across the table, heavy with memory. “But we were also falling in love. Even from the beginning.”
“You’re right,” I admit, exhaling. “Which brings me back to what I’m asking you for. Begging.”
He leans forward, shifting his weight onto his elbows while he fights to stay serious. “If you’re begging, I’m listening carefully.”
Act now, think later.
I search for the right words. The whole point of everything is finding them.
“Make me fall in love with you, Liam. You can end things afterward if you need to. I know your lifestyle isn’t conducive to a relationship, and I’m not demanding one. I just… need to remember how it felt to write that song. With all my feelings at the tips of my fingers.”
Stunned disbelief stretches out from him. “This is insane.”
“I know.”
“You need to become the most emotional version of yourself?”
I smile. “Basically.”
He pauses. “You’re seriously convinced I’m the only one who can help you with this?”
“I’m convinced you’re the one who can help me thebest.”
