“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he said, planting an open-mouthed kiss on her inner thigh.
“You make me want to turn my whole goddamn life upside down.” That was when he paused to look up from between her legs, his mouth unoccupied for a brief moment, to see her breath coming hard and fast, her gaze meeting his, hungry and wild-eyed.
And then, as she shuddered and moaned and came apart beneath his tongue: “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Even though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, he still felt the need to hedge it withI thinkandI’m falling,when really, he’d never been more certain he was already far, far over the ledge.
She slumped in the chair, limp, laughing breathlessly, and he slid beside her, resettling her partly on top of him as she adjusted her clothing.
“What were you saying?” she asked quietly, once they were cuddled up side by side again.
“Spanakopita recipe.”
She looked up at him, her face lighting up, still flushed. “Ooh, can we make spanakopita?”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Anything you want, kávoura.”
28
A week later, they piled intoNiko’s truck and set out bright and early on their road trip. The drive to LA was fifteen hours, split into two days, with a stopover in Utah, and Merritt was beyond grateful that she wasn’t spending it in the back seat of a chauffeured car. Instead, the two of them passed the time playing road games, gawking at the stunning scenery along I-70, and talking so much they had to make extra pit stops for giant fountain drinks to soothe their dry throats.
Merritt half-heartedly offered to split the driving, but Niko waved her off, giving her full control of the music instead. It was an assignment she took seriously, wanting to defer to his tastes rather than dominate with hers, and soon they were trading old favorite songs and albums and the memories that came with them, the parties and crushes and kisses and adolescent embarrassments.
She’d originally been booked in a hotel that night, and he’dwanted to camp in one of the parks, so they compromised by renting a cabin deep in the woods of Fishlake National Forest. They pulled up just as the sun was setting, and Merritt stood on the shore, taking deep, crisp breaths, the dappled oranges and purples of the sky mirrored in the glassy surface of the lake.
“This is incredible,” she said, as Niko came up beside her.
“It’s no Crested Peak,” he huffed, and she could tell he was only half joking.
Their drive the next day was more of the same, and Merritt almost found herself disappointed when they finally arrived at the house the label had rented for her in Beachwood Canyon.
It wasn’t extravagant—her place in Crested Peak was twice the size, though probably half the price—but it was a mid-century modern dream, with a beautifully maintained garden of succulents in the front, and a trellis blooming with bougainvillea winding around to the pool in the back.
There was a view here, too, of the city that had been her home for almost fifteen years. Looking out at the expansive sprawl, Merritt realized with a jolt that she felt like nothing more than a visitor, any lingering familiarity firmly tied to nostalgia. It was half-comforting, half-unsettling—especially considering the reason she was here in the first place.
She was due at the studio the next morning, so they went out to an early dinner at one of her favorite sushi spots, took a long shower, then fell into bed. Niko passed out immediately, but Merritt slept fitfully, tossing and turning for most of the night.
When she checked her phone and saw 3:38a.m.staring back at her, she considered texting Audrey to cancel. Sadie Rose didn’t know she was coming, so she’d never be the wiser. And maybe she would’ve done it, if she hadn’t spent the past month listening to Sadie’s EP, plus the demos for the songs they’d be working on together.
Merritt had never been one to overestimate her own talent—she knew her success had mostly been a matter of being in the right place at the right time with the right look and the right marketing angle. The music industry had an insatiable appetite for moody, waifish young girls with so-called wisdom beyond their years.
Sadie Rose, though, was good. Really good. Catchy hooks and crisp lyrics and a voice that was half silk, half sandpaper—plus the wide eyes and rosebud mouth of a silent film star. A combination that would have any executive with a brain looking at her with dollar signs in their eyes. As someone who had been on the receiving end of plenty of those looks, Merritt felt a stirring of fear for her, her fight-or-flight activated.
She wasn’t going to cancel.
The next day, she blearily opened her eyes before her alarm, early enough that she couldn’t blame it on the one-hour time difference between California and Colorado. She spent way too long picking out what she was going to wear, especially considering she hadn’t brought many options. Long days in the studio meant comfort above all else, but since it was her first time in one in more than a decade, she didn’t want to look like a total out-of-touch slob.
Niko had run out to get them coffee and breakfast burritos, though she was too nervous to swallow more than a few bites. She felt his eyes on her as she brushed out her hair, put on her makeup, and pulled on ripped black jeans and a white T-shirt.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? There’s always a bunch of people hanging around. I can’t promise it won’t bore the shit out of you, though.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll let you do your thing. You’re at work. You don’t need me there distracting you.”
She glanced back at him with a teasing smile. “I’m there whenyou’reat work all the time, though.”
He grinned, too, coming up behind her and resting his hands on her hips. “And that’s why it took me twice as long to finish as it should’ve.”
She turned around and looped her arms around his neck.
