When you'd forgotten how to hide
Raven's fingers stilled on the strings.
Those weren't lyrics about Bankton. Those weren't lyrics about finding peace or making choices or any of the pretentious bollocks she'd been trying to force for months.
Those were lyrics about Annabelle.
"Oh, for God’s sake," she muttered.
But she kept playing anyway, because the words were still coming, rough and imperfect butreal, and she hadn't written anything real in so long that she couldn't bring herself to stop.
Home in unexpected places
Written in the smallest gestures
Trust reflected in their faces
Worth more than any measure
She played the full thing through, adjusting the melody as she went, feeling something loosen in her chest that had been clenched tight for months.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn’t even a song. There was no bridge, no catchy chorus. But it wassomething.
For the first time since Vegas, since Alissa, since everything had fallen apart, she'd written something real. Something that was more than a few lines. Something that she liked.
She'd written something about hope.
Raven set her guitar aside carefully and stared at her hands.
She was exhilarated. She was terrified. She was also, she realized with dawning horror, completely and utterly fucked.
Because this wasn't just a kiss anymore. This was asong. And songs meant feelings. And feelings meant…
A knock at the door made her jump.
"Please be Daisy," she muttered, crossing to the door. "Please just be Daisy with a parcel or Gloria with another terrible idea about the fundraiser or literally anyone except—"
She opened the door.
Arty stood on her doorstep, toolbox in one hand and a grin on his face.
"Morning," he said cheerfully. "Thought I'd come by and discuss the lighting setup for the fundraiser. You look like you haven't slept."
"I slept fine," Raven lied.
"On the couch, judging by your hair."
Raven ran a hand through her tangled mess of hair and scowled. "What do you want, Arty?"
"I told you. Lighting setup." He held up his toolbox as evidence. "We need to talk about whether you want spots or floods, color gels, that sort of thing. Mind if I come in?"
Raven stepped aside because refusing would only make him more curious, and Arty was already far too perceptive for his own good.
He walked past her into the sitting room, set his toolbox down, then turned to look at her properly.
His smile widened.
"Oh," he said. "Oh, something definitely happened."
