I trust Addison. I don’t believe she’d ever cheat on me. But the thing is... I’m not sure if we’re actually liketogethertogether. It feels like we are, but we haven’t said anything to make it official. So I don’t know if it would even be cheating if she did hook up with her ex.
Her immediate denial was all it took to reassure me that nothing happened. But that split-second moment of doubt made me realize I need to know where we stand. I need her to know whereIstand.
I don’t want to leave space for her to consider being with anyone else.
So I ushered her into my room, and now we’re standing in the middle of it, facing each other, the meager two feet of space between us filled with unspoken words that need to be spoken if we’re going to make this work.
“I couldn’t let Christy make a scene downstairs,” Addison starts. “She was demanding to talk to me, so I figured the easiest thing was to let her say what she wanted to say, and then hopefully she’d leave. That’s the only reason I was in her room.”
“I get it,” I say with a half-shrug. “I’m not upset.”
She lets out a sigh of relief, and then she steps closer to me, her fingers tentatively reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank god. Because I’d never want to do anything to hurt you.”
I catch her hand before she can drop it back down to her side. “I still think we should talk, though.”
“I do too.”
Well, damn. Now I’m nervous. But what I want to say to her isn’t bad, so hopefully what she wants to say isn’t either.
“Wanna sit?” I ask, tilting my head toward the bed.
She hesitates, shifting her weight. “Uh, actually, I’d rather we go back to my place. If that’s okay? I can’t be here with you knowing Christy’s right across from us. I don’t want her anywhere near us.”
“That’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” She looks worried, though she has no reason to be. “Please don’t take this to mean I’m not over her or anything like that.”
Slotting my fingers between hers, I give her hand a squeeze. “I understand. Really.”
“Thank you,” she says. Then she raises our joined hands to her mouth and kisses the back of mine. “You’re so...”
She doesn’t finish her thought, but the affection in her voice feels like a hug. We hold each other’s gazes for another moment before I slip my hand from hers so I can gather some of my stuff in a bag and grab my guitar. Once I’m ready to go, we leave the room and walk out of the inn side by side, waving to Brenden as we pass him at the front desk.
I’m not quite ready to hold her hand in public where strangers might take photos to post online. But it’s only because that kind of invasion ofmy privacy feels gross. I’d rather let the world know who I am in my own way, through my music. That’s what I’m best at. And then after I’ve done that, I won’t have to worry about hiding anything anymore.
Then I can be free to love who I love out in the open.
I’m not naïve enough to think people still won’t take photos. But maybe at some point, my dating life will become less of a hot topic for celebrity gossip. Maybe, hopefully, the world will see that I’m happy, and they’ll be content to leave it at that.
I don’t know how Addison feels about the public knowing she’s with me, though. I don’t know if sheiswith me. If she wants to be in this with me for real.
On the ride to her house, we’re both silent, like we’re holding in everything we want to say until we get there. It might be unnerving, if not for the way she immediately reached over and took my hand as we pulled out of the inn’s driveway. She steers the car one-handed the entire way, never once dropping mine.
And that feels like a good sign.
When we get inside and I’ve set my stuff down, however, my nerves start to come back. Even though I’m more than ready to tell her about the feelings that have been building like a tempo inside of me for weeks. Possibly all summer.
I want to be with you and only you.
I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine.
I’m falling for you.
The words are all there on the tip of my tongue. But what if I open my mouth and everything comes out wrong?
This is why I use music to express myself. When I have something important to say, I like to write it into a song where I can rearrange the words until I’ve gotten them exactly right. Where I can let my guitar chords back up my emotions.
Glancing at my guitar case propped against the couch, I realize that Ialreadyhavewritten my feelings for her into a song. More than one. And I can use that.
