“But notforher,” I insist. “You know Paige would like that more than a random item bought from her registry.”
Mom waves a hand, as if my words were buzzing around her face. “They’re starting a life together. They need more than a song.”
Sometimes, I want to grab my mother by the shoulders and shake her until she realizes how much her art can mean to a person. Sure, when Mom takes the stage, she knows how her talent can hold a room. At times, she’s proudly proclaimed her diva status. But around the people close to her, Rosa Keller sinks into a humble state. As if she thinks her voice is a showy illusion and the people who love her see right through it.
She’s wrong.
“Then give her a check along with the song. But I’m telling you, if you get on that stage and sing, Paige will feel every ounce of love you want her to.”
My mother doesn’t respond right away. She turns away, pretending to browse the bath towels. I follow behind, acting like the well-behaved son for the moment. After picking up a peach towel that Paige would be just as likely to use for her pit bull, Pumpkin, as she would for herself, my mother tosses the fabric to the side and strides toward the door.
“Fine. A song it is. But you’re picking it out and playing the guitar with me. And your father is going to dance with her. There we are—family gift. Plus, a check. A really big check.”
I hide my grin behind a hand, trying to smooth the cocky expression away before she sees.
“Paige will love that.”
My mother huffs, as if frustrated with me, but the sound only makes me want to hug her again.
One more week.The internal countdown clock to my departure sucks away all the happiness of the moment.
What if I want to stay?
CHAPTER 9
LUNA
The bar smells like stale beer and fried food. Not my first choice, or even my tenth, but I thought Leo might back out if I chose to meet in a halfway decent spot.
He’s petty like that sometimes.
The bartender frowns at me. Great customer service right there.
“I’ll have a ginger ale,” I tell him, which only sets his frown in concrete.
Then the door opens, flooding late afternoon light into the bar and stealing attention away from me. My twin brother strides in, all confidence in a room like this. A room he’s used to.
How I wish we were used to different rooms.
He spots me at the bar and strolls over.
“Shot of tequila.” Leo raps his knuckles on the bar once when he orders, but the bartender doesn’t seem to mind.
Still, he scowls when he slides my soda to me, as if the lack of alcohol offends him.
“You’re drinking a shot?” I ignore the surly man, focusing on the person I care about. “You celebrating something?”
Leo drapes himself over the stool next to me, doing his best to wear a condescending smile. “I’m a busy man. I’ve gotten used to drinking my poison quickly. No time for sipping.”
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I purse my lips into the smallest pinch I can manage, then take the most minuscule sip of my drink.
The cockiness in his expression bleeds into true—suppressed—amusement.
“Ahh.” I smack my lips. “Refreshing.”
“Drama queen,” he mutters with a smile.
“Butthead,” I say back with a smirk of my own, hiding the pang in my heart.
