Page 28 of Fractured Heart

I’m glad for the cleaners, and the distraction, but they work fast. Before I know it, they’re done and rushing out the door. They leave the apartment in pristine shape and promise to return the rug once it’s been properly cleaned. Then, the apartment will look like I was never here. I should be glad that there was no permanent damage, but I feel empty inside.

I need a distraction, so I focus on filling my mouth with food. Eventually, my hunger—and the utter deliciousness of each dish—wins out. I focus on flavor after flavor and the hurt and embarrassment is slowly replaced by hunger.

I even manage to get through the entire meal without humming—or worse—singing. Although a song about a beast and a feast and a charming prince would be kind of great.

“Fun and whimsical,” Tate says. For a second, I think he’s reading my mind, before he adds, “it’s a great tune.”

“Sorry.” I grimace and quickly stuff a mushroom in my mouth before I accidentally start humming again.

“Don’t be. It was good. Right, Charles?”

“It was.” Charles stares at me intently. “Is it an original?”

“Kind of.” I flush and fix my gaze on the puff pastries. Then I sneak a peek at Charles, who shares an indecipherable look with Tate.

“Roonie…” Tate places his hand on top of mine.

“Yes?” My heart skips a beat.

I glance down at Tate’s hand, which is covering mine, and then look into his eyes. Only my gaze never gets past his lips, and I stare, wondering if he’s going to kiss me again.

And more importantly, if I want him to. My pulse races and I tense, waiting.

“Would you come to rehearsal tomorrow?”

“What?” I look away from his lips in confusion.

“Charles and I are in an a cappella group. We’d love it if you could come to our rehearsal.”

My eyes widen. Tate’s in an a cappella group? With Charles?

I feel like Cinderella being told she could go to the ball, except it’s not a ball, it’s a rehearsal. An a cappella rehearsal. That’s a hundred times better than any ball—no, a thousand.

I’ve watched so many rehearsals online—and performances and choreographies and practically everything having to do with a cappella groups and musicals—but getting to go to one in person?

Mom was never well enough to take me, and after she was gone…well, it just never happened. So, this? Me, getting invited to a real, live rehearsal? It’s a dream come true.

Then, it hits me. I’m not just going to a rehearsal. I’m going to hear Tate and Charles sing. My heart nearly stops. I don’t want to wait for tomorrow—I want to beg them to do a duet right here, right now—but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to do anything that might make them change their minds.

“It would mean a lot to us,” Charles says, though it can’t possibly mean as much to them as it does to me.

“Please, Roonie?” Tate looks at me with puppy dog eyes and I can’t resist. Not that I’d want to.

“Of course I’ll go.” I smile and Tate breaks into a happy grin. I turn to Charles, and he smiles too. Not as broadly as Tate, but his lips curve up beneath his beard and his eyes crinkle.

I can’t believe they both want me to go to their rehearsal. I’m not a student here, so I doubt they want my opinion or advice. Does that mean they invited me because they’re still interested in me? And how can they both be interested?

“It’s tomorrow at noon.” Tate gets to his feet. He starts to close food takeout boxes, and when Charles gets up to help him, I do, too.

“Roonie, you sit.” Tate looks at me with concern. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I should help.”

“No, you need to rest,” Charles orders, picking me up gently and setting me back onto the barstool. He’s really making a habit of that. “Have the painkillers kicked in?”

“How…” I glance up at him in surprise.

“Tate told me.” Charles shrugs as he starts closing all the takeout containers from Chez Caviar.