Page 59 of Fractured Heart

“Your song. Not that I’m saying it was bad or anything…Just, that it really needs work.”

“Apples?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “Wait ‘til I tell JJ.”

“Please don’t. I wasn’t trying to insult your song. I just—”

“Roonie,” Charles interrupts. “Let’s just agree that Apples is a terrible song, okay?” He takes my hand in his and his eyes grow soft. “You’re doing us a huge favor. We’re lucky you’re even willing to consider letting us use one of your songs. And we would be happy to use either of the ones you sang last night.”

“But those songs aren’t even any good, Charles.” I’ll always remember the song that led to our first kiss, but it’s something I made up in the shower. It’s definitely not audition-worthy, and the first song I sang with Tate is even worse.

“Your songs are amazing, Roonie,” Charles insists, a hint of desperation lacing his voice. Considering the only alternative he has is Apples, it makes perfect sense.

“Charles, you can use one of my songs. I already said you could, and I wouldn’t go back on my word.”

His shoulders sag. “Thank you. And I’m sorry. I should never have mentioned critiquing. I didn’t mean to suggest your songs weren’t good. No, wait…” He holds up his hand when I open my mouth to interrupt. “The critiquing, it’s something our English professor has us do. With literary fiction. It helps us interpret texts and gain an appreciation for different literary genres.”

“Okay…” I grow quiet, not sure how any of that applies to my songs. I’m actually a bit overwhelmed at his explanation. It’s another reminder that Charles got into college, while I did not.

“I just wanted to figure out which song would be the best fit. I thought critical analysis…well…what I meant to say is…” Charles falls back into his chair. “I’ve never written a song before.”

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe.” Charles grabs a sliced sandwich from one of the boxes. It looks simple enough—a baguette with sausage. “Saucisson sec?”

“What?” I ask, bewildered.

Charles holds up the container and raises an eyebrow. My stomach growls in response and Charles chuckles. I sit back down, grab a mini sandwich, and take a bite. Salty meat and spiced mustard greet my taste buds.

My mouth marvels at the different layers and textures. The baguette is crispy on the outside and as fluffy as a cloud on the inside. The meat has just enough bite to it and the mustard hangs out on my tongue after the other flavors dissipate.

“You know Apples?” Charles asks.

I glance around at the different takeout containers before it hits me. “The song?”

Charles cringes. “I helped write it. I tried, I really did, but…I don’t know how you do it, Roonie. I spent weeks researching fairy tales, and zilch. Not even one half-decent verse. I don’t get it. How do you come up with such great songs?”

I wouldn’t say great, but I don’t voice the thought aloud. I don’t want Charles to think I’m fishing for compliments. Instead, I try to answer his question. How do I write songs? I’ve never really thought about it; I’ve always just done it. “I guess I just channel my emotions,” I finally explain, “and the songs just come to me.”

Charles nods and picks up a delicate caviar sandwich. He chews slowly, savoring the flavor, and I debate trying one. I’m not sure how I feel about eating fish eggs, so I open a few of the other containers and peer inside.

When I see one filled with snails, I freeze.

“Ah, the escargot,” Charles says absently.

The word is familiar, and I realize that this is the dish I’d picked out at Chez Caviar. Because it was the cheapest. Six snails with a green, slime-like garnish peeking out from inside.

I slam the box shut but Charles doesn’t seem to notice. He looks distant, his eyes unfocused. Then, they suddenly lock on me.

“What do you mean by channeling your emotions?” His gaze is filled with a mix of fascination and admiration that I don’t think anyone’s ever had for me.

“It’s like…if I’m feeling sad, I’ll write a sad song about a heartbroken princess.” I flush, realizing how pathetic that must sound. “Or, um…if I’m angry, I sing about injustice. Stuff like that.”

“And how are you feeling now?” Charles asks, his gaze intent. He leans closer, crowding my personal space, and I forget to breathe.

Every one of our kisses last night was unexpected and I want to experience that again. I want Charles to grab me and cover my lips with his. My feelings are probably reflected on my flushed face. I tense and Charles does too. His huge body pulses with it, but he doesn’t make a move. He just stares at me, his midnight eyes flashing. “Well, Roonie, how do you feel?”

“Fine,” I squeak.

“Just fine?” Charles leans closer. My heart pounds faster.