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A little embarrassed, I obey, handing the phone over. He puts it to his ear and starts messing with the guitar, plucking out the chords. I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised by how fast he picks it up.

“Did you ever play with Coen? When he was touring his own music?” I ask.

He shakes his head, passing my phone back.

“Nah, I don’t do that,” he says, eyes soft. “It’s not for me.”

I smile, understanding what he’s saying. Deep down, I think I was meant to do this, to put these hard-to-speak words, these messy feelings, these perfectly, horribly human emotions to music. To help make sense of the world as I move through it. And he was made to pave the way for musicians. It’s what he’s good at, what he loves.

“Can you sing that song for me?” he asks.

If it were anyone but him, I would say no. But because I love him and he’s the safest person I’ll ever sing in front of, I say yes.

“Good girl,” he says, almost inaudible because Jenna stands on the other side of the room.

He starts playing. I know the song by heart; I wrote it, after all. When I come in with the vocals, they’re raspy, but I lock in by the first chorus. He follows me effortlessly, even when I lag a little as Jenna comes to sit closer. Normally, I would feel embarrassed, performing in front of people, but this time, I’m not. I made the right choice with both Jamie and Jenna. I can feel it in my bones.

The song ends. I clear my throat and meet Jamie’s warm gaze.

“You sound pretty damn good,” he says.

“Very good,” Jenna says briskly. “We need to keep that sound when we record that.”

She keeps talking, rising to clip around in her Oxford heels. I’m trying to listen, but all I can think about is how he held me last night and how he held me today. First in his arms, then in his safety.

Tomorrow might be a difficult day. Hell, it might get worse when we finally tell my parents.

But I trust him. I trust myself, too.

If I’m going to do this, I’m all in if he’ll just keep holding me tight.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

JAMIE

We go back to Wyoming the day after next. Serena sits in the airport, frowning intermittently. I can tell our phone call back home took away a little of the excitement. It would only make it worse to tell her that Coen expressed some hesitation in me dating his future sister-in-law. Honestly, I should have seen this one coming. For some reason, I thought Coen would be as supportive of me as I was of him. I get that this is a different circumstance. I do. But I’m a little bit pissed.

I’d rather Serena not know that, though, so I force myself to hide it.

We hit the ground in Dallas and decide to stay the night in a hotel. The flight was delayed, the wait was long, and we’re both cranky by the end of it. I keep that hidden, too, because I want her to feel like she can express herself to me. She’s had a good week, but a hard one. A lot has changed. I’d be surprised if her mood was stable.

“You get in bed,” I say, shutting the door to our hotel room. “I’ll figure out food.”

She walks past me, and I glance down.

“Hey, sweetheart, you got something,” I say, catching her waist.

She twists, looking back.

“Damn it,” she says, voice breaking.

She has a little stain on her sweats, the ones I got her in Maine. “I’ll run out and get dinner and pads. It’s no big deal,” I say gently.

She sinks onto the chair and covers her face. Alright, so she’s doing a little worse than I thought. I drop our bags and sink down, taking her hands. She pulls them back, letting out a frustrated sigh. Her lashes glisten.

“Sorry, it’s not that,” she says. “I mean, I didn’t really want to start my period, but it’s not that.”

“I know,” I say. “You are on the pill…right?”