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I play the song from the beginning, leaving the chorus the way we just changed it. I stumble over a lyric in the second verse and stop long enough to correct it before continuing, while Ruby stays quiet on the other side of the wall.

When I finish, the duplex stays silent for a few seconds.

“Better?” I ask.

“Much.”

I smile and let my head rest against the wall again. Tomorrow I’ll take the new version to rehearsal and see what the guys think, but I already know I’m keeping the change.

Not just because it works.

Because Ruby heard something I couldn’t and somehow put it into colors until I could hear it too.

I’ve spent weeks trying to keep whatever is happening between us simple. Sex was one thing. Sitting here wanting her to hear a song before anyone else does feels like something else entirely.

Chapter twelve

RUBY

By the time I cross the Golden Gate Bridge Friday afternoon, I’ve forgotten how much attention driving in San Francisco requires.

Cars squeeze into spaces that barely exist. A delivery van stops with half its body in my lane. Someone on a bike appears beside me without warning, and two blocks later a pedestrian steps off the curb while staring at her phone like the laws of physics are somebody else’s problem.

None of this used to bother me.

I drove these streets almost every day for three years, usually with coffee in one hand and a running list in my head of everything I needed to get done before I went home. Traffic was just part of the background.

Now, after a few months in Redwood Point, I’m gripping the steering wheel tighter than I need to and wondering when everyone got so impatient.

My phone connects to the car as I stop at a light, and a text from Paige flashes across the screen.

Paige: You better not be backing out. I already made the reservation.

I smile.

Me: I’m ten minutes away.

Her answer comes almost immediately.

Paige: Then why are you texting me? DRIVE.

Some things clearly haven’t changed.

Paige still lives in the same Inner Sunset apartment she had when I left. I barely get my hand up to knock before the door swings open, and she wraps both arms around me.

“Damn. I’ve missed you, girl.”

“It’s only been a few months.”

“Since you traded us for redwoods, beaches, and whatever else happens up there.”

“That sounds suspiciously like jealousy.”

“It might be.”

I laugh and step inside.

The evening passes faster than I expect.