“I miss you, too.”
Maybe this was my chance to get her to agree to see me. Maybe…
I opened my mouth.
“Don’t ask,” she said, cutting me off before I could get the words out.
“Nova, I—”
“Sing for me,” she demanded.
The words I wanted to say fell on an exhale rather than floating through the lines to convince her.
“Please.”
How could I say no?
I couldn’t.
I sat up and propped my phone against the lamp on the nightstand, grabbing the acoustic I always had with me.
“Any requests, my lady?”
She pretended to think on it, tapping her pursed lips before shrugging. “Surprise me.”
Part of me wanted to pick a song I knew held meaning for us, but instead, I opted for a tune that had been whispering in the back of my mind since I saw her again. Unfortunately, no lyrics came with it. Maybe part of me hoped she would hear it and, just like before, she’d come up with the words I needed.
I strummed the chords, occasionally closing my eyes, searching for the words that lingered just beyond the fog. But as soon as I looked for them, they faded. So, I opened my eyes again and watched her watch me with her cup of tea clutched between her palms. She sat back against her couch, a small kitchen behind her. The green eyes I missed in the photo shining bright with a smile.
When one song ended, she demanded another until I played her her own private mini-concert. I played a rendition of Baby Got Back, which she danced to while still sitting on her couch, laughing at me dancing with her.
The night was perfect.
Just like we’d once been.
But just like before—we never got quite far enough to keep it perfect.
I should have known better.
Eight
Nova
“Nervous?” Vera asked.
“Yeah,” I answered honestly. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover the jittery edge I barely balanced on. I took another sip of champagne, looking over the crowd of people mingling throughout the room.
Rae got us into an elaborate party in the heart of Times Square—a perfect place to enjoy the night minus all the crazy crowds.
Everyone sparkled in their New Year’s Eve regalia, laughing and drinking, ready to start a new year with a clean slate. Platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres made circles around the room as everyone talked about resolutions and future plans.
And I was one of them.
I didn’t usually get into the whole fresh start belief. January first was just another day, exactly like the one before. Except, this time, it wasn’t. This time, January first would mark the first time I’d see Parker Callahan. Maybe even start the beginning of something more.
No parents trying to force us into the stepbrother-stepsister roles. No one telling us we’re wrong. No more stolen nights and forbidden touches. No hiding away or denying what we felt. No holding back.
No, at midnight tonight, I really would feel like a new woman. Hopefully, in the arms of the man, I’d always wanted.
I’d concocted the plan around two in the morning after he serenaded me. Watching him sing, even over the computer, brought forth more feelings than I’d realized were still there. I’d avoided talking to him because I didn’t want to be hurt again, but after talking to Rae and Vera, I wanted to at least try. I didn’t want to be scared forever. So, staring up at my ceiling, trying to track the fan whirring in circles in the dark, I came up with a plan to surprise him.
I’d messaged Aiken right then and there, asking him if he was able to get me a pass to Times Square on New Year’s Eve. I played up the business aspect and how I could take pictures and post them to my Instagram. Maybe even go live at midnight or something. I think I would have promised almost anything in that moment of heart-thumping planning. I’d fully been in the moment of making that wild idea come to fruition and ignoring any doubts.
Aiken might have been more excited about the idea than me. Probably focusing on that percent of profits he had in his contract. It took him a while, but he got the passes.
In that time, Parker and I talked on and off over the last month, busy with holidays and work. Mostly we texted, but there were times we Facetimed, and he always sang for me. Sometimes, I’d even dig out my paints, and if I closed my eyes and thought hard enough, I could imagine it was just like when we were teens.
I considered telling him what I was going to do about a million times, but I’d been riding too high on the thought of his face when I appeared to let it play out any differently than I imagined it. I’d been too high for any of the downfalls of my plan to reach me.