The kitchen door swings open and Jayson pokes his head through, looking between us with raised eyebrows. “Did someone just say LA?”
“Yes!” Maren announces, turning toward him with the enthusiasm of someone sharing news about their own success. “Meetings with the label people!”
I can’t suppress the ear-to-ear smile that’s making my face hurt.
“Holy shit!” Jayson’s whole face lights up and he pushes through the door fully, wiping his hands on his apron. “That’s incredible! When do you go?”
“Next week,” I say, still trying to process it myself. “This is crazy. Fancy LA meetings with actual record executives who want to talk about my music.”
“You’re going to crush it,” Maren says firmly, gripping my shoulders. “This is what you’ve been working toward.”
The Blue Room disaster is still fresh in my mind, stage fright the ever-looming monster waiting to sabotage me at the worst possible moment. I’ve been practicing at home, doing the visualization thing my therapist suggested ages ago. Playing through entire sets in my living room like there’s an actual audience there.
“You’re talented as hell, Lark,” Jayson adds enthusiastically. “It’s about time everyone else figured that out.”
“Thanks, you guys.” I laugh, feeling tears prick my eyes. Happy tears this time. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”
A loud timer dings from the kitchen, the sound cutting through our celebration.
Jayson’s face changes immediately. “Oh shit, the flatbreads. I completely forgot.” He’s already backing toward the kitchen. “Gotta check those before they burn. But Lark, this is amazing! We’re celebrating later!”
He disappears into the kitchen as a customer approaches the bar, an older guy I recognize as a regular who always orders the same wheat beer.
“I got this,” Maren says immediately, squeezing my arm. “You go reply to Maya and say yes to everything. Go!”
She’s already moving toward the guy with her best customer service smile, and I sink onto a stool at the end of the bar. My phone feels heavy in my hands, Maya’s email still glowing on the screen.
I can’t believe this is real. This is my shot. The one I’ve been working toward for years, through the bad marriage and the worse divorce and all the self-doubt Brandon planted in my head that I’m still trying to weed out.
LA meetings with a real record label. People who believe in my music enough to fly me out there. I’m terrified. But I’m also more excited than I’ve been in years.
And I’m not going to let fear hold me back anymore.
CHAPTER 20
JACK
The meeting with Robert ran late, then the media obligations dragged on forever. Smile for the camera, answer the same questions about my “maturity” and “focus” for the hundredth time, pretend I give a shit about anything other than getting back to Dark River.
Getting back to her.
By the time I’m finally in my car heading out of Seattle, it’s nearly 8 PM, and I’m wired. The highway stretches out in front of me, taillights bleeding red in the dusk, and I push the speed limit more than I should. I can’t help it. My foot wants the accelerator down, wants to close the distance between here and Lark’s apartment as fast as physics will allow.
When I finally arrive I punch in the code she gave me and push the door open. The apartment is quiet except for music drifting down the hallway from her bedroom. Soft guitar chords and her voice weaving through them, and I stop in the entryway just listening for a second.
I close the door quietly and follow the music down the hallway. Her voice draws me forward, this ethereal quality thatgets under my skin. It’s delicate but powerful at the same time, the kind of sound that wraps around you and doesn’t let go.
I stop in her bedroom doorway and just watch her. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, guitar cradled in her lap, hair piled on top of her head in a bun with pieces falling down to frame her face. She’s wearing a grey sweater that’s slipping off one shoulder and black leggings, and she’s so focused on what she’s playing that she hasn’t noticed me yet.
I lean against the doorframe, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. This is what I’ve been missing all day. Not just her, but this. Seeing her do what she loves, completely in her element, that little furrow between her eyebrows when she’s concentrating.
“That sounds amazing,” I say.
She jumps about a foot in the air, her head snapping up. The guitar makes a discordant twang as her fingers slip.
“Jack!” Her face lights up even brighter than before, shock melting into a wide smile, and she’s already setting the guitar aside carefully, scrambling off the bed with zero grace. “You’re back! I didn’t hear you come in!”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell her, crossing the room and catching her as she throws herself at me, my arms wrapping around her waist automatically. I lift her slightly, and fuck, she feels perfect pressed against me. “You were in the zone.”
