She never said that.
But I guess she’s ad-libbing.
And I now have two-thirds of a song to get ready to dance like my heart isn’t shattered into pieces.
I can’t believe I’m doing this numberbroken up. But I’m stronger than I was in the spring when I was fired. Maybe in part because of Sawyer.
The man who’s walking across the stage right now.
He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and a sports coat. And jeans. It’s not an outfit I’ve ever seen him in before, or a style I’ve seen him wear, and it’s a little incongruous. But there’s no time to linger on that, since it’s time for him to nightclub-sing to the whole town.
This can’t be easy for him. Not the singing. But therevealof it.
And yet, he looks…ready, as he launches into the opening lines, and my fingers fly across the ivories. He’s crooning a love song to the entire audience, and they’re cheering him on, and my heart is aching.
I wish he were singing it to me. But I don’t look up. I don’t let on about my longing. I keep my head down and play the piano, my pulse spiking higher and higher.
Then it’s nearly through the roof when he strides over to the piano, right as the recorded music takes over.
Like we rehearsed, he offers me a hand. I act allWho, me?but happily take it. He leads me to the middle of the stage, the spotlight on us, the entire auditorium bursting with people I know as he sets his right hand on my left shoulder blade.
I tremble.
His touch feels so good.
Were my friends right? Should I have told him? Should I have said something? But something inside me still hurts from the other day.
And as we dance, I keep my mouth shut. But when he lets go of my shoulder and spins me in a swing move, something hits me.
This—dancing—is easy for me.
But it’s hard for him, and he did it anyway.
When he tugs me back, he pulls me against his chest and locks eyes with me. “I have something for you,” he whispers.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
He spins me once more, tugs me back to him again, then says, “I’ve missed you.”
My heart lodges in my throat. “You have?”
“And I’m going to show you how much,” he says as he leads me back to the piano, dips me, and hovers his lips inches from mine.
He sets me down on the bench.
I’m thrown off, but my fingers operate on muscle memory, playing the closing notes as he belts out the end of the love song.
And the crowd cheers louder than they ever did for Noah.
A smile takes over my face. I can’t help it. We pulled this off. He pinch-hit for the town’s star andnailedit.
And this is when he should sweep out his arm and bring me to center stage to curtsy—but instead, he lifts the mic once more.
“Anyone in the mood for an encore?”
That’snotin the script. Across the wings, my mother looks…surprised. But then—wait. Is thatperformedsurprise?
I don’t know, but I shift my gaze back to Sawyer.
