Page 84 of Songs for Libby

I vaguely heard the door open and close, but I was too comfortable to move and I quickly sank back into sleep.

A hand brushed against my cheek, then pushed my hair back off my face. “Libby.”

Hearing my name whispered made me smile. I loved it when Jonas woke me up this way. I breathed deep through my nose and turned my face toward his voice. “Hey, hon,” I murmured before letting my eyes flutter open.

Sean hovered over me, his face sad, his dim smile filled with compassion.

A quick breath rushed in and out, and I directed my stinging eyes to the ceiling, blinking away the sleep and the memory and the tears. “For a moment, I thought you were Jonas.”

“I’m sorry I’m not him.”

I closed my eyes, a rogue tear escaping my lashes. Because I did wish he was Jonas, but at the same time—I didn’t.

“Did you sleep here all night?” he asked as he pulled me to a sitting position.

I looked toward the window and saw that it was well past sunrise. “Um”—I tried to blink the sleep from my eyes—“yeah.” I rubbed at my belly out of habit. “I need to get ready for work.”

“It’s Saturday,” he reminded me.

“Right.”

“Why don’t you go sleep in your bed for a while?”

I just nodded and pushed to my feet. I was only half awake, and the cold dose of reality that had hit me when I’d thought that Jonas was there but then realized he wasn’t…I just wanted to go back to bed.

♪♫♪

The article shouldn’t have been a surprise to me. It was a miracle Sean had lasted this long under the radar, but I guess his beard, baseball hat and hipster glasses trick worked well when he was this far away from New York or L.A. No one expected to find Sean in the suburbs of North Carolina.

Then the challenge came out. The title of the online magazine article read, “Where is Sean Amity? Cash Reward for Picture.”

I snarled at my phone and then tossed it across my counter. Stupid, nosy people. Now I was going to be truly paranoid. I opened my fridge and glared at its contents.

There were two quick knocks on the back door before Sean walked in. The once-over he gave me was different, but I couldn’t figure out how I knew that. What was different about it? Had it been a little longer than usual? Was the way he looked at me different?

“You look cute,” he said as he closed the door.

I glanced down at my mid-thigh shorts and newly-acquired maternity t-shirt. “Thanks,” I said instead of dwelling on the fact that I’d accidentally kissed him a couple days ago.

I spotted my phone and then looked at him. His expression told me he didn’t know about the article that essentially challenged everyone to become paparazzi. “I’ve got some bad news,” I said, reaching for my phone.

He froze in the middle of setting down his guitar case and looked up at me. “Uh-oh.” He set the case down and came over to me.

I handed the phone over, the article pulled up.

He muttered obscenities as he looked it over. “Well, I can’t leave my house now.”

“You think it will be that bad?”

He looked up at me, his smile bitter. “I think it will be worse.”

I was slightly alarmed by his grim outlook. “Really?”

“Stuff like this…” He let out a ragged sigh. “It brings out the worst in people—in fans.”

“Are you really going to stay in your house?”

“Yup.” He slid my phone across the counter to me.