Page 72 of Echoes of a Southern Song

She comes apart in my arms, crying out as waves of pleasure wash over her. The sight of her—head thrown back, eyes closed, completely lost in the moment—pushes me right over the edge with her. I bury my face in her neck as I follow her into bliss, her name a groan on my lips.

For a long moment, we stay like that, pressed against the wall, breathing hard, neither of us willing to break the connection. Eventually, I carefully lower her feet to the floor, keeping my arms around her waist to steady her.

“Wow,” she says with a breathless laugh, looking up at me with flushed cheeks.

“Yeah,” I agree, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Wow.”

She leans up to kiss me softly. I swear I can feel something shifting between us—something deeper taking root.

“Bed?” she suggests, taking my hand.

“Definitely bed,” I reply, letting her lead the way.

We get under the sheet, her head on my chest and her fingers tracing circles over my ribs. I think this is it. This is the feeling I’ve been chasing. Not fame. Not approval. Not proving anything to anyone.

Just her.

“I still can’t believe it,” she says softly. “That it’s really over. That he was never even my husband.”

I brush my fingers through her hair. “It’s like something out of a soap opera.”

“Except worse. Because I lived it.”

“True. But at least you’re out of it now. And you’ve got people in your corner.”

She tilts her head up to look at me. There’s a soft smile on her face. “Including you?”

I grin. “Especially me.”

We fall asleep like that—quiet and wrapped up in each other.

*

I HEAR HER ALARM AND know it’s early. She has to open the bakery. It’s dark and she’s getting out of bed. I don’t want to move.

“I have to get up,” she murmurs. “Sorry.”

“Call in sick.”

She laughs as she crawls over me to get out of bed. “If only I could. Sleep. I’ll be quiet.”

She gets ready in a rush, but not before giving me a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you later?” she asks, grabbing her bag.

“You better,” I say. “Have a good day, Jinnie.”

“You too, rockstar.”

I close my eyes and fall back to sleep.

I wake up two hours later, feeling a little guilty that I got to sleep in while she was at work. I sent her a quick text before getting dressed and heading out.

When I get back to Aggie’s, she’s not there. There’s a note letting me know she’ll be gone all day and she’ll see me tonight.

That’s good. I’m glad I have the house to myself because I woke up with a song in my head, itching to get out. I like to do this process alone. I pick up my guitar, and everything pours out of me like it’s been waiting.

The song comes fast—no second-guessing, no rewriting, just truth. I strum the chords, sing the words, and by the time I hit the chorus, I know it’s a good one. Maybe it’s sappy. Maybe the old me would’ve rolled his eyes. But now? Now I just smile like an idiot and play it again.