Page 61 of Anything But Lonely

Convince everyone else—and maybe even myself—that everything is fine.

All while pretending it isn't the hardest thing I've ever done.

“I need to know more about your ‘I’m with the band’ era,” Ava says over her glass of sparkling apple juice.

“Me too,” Rumi echoes, running a hand through Evee’s hair. She crashed about ten minutes ago, laying her head on her mom’s lap after a full morning of presents and Hey Honey’s cinnamon rolls.

“It’s never boring, I can tell you that,” I offer. Anderson is putting the baby down while Jack is helping Georgie—Ava’s youngest sister—put together her new shelf for her vinyl collection, the three of us settling on the couch to “supervise.”

“Do you get to see all their shows?” Rumi asks eagerly. She likes a few Cross My Heart songs, but she’s not as big a fan as I am. Her excitement for me instantly brings the guilt, and it’s why I end up giving both of them all the details of our routine on days Mateo is performing. I show pictures of Crew backstage, posing with the crew, and singing along with the band.

“Have you spent any time with Liam?” Ava asks, a brow raised in either suspicion or interest; I can’t tell.

“Not really,” I answer honestly. I see Liam if Crew and I ever tag along to soundchecks, and sometimes he’ll hang out with me backstage when his band is finished with their set. Aside from that, we’re both busy with our jobs.

“Really?” Ava asks. “I figured he was part of the reason you were so adamant about the nannying gig.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I mean, he is the one who told me about the job, but I would’ve wanted to do it whether or not he was there.” I contemplate explaining that Liam and I are just friends who used to occasionally fool around—but that’s exactly what Ava and Anderson started out as before they got married, adopted Georgie, and had Eliana.

So, it’s safe to say, my best friend probably wouldn’t believe me when I say nothing is going on between Liam and me.

“How is it working for Mateo Lane?” Rumi asks.

It takes me a second to figure out how I want to answer her question, ultimately going with, “He’s different than I thought he’d be.” I reach behind me on the couch to grab a blanket and hand it to Rumi.

Rumi takes it, gently laying it over Evee. “Different how?”

I sigh, feeling my lips curve at the thought of Mateo and how he is nothing like I pictured.

I started listening to Cross My Heart when they first started gaining traction, and I became an instant fan of not only their music but their lead singer.

Mateo Lane has been a voice inside my head for years.

And when I would see Cross My Heart perform around Milwaukee, there was this ease to him that had the whole crowd enamored by him. He looked like he belonged on stage.

He still does.

And that’s why it’s no surprise he’s as big as he is today.

But that’s not the thing about him that draws me in—not anymore.

It’s the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed or how he stumbles over his words when he’s nervous.

How he makes sure my favorite snacks are in my hotel room or how he knows what grief looks like without me having to strip down to my most vulnerable state to show it to him.

How there’s nothing he loves more than his music—except for Crew.

Even though I don’t say a word of this out loud, my silence is its own admission, and it has Rumi and Ava turning to look at each other, something passing between the two of them before they both look back at me.

I look back and forth between the two of them. “What?”

“Nothing,” they both answer at the same time.

I roll my eyes. “Just say it.”

“It’s nothing,” Rumi says again at the same time Ava sing-songs quietly, “Emerson and Mateo sitting in a tree.”

“Ava Dolores Montgomery!” Rumi scolds, reaching over my lap to slap Ava in the arm.