Page 193 of Love Felt Like This

I don’t sound convincing in the least.

Nana smiles. “It is, but I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I mean, it’s not like we’re together or anything. He won’t even notice, but…”

“I understand why you want to look pretty, though.”

I don’t want him thinking I’m a complete mess nowadays. That whole miserable and pathetic thing is for me and me only. And maybe Nana. And Finch. And Rob.

“Let’s go!” I call through the house, shifting my tote bag farther up my shoulder.

Nana pulls me into a hug. “Have fun, Bevvy.”

I give a smile that I wish was happier when I finally leave the house, with Rob and Finch on my heels. Finch squeezes Nana’s hand on the way out, then the three of us pile into a car and head toward the studio.

Chapter Forty

Elton Emu

Griffin

Over the last three months, I’ve performed for crowds of over fifteen thousand people around fifty times, but I’ve never been more nervous than when I arrive on set for Birds on the Block.

I walk down the carpeted hallway of Connection Studios with Ava by my side. In one hand, I clutch my guitar case. My opposite hand holds a coffee a little too tightly. I have to keep loosening my grip when the paper cup begins to dent.

Connection’s walls are lined with framed photos and memorabilia from various television eras and major documentaries. Double doors to sound stages pop up every few feet, and each time we come upon a placard with the show name, my hand tenses in Ava’s. When we see it isn’t Birds, we keep walking, and my heart slowly finds its steady pace once more.

I received my script two weeks ago, and the moment Jimmy handed it over, I studied it relentlessly. Part of it was practicing lines, but mostly I couldn’t stop staring at it, analyzing every word I’ve read before and every revision Beverly made after. It was a slice of familiarity under the dim light of the tour bus. It was something to look at when my phone didn’t buzz with new texts.

We should tap the brakes.

Fuck.

The last remaining double doors stand at the end of the hall, and beside them, etched into the placard on the wall, is Birds on the Block.

I open one door, allow Ava to walk through first, then cross the threshold onto set. Immediately, both Ava and I freeze in place. I almost drop my guitar case on the spot.

This must be how Dorothy felt arriving in Oz for the first time. I’m not sure colors truly existed before I stepped in here. The sound stage looks exactly like a city block, lined with brick storefronts, stoops, and fire escapes. But the colors are incredible: a streetlamp in canary yellow, hanging shop signs in aquamarine, and stained glass windows with every shade of the rainbow. Behind it all is a sky-blue backdrop of the city, as if the Block is perpetually in a perfect day.

I pull in a deep, shaking breath. We made it. Beverly did it.

I look down at Ava at the same time her head jerks back to stare up at me. I can’t help my grin.

“What do you think, munchkin?”

She blinks out at the set again and gives a barely suppressed giggle.

“Pretty,” she answers. Her P’s have improved throughout months of practice on the tour bus. I played the P song more than I should because P is for prepared, and I practice what I preach.

“Yeah, I think so too,” I respond.

Ava calls a lot of things pretty: the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Colosseum in Rome, and London Bridge—mostly because she could see the sky reflected in the water, which still fascinates her. But the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower was inarguably her favorite, due to the height of it all, which she has zero issues with, unlike me.

I’ve learned over months of traveling with my daughter that a lot of people don’t enjoy taking their kids on trips, but seeing the world through Ava’s eyes has given me new appreciation, even if we have Poe next to us mumbling, “They’re just bright lights.”

Now that the world knows Ava exists, I refuse to spend a single moment without her. The silver lining to our mess is that I get to travel without hiding, so I’m showing her everything. There wasn’t a chance I wouldn’t bring her to Birds. Plus, they sent Ava her own invite.

“Griffin!” a voice calls across set. I follow it to find a familiar teen in a black shirt. Rob grins, striding across the floor, shimmying past people and cameras—bumping into one with a “Sorry”—before reaching us.