Page 194 of Love Felt Like This

Ava shifts behind my legs. Rob crouches down and holds out his hand for a high five.

“Hi, Ava. Remember me?” he asks.

It takes her a couple of moments, but she smiles and slaps her tiny palm to his. Something in my chest tightens. I wondered if Ava would remember anyone from Elk Grove.

I hold out a hand to Rob, who quickly shakes it.

“I’m supposed to pretend like I don’t know you,” he says behind his hand.

“You’re doing great,” I say. “The yell didn’t give you away at all.”

He flushes red. “Right.”

Another person in a black T-shirt and headset slides by. “Oh, let me take that.” She grabs my guitar case from me, then gestures around. “Your daughter is free to look at the set before we get started.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say, but the person walks off so suddenly I’m not sure she hears me.

I pat Ava’s back, and she climbs the stairs onto set and walks across the arched cobblestone streets as she peers up at the cityscape in awe. I follow, continuing to take in the studio—the massive stage lights and cameras, the crowd of production assistants and puppeteers holding their characters on their arms as they chat. A table that sits in the corner with felt, fabric, and spare puppet eyeballs. But then my throat turns dry when I see a lump of blue feathers slumped into a tall black folding chair.

Bernie.

My friend lies with his beak gaping open, as if shocked by the ceiling above him. He seems almost lost without his puppeteer. I understand that feeling.

In a chair beside him are a few other familiar faces: Hector Hawk, Carmen Crow…birds that dictated the first few months of my time with Ava. But beside them is a new bird—an ostrich I don’t recognize.

“Daddy!”

I twist around and find Ava stationed behind a fruit stand with her arms in the air. In her overalls and striped tee, she looks like she could be a cute little puppet herself.

“Are you gonna sell me something?” I ask her.

But she doesn’t answer. Instead, she stares past me. Her eyes practically shimmer at whatever she sees. And when I turn, my heart plummets down into the fake concrete sidewalk.

Beverly emerges from a side hallway, striding side by side with Finch. Her dress is stunning. Casual but perfect for her. She carries a chipped mug of coffee as she and Finch talk a mile a minute. I wonder what number cup she’s on. My hand twitches around the paper cup of coffee I brought for her.

So ridiculous. Of course she has her own.

She doesn’t see me yet, and it feels almost selfish to watch her from afar like this. She laughs at something Finch said. It’s so genuine and gorgeous. Christ, I’ve thought about that laugh for three months. Three months of lying in a twin bed, staring at the underside of the top bunk on our rumbling tour bus. Three months of scouring for any updates on Birds, setting search engine alerts for all new articles. Three months of belting out songs to stadiums full of people I wish were her, each lyric of “Your Right Hand” carrying pieces of my heart with it.

Beverly finally looks out to set, and like a heat laser, she finds me.

I halt, my body sizzling under her gaze. She doesn’t move either. I wonder if she’s struck by me as much as I am by her. The corner of her mouth lifts into a sweet smile. My breath leaves in a ragged exhale.

She places her coffee cup onto a small table next to the black folding chair with Bernie, then walks across the bare concrete floor to me. She takes a large step onto the stage, moving closer, closer, closer. Beverly looks even better than she does in my dreams. Long dark lashes, glossy pink lips, and emerald-green eyes. Illuminated under the stage lights, her hair has a halo around it. Angelic, as always.

She stares at me. Her smile has fallen. Her inhale is deep. Words are caught in my throat.

“B!”

Ava runs around the fruit stand. Beverly blinks away from me as if leaving some sort of daze, then beams down at Ava.

“Hi, A! How are—oof!”

Ava barrels into Beverly.

“Hi, B!”

“Hi, A.” Beverly swings my daughter up in her arms with the same familiarity she did three months ago. Ava giggles uncontrollably, hugging with both arms wrapped tightly around Beverly’s neck. Beverly’s cheeks are flushed, but she’s likely just overwhelmed after getting attacked by a two-year-old. My own chest is heating, though, from nothing more than staring at her.