Page 203 of Love Felt Like This

Rob’s face lights up. “Oh my God, we’re going?”

“We’re going,” I repeat, slamming the drawer shut and shoving the tickets toward Rob.

Finch appears in the hall, stopping short of the open doorway, where my face is probably blotchy and red from tears. Rob grins ear to ear, and Nana shuffles toward the threshold.

“What’s with the clubhouse party?” Finch asks, leaning a palm on the doorframe. “And where’s my invite?”

“We’re going to a concert,” Nana announces. “Get your shoes on.”

Finch checks his watch. “It’s seven o’clock. Jeopardy! is about to start.”

“Oh, live a little, Finch.”

At her snappy tone, he grins, and his cheeks flush red. “What concert?”

“Griffin’s,” she says.

His eyes widen, and his smile reaches his eyes, deepening his wrinkles. “We are?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” I answer. “Let’s just go.”

Oh God, I’m not actually going to see Griffin, am I?

Yes, I am.

But what if he doesn’t love me anymore, and can’t ever again?

I pull in a deep inhalation, then slowly let it out.

Well, I don’t care if he loves me. Because I love him and this is what people in love do. They make really irrational decisions.

Rob whoops, calling out to nobody, “Hell yeah! I’m going to a Griffin Harvey concert!”

Finch yanks a ticket from Rob’s hand and analyzes it. “Don’t you think we’ll be too late for the VIP thing?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Nana says. “Everyone in the car now. Beverly, you should change.”

“What?” I glance down at my outfit. I’m still in my work clothes from the day. My pants are stained with a ring of coffee from the cup I placed on my thigh midafternoon, and there’s a stroke of something dark on my lower back, likely from slipping and falling on the rolling chairs.

Change.

Right.

After everyone leaves my room, I shut the door and stride to my open closet, sift through a terribly folded pile of shirts, throw aside a skirt, and pick up shoes, only to toss them down again.

I can’t look like I’m trying too hard, right? But I also don’t want him to—I don’t know—regret his album, I guess. I’m a small-town mountain girl. He knows that. But…I don’t know.

I don’t know what I’m saying, okay?!

I clack through hangers of skirts and dresses, and then…I stop short of a lace dress that’s been buried in the back of the closet since I arrived. I stare at it. It’s the vintage angel-sleeved chiffon dress, still in pristine condition from when Griffin bought it for me months ago.

That’s the one.

I tug it off the hanger and immediately strip off my shirt and pants.

After I slide into it, along with nude Mary Jane pumps to match, I stare at myself in the mirror. It may not be the emerald-green dress I wore to the Grammys, but…it’s me. It’s gorgeous. And oh my God, I’m actually doing this. I’m dressing up to go to Griffin Harvey’s concert because he said he loved me.

At some point.