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“With Jamie.”

I swallow past the lump. “He has a lot of work. And I don’t think there’s anything to figure out, honestly.”

“Serena,” she says gently. “You’re really hung up on this guy.”

My stomach turns, because I know she’s right. And I know I haven’t hidden that very well. I was always sharp and talkative, but in the last year, I’ve pulled deep into my shell. There’s no sense in denying that. I just thought nobody knew why I was fading a little. Plus, it’s embarrassing to be this obsessed with a man who isn’t even my boyfriend.

“I’m not saying marry him,” she tells me. “I’m saying, figure it out so you can get on with your life.”

“I’m trying.”

I want to talk about everything else, about him saying he thinks I have talent, but I don’t feel comfortable. Being part of the music industry tore up Coen; it ruined his mental and physical health. He’s on hiatus right now, but if I’m being honest, I’m not sure he ever intends to return. He was a ghost with a thousand-yard stare when he showed up at the ranch. Now, he’s a new man. After seeing that, there’s no way Sabrina is going to approve of me giving music a try.

I swallow again. I can’t keep this lump down.

No, everyone is right. I should fuck him out of my system and go home.

“I’m gonna get to bed,” I say.

“You call me if you need anything,” she says firmly.

“I will,” I promise.

The silence is loud. My stomach is a hollow, and something in my heart aches the way it always has when I stood on the porch and looked out over the horizon. Surely this isn’t all there is for me? Maybe I’m being unreasonable in wanting more.

I wander to the music alcove and close the door. Sinking down at the piano, I set aside my phone and begin softly playing a pop song I heard on the radio. It’s slow, but it rises in intensity as it goes. I sing the words with my eyes shut, letting my memory take the lead, and only stumbling over a few notes.

The hollow in me eases.

Even if I never do anything but use music to cope, that could be enough.

My fingers go still. I open my eyes.

I wonder what it would feel like to do that on a stage. It would feel like flying, or the way it feels when Jamie kisses me. The back of my neck prickles. Quickly, I turn, and my stomach drops. Speak of the devil. Jamie is in the doorway, arms crossed. His lids are low, eyes unreadable. I want to be angry that he listened, but deep down, I wanted him to hear it. I was just too scared to ask.

He clears his throat.

“You’re very good,” he says finally.

I smile sadly. “Not good enough for anyone to sign.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Grabbing my phone, I get up and slip past him. His arm shoots out, and he turns me to face him. Up close, I finally see his emotions. They’re hot, like our tempers clashing, and they send a shiver down my spine.

“You would be a brilliant fit for my agency,” he says.

My brow arches. “You’d never sign me.”

He shakes his head. “I can either sign you or fuck you. Doing both would be real fucking unethical.”

“So send me somewhere else,” I spit out.

That makes us both stop. He’s one of the best agents in the world. Getting him would assure me a country or country-pop career, but here I am, throwing that away because I’d rather sleep with him. His lips part. The silence stretches on.

“That’s not what I meant,” I stammer.

“What did you mean?” His voice rasps.