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“Hmm.” I tap my chin, studying the chalkboard. “I’ll have an almond milk latte with sugar-free vanilla. Iced, please.”

The clerk’s fingers tap the keyboard.

“Really?” Jamie’s brow rises.

I glance sideways, frowning. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d be a ‘something-something with a whole lot of something else and a bunch of whipped cream’ kind of person.”

I open my mouth to argue, then realize he has a point. Today is about living it up instead of sitting in a pool of self-pity because everything is changing and I’m getting left behind. And other things…mainly him. Since I showed up in New York, I’ve been letting myself be a new person.

Maybe the person I wanted to be all along.

My eyes snap over the board again.

“I’ll have the Canadian-maple cold brew with the cinnamon-bun cold foam, actually. A large, iced, with an extra shot.”

His eyes bore into me as the clerk punches everything in and rings up all my purchases. I can’t deny it feels good to have him pay for my things. It’s also a little bit sad because, soon enough, I’ll be gone, and these things will hang in my closet. When I pick them up, I’ll remember how hotshot music agent Jamie Iron had me for a few days before disappearing.

Disappearing into…what?

Will I see him in a tabloid in five years, crossing the street, holding the hand of a gorgeous, tall brunette with big blue eyes?

Will I sink into obscurity, wondering what I could have been?

Would that be more painful than not being with him?

Something shifts in the back of my brain. I can give up on him because he was never mine.

The rustic cabin fades away. I’m standing in the middle of nothingness.

I can’t give up my music.

It got me through everything to this point. My parents’ divorce and how I felt I had to stay on the ranch because that’s what Sabrina wanted. How many years I sat in my room with my fingers plucking at my guitar strings, the world in my head far brighter than the world outside. Every fight, every hard time, I shut my door and fitted on my headphones.

Music was always there.

He’s a brand-new fixture.

“Serena.”

The world comes back and hits me in the face. Shocked, I blink and focus on him. He’s holding his coffee in one hand, the paper bag in the other.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

His brows knit. “You need anything else?”

The clerk’s eyes bounce between us. I shake my head.

“No, I’m ready to go,” I manage.

We step outside, and he goes to hold open the car door. I hesitate, studying him. If I take all my emotions, squeeze them into a ball, wrap them up tight, and throw them into a deep, dark hole inside, I could be professional with him. I just have to convince him not to let what happened with Coen affect his consideration of me.

I swallow hard.

It might break my heart. But either way, it’s getting broken.

CHAPTER TWENTY