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“Can we pretend we’re actually together?” she asks finally.

Disappointed, I consider it. “Do you think that might be a little hurtful when things do end?”

She touches my chest with the tip of her finger, like she’s afraid I’ll shatter.

“No, it wouldn’t.”

I brush her hair back, holding her face.

“How is that any different from what we’re doing now?” I ask, voice dropping. I’m worried it might break.

“You could call me yours.”

Her voice is shaking. Mine isn’t any stronger. The sun is sinking so low it’s turning the sky brilliant red, with haphazard streaks of orange and pink. Everything is on fire, including us.

I take her hand, letting it rest in my open palm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “At least, not out of the bedroom.”

Her forehead creases. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I can fuck around when it’s just sex. But outside that…I think it’s a bad idea.”

She studies me in a way that makes me feel see-through, with all my emotions laid bare. We’ve known each other for over a year now. I know she can hear the emotion in my words. I can hear it in hers. There’s an insurmountable wall between us, and it all boils down to her desire to follow the music where it leads. I know one thing for sure—I’ll never get in the way of that.

I also know what the headlines would say if I were with her.

She’s too young for me. I’m too old, too experienced for her. The world will take our relationship and shred it to pieces. I might not be a public figure like Coen, but if I date a young, up-and-coming musician like her, I’m gonna get crucified. That’s a level of critique I don’t want to bring on ITA or Marion. She’s always been careful, and I owe the same care to her.

Especially after what happened with Coen. I never want to be the reason she hits rock bottom.

I blink, dragging myself back to reality, where Serena’s in my arms.

“It’s fine,” she says.

“Which part?” I ask.

“The part where we pretend in the bedroom,” she says. “And do what we’ve been doing outside that.”

Her tone is so…resigned. I hate it. But right now, everything is on hold.

“Alright,” I say. “Then we’ll talk.”

She’s disappointed, but I’m going to make it up to her. I pick her up, and she lets out a little shriek, an arm clamping around my neck. The tension dissipates a little as I carry her up the short steps into the cabin. I set her on the counter, putting my hands on her thighs.

“I want you to enjoy the next couple of days, then we’re gonna talk,” I say firmly.

She hesitates.

“I mean it,” I promise.

Her shoulders sink. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m gonna feed you and fuck you. Then we’ll both feel better, okay?”

She likes that, I can tell. I help her jump down and then gather the groceries, stacking sausage, biscuits, and premade gravy on the counter.

“You want some coffee?” she asks, at the back door.