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Chapter Twenty-four
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Thought you’d liketo know we’re official.That’s the message I read seconds before I click on an image attached to Hudson’s text, my hand coming up to cover my mouth as I take in the picture.
It’s a side image caught from someone who must have been standing behind me as Hudson ran off stage and lifted me into his arms. I’m looking down at him with a wide smile on my face and he’s looking up at me, beaming. Given the lighting, the image isn’t the clearest, but you can see it’s us.
I’m getting ready to respond and ask him where he got the picture when another text comes through, linking me to an online news article.
What’s next for Hudson James? We talk to the rising country star about his debut album, his current tour with country royalty, Travis Travers, and even dive into his love life.
Following the headline is a couple pictures of Hudson performing on stage and then a question and answers section between the reporter who did the article and Hudson.
I read through the whole thing, learning I know most of the answers before reading his responses. But I pause when I come across what I’ve been looking for since he sent me the link.
Q: So your fans are dying to know. Hudson, is there a special lady in your life? Someone who’s inspired some of your incredible songs?
A: She’s more than just special.
My heart hammers in my chest and I can’t read the words fast enough.
Q: Well don’t keep us in suspense. Do tell. Who is she? How did you two meet? Is it serious?
A: I’d prefer to keep her to myself for a little while longer. But yes, it’s serious.
Q: Serious as is in she might be the one?
A: Serious as in she is the one.
Everything blurs on the screen and I swear if I wasn’t sitting on my couch I would most definitely be on the floor.
My hands begin to shake when I spot the picture Hudson sent me right below the last answer.
Hudson James may not have been ready to share the identity of his mystery woman, but someone backstage sure was. Snapping this very intimate photo of James right after his performance in Houston this past weekend. The woman has since been identified as twenty-seven year old interior designer, Lennon Claire.
My stomach rolls and I’m not sure if I want to scream in joy because the world knows he belongs to me or if I want to puke because, well, the world now knows he belongs to me.
My phone beeps in my hand and I look down to see another message from Hudson.
Hudson:Lennon?
It takes me a moment to realize that he can see I’ve read his messages and he’s probably worried that I haven’t responded.
Me:Just read the article.
Hudson:And?
Me:You said I was the one.
Hudson:You are the one.
Me:I think that might be a little premature.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to accept that he would think that way about me when I thought he wasthe onefive years ago after one night together.
Hudson:When you know, you know.
I smile, able to envision the relaxed smile on his face followed by a slight shrug of his shoulders.
