“Sadie Hunter! I am such a big fan!” The server inside the Song Sparrow had rushed to the door, realizing who she was. “You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. I came to Nashville after I saw you winStarmakerlast year because I realized I had to at least try, you know?”
The server grasped Sadie’s hand. “I’m Claire,” she said. “I’m waiting tables for now, but I’ve met Maren Morris and LeAnn Rimes. Allen Shamblin was even in here one night—he wrote ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me,’ which is the most heartbreaking song I’ve ever heard. And now I’m talking about music with Sadie freaking Hunter!”
“Thanks, Claire. I am such a huge fan of the Song Sparrow.” Sadie paused. “I sang here years ago. And I was just standing here on the sidewalk remembering that night.”
Claire glanced over her shoulder into the empty restaurant, then back at Sadie. “Did you want to come inside for a coffee? I’m the only one in there right now, doing the setup for tonight.”
Sadie followed Claire inside. Dust motes floated in theair—but inside the hallowed Song Sparrow, even dust managed to look magical.
The room was decked out in holiday garland and Christmas lights and there were big red poinsettia plants on either side of the bar. Claire saw her looking at them.
“I brought those in,” she said. “This place may be legendary, but it needed some sprucing up. And they remind me of home. I’ll be staying here this year because I can’t afford to fly back to California.” She reached up and touched one of the sumptuous red leaves, then passed Sadie a coffee. But Sadie left it on the bar top and continued to look around. She wandered close to the stage and found herself walking up the steps to lay her hands on top of the piano that stood sentry there. She looked down and thought of all the famous hands that had touched these keys, too.
Claire was watching her. “Go ahead. Have a seat.”
Sadie pulled out the bench and sat, then stared down at the worn-smooth ivory keys. She played a few notes of the nostalgic opening bars of “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” She started to sing—then paused. “Hey, why don’t you come on up here? And maybe sing with me?”
Claire’s wide eyes grew even wider. She approached the stage and sat down beside Sadie.
“I’m no Max Brody, but I’ll give it a shot,” Claire said. Sadie felt a pang at the mention of that name. But she was going to let herself feel it, rather than sweep her emotions under a rug.
Sadie started to sing. She put all the pain she was feeling, all the heartbreak and regret, into her voice. And it felt damn good.
Meanwhile, Claire’s voice was melodic and grew strongeras Sadie played. Sadie kept right on allowing herself to feel everything the songwriter meant people to feel about love, and loss.
Sadie’s hands stilled on the keys and the last notes sounded. She knew it was probably time to get going, but that song had opened up something inside her. Claire got up and smiled, telling her to stay as long as she wanted. Sadie sat still, staring down at the piano keys once more. Then her fingers began to move across the keys again and lyrics filled her mind. It was another love song, she realized. A song about Max Brody—and what it would be like if everything were different. If their love had somehow made it, against all odds.
Love.She was in love with Max Brody, she realized. And even if he didn’t love her back, it meant something. She loved Max, it had to be acknowledged—and the best way she knew how to do that was with a song.
Sadie reached into her handbag and pulled out the notebook she always carried with her in case musical inspiration struck.
“Hey, Claire,” she called out. “Are you sure I’m okay to stay a little while longer? Something just came to me. Something I’ve been waiting for.” Her heart was racing. Maybe it was pointless, maybe it was all over—but she knew this song was good. She knew that even if the scenario she was writing about wasn’t real, the emotion was.
“No one’s due in for another half hour.” Claire grinned and popped her earbuds back in her ears. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I’ll turn up my music so I can’t hear the song you’re writing, but I want front-row seats to your next sold-out show, where you perform it.”
Sadie said yes but felt guilty knowing there probably wouldn’t be any future sold-out Sadie Hunter shows. Cruz had said she was finished. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep writing music. She started to play again—and found herself singing the song to Max.
If nothing else, at least she’d have this song. A Christmas gift to herself. She would keep it with her forever.
—
Sadie tried to call Lynn on her way back to her apartment, but she didn’t answer. She left her a voicemail, explaining that she was ready to go home for good.
Sadie entered her apartment’s lobby to find the doorman, Reynold, standing on a ladder, putting a star atop a large Christmas tree. Sadie paused, taking in the glittery ornaments. As she watched, Rey’s ladder wobbled. She rushed over to help.
“Thanks, Sadie,” Rey said, climbing down gingerly. He was in his seventies and had once told Sadie he was retired but working part time as a doorman to raise extra money for Christmas presents for his many grandkids. “It is a fine tree, isn’t it?” He turned to her. “Oh! I have mail for you, Sadie. Wait here.”
He returned quickly with a large manila envelope—and Sadie’s breath caught when she saw that her name and address were written on it in a heartbreakingly familiar script: her gran’s.
“Who delivered this?” she managed.
“Sorry, I don’t know,” Rey said, returning to his post behind the high-countered desk. “I was taking my break, and when I got back it was sitting right here.” He tapped the top ofthe counter. “Like a Christmas elf had come and dropped it off for you.”
Sadie couldn’t help herself. She ripped the envelope open.
Inside were several sheets of notepaper covered in more of her gran’s familiar script.
Dear Sadie,
