“How do you know?”

“Because music is a part of you. You love it too much.”

I find my phone and open my email. There are a few messages from Dean. “Which one should we look at first?  ‘Schedule’ or ‘Details’?  Or ‘Sorry, here’s some more I forgot?’”

“Doesn’t matter. Pick one.”

His hands move to my thighs as I open the most recent message. “Sorry, there’s one more thing I forgot,” I read aloud. “Please say yes.” I give Latson a confused look. The message is followed by a bunch of worried smiley emoji’s.

“Jesus,” he groans. “He’s already resorted to Plan B.”

I shake my head. “Let’s try Details.” I touch the screen. “Here we go.” I lean forward so Latson and I can read the email together:

Jen –

I’ll try to break everything down. Basically the tour runs from late June until mid-November. We’ll be opening for Ariel, but you already know that. If you’re not familiar with her music, I would suggest some quality listening time. You never know what she may want to talk about, and it’s always a good idea to be friendly with the headliner.

I stop reading and look at Latson. “You were friendly with her,” I tease.

He squeezes my legs. “Stop. That was years ago.”

I turn back to Dean’s email.

Speaking of music, I know you’re not familiar with mine. Attached you will find the MP3 files for all ten of my songs. We only have 30 to 45 minutes each night before Ariel, depending on the venue. Each one is different. Regardless, we’ll need to do around eight songs per set. I would recommend downloading the files to your phone or iPod, to listen before rehearsals.

I make a face and think well, duh.

The label will cover our travel expenses like transportation and room & board. I hope you like busses and hotels. Some food may be covered; it depends what we’re attending. You will get paid $200 per show. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but with 63 shows on the schedule, it adds up.

“Sixty-three shows?” My mouth falls open. “Is that normal?”

Latson nods. “If you’re in front of someone like Ariel, yeah.”

I do the quick math. That’s over twelve grand. Twelve thousand dollars in five months to play guitar?  With basically no expenses?  I hate to say I’m driven by money, but I’m starting to really like this idea.

“Let’s look at the schedule,” Latson interrupts my thoughts.

I close the email and go to the next. A list of cities and dates pop up. My eyes widen as I read them:  Los Angeles. Anaheim. Houston. Vegas. New Orleans. Nashville. Atlanta. Tampa. Raleigh. New York. Boston. D.C. Detroit. The list seems endless.

My pulse starts to race. “I’ve barely traveled out of my home state. This is … it’s …”

“An amazing chance for you.”

I was going to say overwhelming, but the look in his eyes makes me bite my tongue. He’s looking at me but through me, like he’s focused on a memory.

“The first time you step on stage, any time you step on stage, it’s electric,” he says. “You’ll feel it in your bones, in your veins. Performing is one of the best things that ever happened to me. There’s no better rush, no bigger high.” His gaze finds my face. “I don’t know how else to describe it, but it will be like that for you, too. The music will take over, creating you instead of you creating it. The feeling won’t come close to your imagination, but it will try.”

I’m moved by his passionate words. I know it’s killing him not to play. It’s almost as if he wants me to do it for him, so he can experience it again.

“You’ll know what I’m talking about, after your first show in L.A.”

I toss my phone onto the seat beside us and set my hands against his chest. “You really want me to go, don’t you?”

“The truth?”

“Always.”

“I want you to go for you, and I want you to stay for me.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I have to listen to my head and support you, because if I listen to my heart …”  He hesitates. “I’ll never let you go.”

My breath hitches. If anyone had those feelings for me before, they never said them. Latson doesn’t want to let me go while every other man has watched me walk away. I can feel my heart rearranging itself, to make a permanent place for him. “I’m kinda falling for you, too,” I confess.

His eyes grow intense as he slides his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me close. “I’m going to have a sign made that says you belong to me. You’ll need to carry it with you everywhere you go.”

I smile. “That might be difficult. How about you loan me one of your shirts?  As long as it smells like you, I’ll wear it all the time.”

He makes a sound low in his throat and brushes his lips against mine. “I like the idea of you wearing me.”

I close my eyes as his mouth skims over my chin, traces my jaw, and lands on my neck. “I do, too.”

“Maybe you should get my name tattooed somewhere,” he says between kisses. “So it’s permanent.”

I laugh. “That takes wearing you to a whole new level.”

“I’m surprised there’s no ink on this body.”

I lean back a bit. “Is that a problem?  I never planned on getting a tattoo.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Never?”

“Never.”

He glances at his arm, covered from wrist to shoulder. “Why?  Do they turn you off?”

I shake my head.

“Do they turn you on?”

I bite my lip and slowly run one finger up his arm. “You have no idea.”

His eyes flash as his hands slide to my hips. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you,” he breathes.

Have I decided to go?  In a roundabout way, I guess I have. I know I have his support no matter what I decide and that means the world to me. “You said you wouldn’t let me stay.”

“Can you blame me?” His hands leave my hips and start to untuck my shirt. “I get to date a hot musician who wears my clothes.”

His fingers brush my bare waist, sending a wave of electricity over my skin. “It seems like you want me to wear no clothes.”

“Only when you’re with me.”

He pulls my shirt over my head, and I wrap my arms around his neck. I’m still sitting on his lap, and my head falls back as his tongue traces the edge of my bra. “We need to make the most of our time,” he says, his voice muffled. “Starting now.”

“Umm hmm,” I agree.

His hands travel up my back as he continues to kiss me, pulling my bra straps down my shoulders. “Backseat?” he murmurs.

I lift my head and start to scoot off his lap. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I’m having second thoughts.”

I pull my eyes from the sparkling diamonds in front of me to look at Pete. “Stop. Jules is going to love the ring you picked out for her.”

“Mr. Elliott,” the sales woman interrupts. “Remember, here at Tiffany’s, we have a thirty-day refund policy. If your fiancée prefers a different style, you can always exchange your purchase.”

“Thank you,” Pete leans forward to read her name tag, “Ellen. I hope that won’t be necessary. I’ve spent too much time here as it is.”

I roll my eyes at my brother as I go back to looking at the jewelry. We’ve been here less than two hours. I’ve had fun standing in for Jules and trying on different rings for size. The one my brother chose is a one-carat square diamond on a plain platinum band. It’s beautiful and elegant, just like Jules. She’s going to love it.

“Here you are, sir.” Another sales associate delivers two months’ of his salary in an unmistakable blue bag. “Good luck with your proposal.” She smiles.

“Thanks,” he says and takes the dainty handles. “Although, her answer is a sure thing.”

My eyes meet my brother’s and we start to laugh. The sales ladies give us curious looks. We didn’t tell them he had already tied the knot.

As we leave the store, I sigh. So many pretty things in one place. It reminds me of the last diamonds I wore –  the earrings Derek gave me. I wonder if anyone picked them up off the floor at the wedding reception. I’m sure they weren’t cheap. Or, maybe they were fake. He said they weren’t, but he certainly was.