Page 225 of Love Unwritten

But then again, neither had I.

I stare at the lyrics hard enough to make my eyes cross. The temptation to scribble over them is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the urge to continue.

Not for Cole, but for myself.

“Silver Scars” taught me a few hard lessons, including not sharing every song I write with others. So while I can finish the song I started about Rafael and myself, I don’t plan on handing it over to Cole for him to use on his next album.

It is our love story, not the world’s, and I plan on keeping it that way.

My muse remains asleep, completely unaware of me softly strumming the guitar beside him.

Like father, like son. He and Nico could sleep through a heavy metal concert without even stirring.

When I think about Rafael leaving tomorrow, my chest physically hurts, but then I remind myself that I should be grateful for him being here right now.

We can make it through five weeks because, no matter what, we both love each other.

I shake my head and refocus on my song. The process of getting to the final product is different every time, depending on whether I focus on writing the lyrics first or perfecting the melody.

This time, I have a clear picture of the story I want to tell and the melody I want to accompany it. Unlike most of my other songs, which tend to have a similar melancholic vibe to them, this one follows a different beat. One that has sadness, sure, but the underlying sense of wistfulness and longing is present from the very first chord.

“I haven’t heard that one before.”

I startle at the sound of Rafael’s sleepy voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize—” His reply is cut off by a yawn. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” The comforter I threw over his body falls as he sits up against the headboard and rubs his eyes. “Is that the song you’re writing for Cole?”

“No.”

He looks confused. “Oh.”

“This one is just for me.” I discreetly shut my notebook. While I doubt Rafael could put the pieces together since I’ve only written one verse, it won’t take him long to guess who the song is about once I continue writing it.

“Can I hear it?”

“Nope.”

“After everything we’ve done, you’re still shy?” His sly smile reminds me of the same one he had earlier while his head was pressed between my thighs.

Color floods my cheeks, making them hot to the touch. “No. It’s just not finished yet.”

“So you’ll let me listen once it is?”

“Sure. Once it’s written, I’ll let you hear it.”

His eyes narrow.

I smile.

“You’re scheming,” he says with a scowl.

“And you’re talking way too much for someone who seemed dead asleep just a few minutes ago.”

Without a beard to cover half his face, his rosy skin is fully on display, giving him away.

I sigh. “How long have you been listening?”

“A few minutes. I swear.”

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