Page 31 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Fine! You’re right, okay?” Myst huffed, crossing her arms and pouting like a child. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Jessie replied dryly, handing the journal back. “Now, get to work. And don’t make it too sad, we’ve got enough heartbreak songs in the world already.”

Myst rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. As much as Jessie’s tough-love approach grated on her nerves, it was exactly what she needed. Taking a deep breath, she settled back into the couch, pen poised over the page once more.

This time, the words came easier. They spilled out in a rush, raw and unfiltered: regret, longing, love, all tangled together in a melody that felt like it had been waiting for her to find it. She hummed softly to herself as she wrote, the tune taking shape in her mind. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but it was honest. And that was enough.

“Okay, that’s better,” Jessie said after a while, listening to Myst hum the notes under her breath. “Still a bit mopey, but I’ll allow it. So, are you gonna send it to him or what?”

Myst froze, the pen slipping from her fingers. The idea of sending anything to George, let alone this deeply personal, painfully vulnerable song, sent a shiver down her spine. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “What if he doesn’t want to hear from me?”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Jessie said without hesitation. “But you’ll never know unless you try.”

Myst chewed her bottom lip, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. Jessie made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. What if she reached out and it only made things worse? What if…

“Stop thinking,” Jessie interrupted, as if reading her mind. “You’re gonna spiral, and then we’ll be back to square one. Just… I don’t know, sleep on it or something. But don’t wait too long, okay? Life’s short, babe.”

“Yeah,” Myst murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

But as the night wore on and the Paris lights outside her window blurred into a hazy glow, Myst realized that she couldn’t wait. Not anymore. Fear had kept her frozen for too long, and if she wanted to fix things with George, she had to act now. Before it was too late.

“Jessie,” she said suddenly, startling her cousin, who had dozed off on the couch. “I’m going to Toulouse.”

Jessie blinked groggily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Wait, what? Like, right now?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. First flight out,” Myst said, her voice steady despite the butterflies swarming in her stomach. “I have to see him. I have to make this right.”

For once, Jessie didn’t argue or tease. She just nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “About time,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Want me to pack snacks?”

Myst laughed, a bright, genuine sound that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe again. And as she closed her journal and set it aside, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t going to let fear win.

The doorbell rang, its cheerful chime cutting through the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation in Tommy’s dining room. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the gleam of silverware and the half-empty glasses scattered across the table. Tommy’s youngest was in the middle of an animated attempt to steal chips off his twin’s plate, setting off a chorus of protests and laughter.

“George, mate, see who that is, would ya?” Tommy called from his spot at the table, reaching for a napkin to wipe the smear of ketchup off his youngest’s cheek.

“Yeah, sure,” George muttered, pushing his chair back. But before he could rise, Elisa swept in from the kitchen with the bowl of pasta she’d made for him and Tommy.

“I’ve got it. Relax,” she said, putting the bowl down and heading past them to the hallway door. Her eyes flicked toward George. “Expecting someone famous, George?” she teased lightly, her tone playful but sharp enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Not bloody likely,” George mumbled as he leaned back, his hand curling around his glass of water. Jessie knew where he was, but Myst? She wouldn’t show up here. Still, a peculiar tightness gripped his chest; hope, fragile and unwelcome.

Then, faintly, from the hallway came a voice. A soft, familiar voice.

“Is George here?”

George froze mid-breath. The chatter around the table dimmed, but he barely noticed. Every muscle in his body locked up, like the aftermath of a nasty tackle. That voice. It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be real.

“George!” Tommy barked, snapping him out of his daze. “Mate, you’ve got... uh... company. Want me to…?”

But George was already rising, his pulse pounding in his ears as he crossed the room in long, hurried strides. He rounded the corner into the hallway, and stopped cold.

Myst stood in the open doorway, framed by the sunlight spilling in around her. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, tousled slightly by the midday breeze. The pale blue of her eyes searched his, wide and uncertain. She looked... small. Nervous. Like she wasn’t sure if she belonged here or if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I…” She hesitated, her gaze faltering, before snapping back to his. “I needed to see you.”

“Bloody hell,” George breathed, his voice faint, forgetting entirely about Elisa standing just behind him, or Tommy, who had followed him from the dining room.

“Well,” Elisa interjected gently, folding her arms. “This feels... important.” She glanced at Tommy, who gave her a knowing nod, before turning to their two kids, who were peering curiously around the corner. “Alright, everyone,” she said, clapping her hands. “Let’s give these two some space. Back to the table, now.”

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