Page 92 of Last Chorus

A second later, my spine warms as Wilder presses against me. Arms cradling my body, he takes my hands and rinses them, making sure I didn’t cut myself.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just scared. And I’m so angry. I hate this. I hate him.”

“Me too, Fairy. All of the above.” He shuts off the water and grabs a dishtowel to dry my hands, then turns me around. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

He leads me down the hallway and into the office opposite the stairs. Built-in bookshelves cover the wall behind a desk holding a laptop. The rest of the space is devoted to babysitting and entertaining our goddaughter.There’s a portable crib, sensory play mats, and a wooden storage unit stuffed with books and baskets of supplies and toys.

Wilder stops at a closet, toeing aside the giant bag of diapers blocking it. He flashes me a small smile as he opens the door. “That was to deter you from looking in here.”

Curiosity piqued, I peer around his shoulder as he retrieves something leaning against the wall behind coats. It’s obviously a painting. A big one. I shuffle backward, giving him space to turn the canvas around. I’m expecting River’s bold, graffiti-inspired style, but although I can immediately tell he’s the artist, the subject is nothing like what he’s known for.

I stare at the painting so long that Wilder says nervously, “This is what was hanging over the fireplace until about a month ago. Is it too much? We can hang something else.”

“No, I love it.” I look up at him through tears. “How?”

His smile is giant, so radiant it burns away everything but my love for him.

“My mom snapped this photo of us years ago, and River owed me a favor. Should we put it back up?”

“Absolutely.”

I step aside as he hefts the canvas and turns for thehallway, then almost collide with his back when he stops suddenly. He looks over his shoulder at me.

“I have to confess something. When I told you I’m obsessed with you, I wasn’t kidding.”

I arch my brows. “I think the painting is proof of that.”

He shakes his head, gaze falling to the canvas between us. “It’s way more than the painting. I…” He blows out a breath, then says in a rush, “I bought this property because of the sycamore out back and because of all the trees and water. You always said you wanted to live by both. I planted the daffodils for you. Fuck, I designed and built this house and the studio with you in mind. It’s all for you—for us. Even though I didn’t know if you’d ever see it.”

Warmth blossoms in my chest, a crackling expansion that takes my breath away.

He continues before I can speak, “Also, that journalist was right about me. Every one of my songs is a love letter to you. I’ve never written anything that’s not in some way inspired by you. I’ve never loved anyone but you, never dated anyone seriously in the last seven years. I guess what I’m trying to say is if all that doesn’t freak you out, I want you to live here. With me.”

“Okay.”

His head whips up, eyes wide and shocked. “What?”

I swallow laughter, shrugging. “My master plan showing up here was to never leave, so that works.”

Sparkling eyes narrow. “It was?”

I nod. Wilder leans forward to kiss me, but I dance out of reach and dart into the hallway. As I walk away, I throw over my shoulder, “This is perfect timing, actually, because I’m about to be billed for another month of storage. I’ll call them right now and arrange delivery. We’ll need to pull our cars out of the garage so they can unload all the boxes. Oh, and fair warning, I have a lot of clothes. You should probably just give me the whole walk-in.”

The painting thuds on the floor.

“Evangeline,” he growls.

Grinning so hard my face hurts, I walk faster. “You’re going to need more shelves in the studio, too. Glow hasa lotof awards. And before I forget—Lily and Rye want to get married on the property. Since I live here now, I’ll go ahead and say yes.”

His footsteps break into a run.

With a breathless squeal, I sprint for the back door. I don’t make it, but I can’t say I’m disappointed by the result.

PART FIVE

outro

outro: the ending portion of a song

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