Page 98 of To Bring You Back
She whapped his shoulder, and he laughed.
“When I conquer that song, you’ll change your tune.”
His smile turned gentler. “And how does it feel?” His eyelashes sloped toward the ground instead of toward her, but he waited, listening as intently as she imagined he would if she offered to pluck a few notes for him.
“On the one hand, it’s frustrating because I can’t play the way I used to.”
“On the other?”
A deep breath filled her lungs. “Playing again feels like freedom. Or like music will be freedom once I get back what I lost. I’ve been stuffing down a lot—emotions, my story, my personality—for years now.” She paused, realizing he’d said something similar when he’d first mentioned the songs he’d written about her. If she hadn’t already given her blessing to share the songs, she would now. “Returning to bass makes me feel like I’m on the verge of being able to express all that again.”
“Sounds like living.” He tilted his head, gaze climbing to the sky.
Lakeshore didn’t emit much light pollution, so here, a mile or two from town, a generous canopy of stars shone. “I think it is.”
“Are you praying again too?”
“I am.” And it felt almost as good as sitting here talking to Gannon, but shouldn’t God mean more to her than a man? “I was praying when you came out.”
“About?”
“You.”
He returned to studying his feet. “You haven’t said much about what the songs mean.”
“They’re flattering.”
She’d intended it to be a compliment, but his smile turned rueful.
“Musically, the phoenix song pulls me the most.” When had music become a safer topic than their relationship? “The song about thinking about me … I’ve thought a lot about you too.”
“You haven’t missed me, though, have you?”
“I …” She’d been about to insist she had, but looking back, she hadn’t missed him the way his song said he’d missed her. She’d thought a lot about what-ifs—what if he showed up again, what if he’d forgotten all about her, what if she attended one of his shows? Longing tinged all of it, but the flavors of guilt and anger had been too strong to call it missing him. “I couldn’t, Gannon. I was too caught up in what had gone wrong and trying to not go off course again. But if it helps, when you leave now, it’ll punch a big hole in my life.”
“I’ll fly you out whenever you want.”
She’d gone too far, and now she had to backtrack. This was why she hadn’t wanted the conversation to go here. “Do you do that for all your friends?”
He stood and turned toward the lake. “Are we on that again?”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared silently over the water as if there were no more to say. Maybe there wasn’t.
Adeline slipped off the bench and took the first step toward the house to leave him in peace, but he clasped her hand, turning her back. He was close—much closer than she’d realized—and she put a hand on his chest to avoid crashing into him.
He covered her hand, his fingers cool over hers, a contrast to the body heat that seeped through his shirt to her palm. His breath rose and fell. Contrary to those lyrics, his heart beat against the base of her thumb. If they kissed, would she feel it speed up?
He dipped his head, not for a kiss, she could tell, but to coax her into lifting her gaze to his eyes. When she gave in, his line of sight strayed. Down to her lips. Heat rushed her face.
This wasn’t what she’d intended, but would it be so bad? Just a kiss. So the timing wasn’t ideal. The changes she faced would be a lot more fun if she could sometimes escape into Gannon’s arms.
Still holding her hand over his heart, he brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m running out of ways to show you what you mean to me.”
“And I’m afraid of how much you mean to me.”
“What’s there to be afraid of?” His question brushed her cheek, and his fingers trailed under her ear and into her hair.
