Page 27 of I Love You in French

“It’s stuffed.”

He winces.

“Lily got him for me.”

“Of course she did,” he sighs.

He moves away from me, and I already miss his warmth. The dimple comes out to play as he starts to inch toward my sheet pan rack of finished pastries. “You win this time, Sparrow.”

I watch as he lifts the bottom of his sweatshirt into a makeshift pocket and grabs a handful of macarons from two of the trays but not before stuffing a coffee-colored one in his mouth. “Hey!”

He walks backward toward the door to the front of the bakery, a look of triumph on his face. “Mmm, espresso,” he says to himself before looking back at me, a little amusement matched with indignation flashing in his eyes. “Oh, and Sugar?”

I turn to face him with the most innocent expression I can muster.

“Quit stealing my guitar picks.” The twitch on the side of his mouth betrays him. He’s enjoying this as much as I am.

When the door swings shut, I finally let out a laugh. It’s relief mixed with elation. It’s floating after worrying you may sink. I don’t want to keep the man from his music, but I regret nothing. It turns out that he has multiple colors of his engraved pics. Good thing I looked online to find out how I could order them to replace them if he doesn’t find them all.

But if I can see that face of his getting so worked up a few more times, it will be more than worth it. I’m still smiling as I finish the tray and pop the macarons into the oven. My phone vibrates on the counter, and I know just who it’s from.

Rafe: This isn’t over.

Grabbing a pumpkin macaron from the tray he sampled, I smile and take a satisfying bite. Just wait until he realizes where I hid the rest.

Chapter Eleven

Rafe

I hum quietly to the pieces of a song playing through my earphones. I’m hooked up to a sound booth sort of situation in the back of The Music Store. Liam, its owner, is younger than I expected. I looked him up, and while he is renowned in this region for jazz music, he works with musical artists across multiple genres and is a multi-instrumentalist. Apparently, his father was a drummer in a famous band in the eighties, and while Liam never wanted to tour, music is his life. I can relate.

Being attached to an instrument in the studio is where I feel the most at home. It quiets the noise and makes me feel things I otherwise wouldn’t let myself feel. I’ve been in therapy over the years, my parents insisting upon it when they thought I wasn’t pursuing my best life by refusing to go into fashion with my father. Little did they know I used the time to process how to distance myself further from their disappointment. It’s the music notes that have always been my haven.

“Man, this is sounding good,” Liam says into the microphone behind the plexiglass. Birch Borough is not Nashville or LA, but I like the vibe of this place. Here, it feels like music is all that matters, and I can get behind that. I’ve been scribbling for days and had to get the sounds out, so I stopped at the store. Liam and I connected over a love of recording music, and here I am, trying to hide away while counting down the moments until I see Sparrow again.

Usually, I can lose track of time in the studio. But while the song is coming along, it’s not quite there yet. I think I need to live a bit more to find out what it needs. Or perhaps I need to be around a certain someone who seems to both inspire me and take up all my creativity.

“We should lay down some vocals soon. What do you say?”

I nod and grin, the tension starting to ease from my frame. When I was fifteen, I realized that the only way to get my music into the world was to do it myself. I couldn't just go up to a famous singer and ask them to sing a song I wrote. But getting music into the world is my passion. I’ve always felt like everyone has something to give to the world, and the something I have to give involves music. I’ve learned to use alchemy to turn disappointment into my fuel for creativity. But lately, that creativity has been running out—until Sparrow.

Speaking of Sparrow, she has no reason to think I will stick around, and that’s bothering me way too much. Tell people you’re a singer, and they automatically assume you want to be famous. I don’t. I just want famous people to sing my songs. And I believe, one day, they will. The journey has cost me too much. And just like the others, this song has to count. It will count. I can’t afford for anything I create to only be “good” and not reach its full potential. My heart demands more.

“It needs a bit more work, but I think I know where to find more inspiration.”

Liam gives a knowing grin as he steps into the studio space. “You seem to be spending lots of time at Sparrow’s Beret.”

I will myself to keep my face in check. “Good coffee. Great pastries. What’s not to like?”

He doesn’t say anything, letting me settle into what we’re not saying: I’ve got a thing for the person who owns the bakery.

“I’ve lived here a long time. Went to school with the crew—the four women who are becoming the backbone of this town,” he says with a smile, confirming that we are around the same age and when it comes to this group of friends, he’s got wisdom to share. “Are you patient?” he says unexpectedly.

I nod.

“Good. Because your girl likes to hide. She’s brilliant and beautiful, but you’ll have to work to get under her layers.”

I must give him a look, because he shakes his head with a laugh. “I’ve never felt like that for her, just telling you how it is. It’s probably nothing you haven’t figured out.”

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