Page 125 of Again, In Autumn

My legs tuck up, and I wrap the bottom of this soft robe around my pant legs. A chill pierces holes in my socks. I mumble, “You wrote that song about me.”

“They’re all about you,” he admits. “I played my first five hits. I wrote them each back-to-back, right after I got to Nashville.”

I wonder, “Do you sing them just because they’re popular, or…do you ever think about me when you’re singing those words?”

Adam drapes his arm on the back of the seat, scooting closer so that our hips are touching. His palm lays on my forehead, gently brushing my hair from my face. “I think of you every time I sing anything. I think of you when I’m in line at the grocery store and I see an Us Weekly.”

I cover my mouth to laugh.

He keeps going. “I think of you when I eat chocolate chip cookies and drink shitty coffee. I think of you every time I pet my dog that reminds me of your dog. And that one time I was scrolling through the TV and sat through seventy-five percent of Bring It On.”

“That’s such a good movie,” I think aloud.

“You were on my mind the entire time I was interviewed by Andy Cohen.”

I wince. “That’s the only Watch What Happens Live that I couldn’t bring myself to watch.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head. He grumbles, “We need to get you in a book club.”

I inch further into Adam’s side. His arm curls around my shoulder. My feet press slightly under the warmth of his leg.

“I’m asking this because…” I falter.

Be brave, Vienna.

“Because I think about you all the time too, and not just because you’re on the radio or Instagram or because I’ve heard six-year-olds mindlessly singing your songs.”

“I’m a big hit with the kindergarten crowd.”

I say, “I bought beeswax wrapping sheets instead of plastic wrap because it’s better for the environment.” I throw him a look.

He smiles and nods like, go on.

“I bought Catcher In The Rye. Have not read it, will not read it, but I own it. Because you wouldn’t shut up about it.” I swallow, looking at my hands. “I even convinced my friend to have her bachelorette party in Nashville this Spring. I didn’t know if you’d be there or if you still lived there, but I just wanted to feel what you felt. Go where you’ve gone.”

Adam’s face tightens. He bites his lip, a line of seriousness forming between his eyebrows. Softly, he asks, “What does this all mean, Vee?”

Truth, I don’t really know.

“What do you want out of us?” I pass the torch back to him. I can be sure of one thing: he wants me, in some capacity. Whether it’s in that bed tonight, for a few months, forever, I’m not sure.

Adam reads my body language. When he’s satisfied, he cups under my knees with one hand and wraps the other around my back. He tugs me onto his lap. After a moment of surprise, I loop my arms around his neck and sink into his hard, heaving chest.

Face to face, he checks, “Is this okay?”

My heart sinks into his.

His hold on me tightens. “I want you, Vienna. All the time.”

“For how long?” I whisper.

“I never took back the question in the back of my truck,” he says with strength in his voice. “You know exactly how long I want you for.”

That’s too much. I warn, “Adam –”

“I’m just telling you what I want. You asked.”

I focus on the fake candle glowing by his feet and the sound of the wind in the dry branches below us. I formulate the thought in my head before it comes out so that I don’t get it wrong.

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