Page 146 of Ever With Me

She had never, ever been so deliriously in love in her life.

When she was with him here at the lake house, it was almost possible to pretend they lived inside a bubble, just the two of them versus the world.

No paparazzi looking in.

No bodyguards staring out.

No rapidly approaching end of rentals or town fair concerts in four days—how in the hell has Brooks already been here almost a month?—or court dates that meant he no longer needed to stay.

No Pops asking her to take over his role at his company to be the face of his business.

But as each of those thoughts pressed in, she found her heart growing heavier and heavier, the clouds encroaching once more.

She got ready quickly, eager to be near him again, and as soon as she stepped out of the bedroom, she heard the soft strum of a guitar.

Brooks sat on a stool in the kitchen, a pencil tucked behind his ear and his guitar in hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his jaw held slightly slack as his fingers slid against the neck of the guitar in a barre chord, and there was an exquisite sound of strings against the surface of his skin.

She tiptoed in farther, but he didn’t appear to have noticed her. It was as though he was deaf to the world around him when the guitar was in his hands.

“You’re still whole and you are worthy . . .”

His deep voice was just a shade above a whisper, and she hugged her arms to her chest, leaning against the wall.

Brooks stopped, wrote something down on a sheet of paper on the counter, then slid the pencil behind his ear again.

Brooks Kent was writing a song.

Maddie’s hand slid up to her throat as she swallowed a lump there.

Maybe he did this in front of people all the time. Maybe not. But for all the times he’d stripped himself down in front of her—physically or emotionally—this felt different.

Like watching a master at work.

He continued as though in a trance for a few minutes, then frowned and looked up. He smiled when he saw there and set the guitar down. “I was wondering what happened to you. I left you a glass of wine on the counter.”

She slipped into the kitchen and found the awaiting glass. “I was enjoying listening to you. You didn’t see me?”

He shook his head as he closed the guitar case. “I had a sudden jolt of inspiration to write down something floating through my head. Everything is ready for the tacos, though. All we have to do is grill the tortillas and heat the shredded beef a bit. The potatoes and carrots in the roast were, sadly, not salvageable.”

“You’re officially my favorite person ever.” She picked up the glass of wine as he moved into the kitchen. “Is this what living with you would be like? Because I’mthisclose to quitting my job and being a kept woman.”

“I don’t have many references, but I am happy to make lofty promises of being an amazing roommate.” Brooks lit a burner and slid a tortilla onto a grill pan. “Do you want your tortillas soft or a little crispy and charred?”

“Ooo, option B.” She studied the stem of her glass, memories of the heaviness from when she’d been getting dressed pressing against her chest. “Um . . . so I have some news. News that might have a bit of an impact on you. Onus, really.”

Brooks looked over his shoulder, the color from his face draining. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “No! I mean, I don’t think I am. I haven’t gotten my . . . I mean, I wouldn’t know yet, but . . .”

He’d grown even paler. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m not pregnant, Brooks. I wasn’t eventhinkingabout that, so you completely caught me off guard. I mean, with the amount of unprotected sex we’ve been having, it’s always a super remote possibility even on the pill, I guess, but—” She clearly wasn’t making him feel any better.

Maddie put her hands out in front of her. “Okay, let me start over. I’m not pregnant. But my grandfather asked me today to take over his role and be the face of his company, whichiswhat I wanted to talk about. Not about pregnancy or future babies. Although, maybe we should so that we get that talk out of the way and know where we stand since you’d clearly be miserable if Iwaspregnant.”

Why did she always do this when she got flustered? She needed to learn when to stop talking.

The corners of Brooks’s eyes narrowed, and he gave her a thoughtful stare, then flipped the tortilla with his fingers.

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