Page 58 of No More Love Songs

“Actually,” he says, taking my hand and smiling, “you kind of suck at this.”

I let out a laugh before I can remember to be outraged by his remark. “Jerk.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.” His smile shifts into a lopsided grin, and I instantly forget to be mad at him. “The thing is, I haven’t had a chance to do this sort of thing for anyone in a long time. So, if you could just sit back and let me enjoy it, I would really appreciate it.”

“You want me to sit back and let you enjoy doing everything...for me.” It sounds like the sort of sentence that needs repeating for clarification purposes.

“Yes.” He nods. “Think you can handle that?”

“Can I get my notepad? In case I feel suddenly inspired to write?” I do. I feel inspired to write. No love songs. But...something.

“No.” He stands up and starts to turn away, which is unfortunate, because it means he’s missing out on my disappointed pout. “But you can let me get it for you.”

“Oh.” And the pout is gone. Maybe forever. “Thank you.”

A few short paces back and forth, and he’s back, handing me my notepad along with a pen. “You’re welcome.”

Then, I finally shut up, sit back, and let him do his thing.

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KIT

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Sky scribbles awaynonstop on that pad of paper all throughout my setting up our picnic, and then after dinner when I clear everything again. Half an hour later, when I’m handing her a hot cup of coffee I poured from the thermos I brought, she’s back at it.

Still, I don’t ask. I’m dying to know. But I don’t ask.

I’m not even sure why. Though I could probably venture a fucking guess. I spent years fighting my way through Jessica’s secrets just to keep her alive, only to come face to face with lies that should have killed me. Eventually, you learn to let shit lie for sake of self-preservation.

Not that Sky is anything like her. Or that I think she’s keeping secrets.

But I know deep down, I’m scared that the words she’s putting down on paper aren’t the words pressing their way to the forefront of my mind more and more often ever since she’s been here.

“Sorry,” she apologizes when she realizes she’s gotten caught up in her own thoughts and putting them on paper.

“Don’t be.” And I mean it. “It’s good to see you like this, in your element.”

She smiles. “I guess in some ways, I’ve always known my one true love.” She waves around the pad of paper before setting it down on the shelf nearby.

“Music is always a safe place to rest your heart.” I know that better than anyone. “Wanna take this coffee outside? Sky is crystal clear tonight. Perfect for stargazing.”

She’s up on her feet before I finish talking. “Sounds perfect.”

I grab one of the blankets and follow her out.

As soon as she settles into a spot along the railing, I wrap the blanket around her, and move in to stand behind her, wrapping both arms around her waist. Where before my embrace would cause her to tense in surprise, now she melts into me instantly. Her head rests on my shoulder as she tips it back to look up at the sky, her soft hair tickling my chin. I lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, taking in the scent of her shampoo as I do. Lemon. She always smells of lemon.

“My dad died when I was ten,” she says, catching me so off guard it takes me a second to register what she’s saying. Before I can even begin to find a response, she goes on, “I think that’s part of why I always idolized my parents’ relationship. It’s easy to let something be perfect if one of the people who made it that way is gone.” She tilts her head to look up at me, smirking softly. “Dead people don’t have flaws, you know. It’s a thing.”

“I see a morbid sense of humor among the living is as well.” I get it though. Lost my dad when I was young as well. Not as young as her, but young enough to know how it changes you.

“He’s also the one who made me fall in love with music.” She turns again, facing the stars. “I remember listening to him sing and play the guitar, and I just knew whatever part of him was made to do that was in me too.” She smiles wistfully. “First time I sang with him, he said I sounded like an angel. After that, it never mattered what anyone else thought of my voice. Deep down, no matter what any critic said, I believed my father’s words above all others.”

“I bet he’d be real proud of you now.”

She rolls her head back and forth over my chest, as if she’s considering it. “I hope so.” She gets still. “I think he’d be disappointed too, though.”

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