Page 41 of American Beauty

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my keys. I don’t bother changing clothes or fixing my hair. I just drive, the weight of the music still sitting in my chest like an anchor.

By the time I reach the McLachlan house, the sun is dipping low behind the trees, casting the vineyard in a rich amber glow. I spot Jack stepping off the ATV, his boots thick with dirt, khaki work pants creased and stained from a long daytending his grapes. His button-down hangs loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dust smudging the fabric. He yanks off his wide-brimmed hat, revealing hair flattened and crimped from sweat.

He wipes a hand down his shirt before clocking me. “This is an unexpected surprise. Everything all right?”

I nod even though it’s a lie. “Yeah. I’ve come to see Laurelyn. I have questions for her.”

His laid-back tone shifts into something quieter. “You okay, mate?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just I need her take on something. Woman stuff, I guess you’d say.”

“You meanMagnolia stuff.” There’s no judgment. Just understanding.

“Am I that easy to read?”

He jerks his head toward the side of the house. “You’ve come to the right place. L’s working in the studio.”

I follow him around back, gravel crunching beneath our feet.

The McLachlan studio glows in the soft afternoon light—floor-to-ceiling windows spilling sunshine across a baby grand, instruments lining the walls like sacred artifacts. Laurelyn sits at the piano, her fingers dancing through something delicate and slow. She looks up at the sound of the door and smiles. “Hey you. I’m glad to see you crawled out of your hermit hole.”

I lift a hand in a half-hearted wave. “Only because I need a favor. You’re going to laugh at me about this, both of you, probably Jack more than you.”

Her brow quirks, amused but curious. “Color me intrigued.”

Jack goes to the fridge of the kitchenette and grabs two beers. He cracks one open and holds out the second.

“Thanks.”

He nods and drops onto the leather sectional, one arm slung over the back, taking a big chug of beer.

I cross the room and hand Laurelyn my phone. “I’m pretty sure this qualifies me as a lovesick teenage girl.”

Laurelyn studies my phone. “What am I looking at?”

“Magnolia’s music collection. I’m still logged into her account.”

Her eyes skim the lists. “Missing Big Guy?”

“She created it a week ago. Two weeks after the breakup text.”

“I assume you’re big guy?”

“Yeah, that’s what she always called me.”

A pair of creases forms between Laurelyn’s eyes. “This isn’t the playlist of a woman who’s moved on.”

My stomach knots. “You’re sure?”

She glances up at me like I’ve asked if the sky was blue. “This is heartbreak in the form of music. She’s grieving and missing someone she didn’t want to lose.”

Jack shifts forward on the sectional, setting his beer on the coffee table with a quiet thunk. “But you said she blocked you, right?”

“Yeah. She sent me a message saying she’d met someone new, and we were done. Didn’t want commitment. Told me not to contact her again.”

Jack whistles low. “That’s a hell of a shift—from what you had to what she texted.”

“None of it makes sense.”

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