Page 64 of Sounds Like Love

“Sasha,thereyou are,” I said loudly.

A few people beside us murmured “Sasha?” while giving each other confused looks.

“What are these people doing around you? Oh my god, are you signing thingsagain? I’m sorry about this,” I added to the closest person, a sunburnt tourist in a red visor and swim trunks. “He thinks it’ssofunny. Pretending he’s that boy band guy.”

His anxiety quickly morphed into excitement. Like the last kid on a playground finally asked to play red rover. “You have to admit, bird,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “I do look alittlelike him.”

“If you were taller,” I replied, and his eyebrows shot up at the surprise quip.

“I am just as tall as Google says!”

Mm-hmm, but are you?I asked teasingly.

The group around us began to murmur disappointedly.

Someone even added, “Heisa little short …”

Sebastian looked stricken.

“You’re awful,”he said.

I bit back a grin.You’re welcome.

“Now come on, we’re already late. Excuse us,” I added, holding fast to his arm as I dragged him out of the throng of people.

To his surprise, they didn’t follow. Of course not—even tourists knew that Vienna Shores didn’t getcelebrities. Especially not the likes of Sebastian Fell. He was better suited for the Maldives or some nude beach in Spain.

I didn’t let go of him until we were on the block with the Revelry. Then I unwound my arm from his, finally, to unlock the front door and let him inside. He didn’t relax until I’d closed and locked the door again behind us, and his shoulders slumped in relief.

“I’m sorry, I would’ve been here sooner …” he began and offered one of the coffees to me. “It’s a Perfect Woman with an extra shot.”

“Oh—thanks. This is kind of exactly what I wanted,” I noted, taking a sip. It was a little cold, but still good. How thoughtful of him, and he even remembered what I liked. “Wait, did you go to Cool Beansjustto get me coffee?”

He shrugged. Then his stomach made a noise.

I dug his sub out of the sandwich bag and handed it to him. “Here, we’ll trade, then. Turkey sub on white bread, provolone cheese and olives. Sans alfalfa sprouts.”

He took it with a widening grin, because I’d heard what he wanted, too.

WE ATE OURsandwiches on the lip of the stage, drank cold coffee, and got to work. Well,workin the loose sense, because the moment we sat down at the piano bench we couldn’t really agree on anything. We didn’t even know what we wanted the song to be, what we wanted it to say, or how we wanted to make people feel.

“I don’t even know howIfeel,” I muttered, staring down at the piano keys. There were eighty-eight keys and endless combinations, and I couldn’t imagine a single one.

“The empty thing,” he inferred.

I gave a one-shouldered shrug.You make it sound so normal.

“You’re burnt out,”he replied, setting his fingers on the keys. He started to work through the melody in our heads, as absently as twirling a piece of hair.“Give yourself a little grace about it. You’re going through something no one should.”

That made me still. I hadn’t considered looking at it that way, mostly because I was in it, and the only way out was through. Always through.

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Thank you. I think the worst part is that no one knows, except for you—well, and my manager. I can’t even tell my best friend, because I feel like a failure. Like I shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’tfeelthis. I shouldn’t have this problem—but Ido.”

He inclined his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, no.I don’t know.

His fingers moved slower over the keys, the melody turning into a ballad of sorts.“We don’t even have to talk.”

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