Page 69 of One More Made Up Love Song
I nod.
He considers my question for so long, I wonder if I shouldn’t have asked. But then he says, “Honestly, I don’t know that I’veevertried to impress them. They never understood me, really. And I got that when I was a little kid. Six or seven, even. I knew I was different. That what mattered to them was never going to matter to me.” He runs a hand across his face. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel like a painful thing. Just a part of my reality. And I can’t really complain, right? They supported me when I wanted to try out for Midnight Rush, then when I moved to Nashville. They didn’t stand in my way. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to enjoy my music just because it’s mine.”
His patience with his parents does him credit, but it also makes me want to take him home tomyparents, just so they can gush over him like I know they would. Mom would sit him down at her kitchen table and fill him with homemade peach pie and ask him a thousand questions about his music and touring and his favorite cities and his favorite songs and then she would let him name one of her rescue donkeys and promise every time she said its name, she’d think of Freddie.
That’s just how my parents are. Fully invested. The world’s greatest cheerleaders.
“Theyshouldenjoy your music because it’s yours,” I say. “But also because it’s brilliant.”
“Wait, hold on,” Freddie says, reaching for his phone. “Can you say that one more time? I’d like to record Ivy Conway saying I’m brilliant.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay. Now it’s really time for bed.” I push away from the wall, but Freddie catches my wrist.
“Wait,” he says.
I pause, turning back, eyes snagging on the way he’s holding me, his thumb just over the pulse point on the inside of my arm. I wonder if he can feel how quickly the blood is racing through my veins. His thumb moves the slightest bit, tracing a tiny circle across my skin.
He licks his lips, and for a split second, I could swear his gaze drops tomylips. There’s something in his gaze I’ve never seen before—something weighty and intentional that sends awareness skittering over my skin. I lean forward the slightest bit, yielding to the magnetic pull of his presence. But then his hand slides down to mine, and he gives it a quick squeeze before letting me go and taking a step backward.
“Good night, Ivy,” he says softly. Then he turns and slips into his bedroom without glancing back.
I sag against the wall and close my eyes, heart still pounding.
It wasn’t much. Just a whisper of a touch across my wrist. That isn’t enough to justify feeling any kind of hope. But I can’t help it. When I walk across the kitchen to my own room, I can’t help but feel like I’m floating.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ivy
The next fewdays pass uneventfully.
Well, mostly.
Freddie spends a lot of time in the studio, each day coming home a little more invigorated than he was the day before. And I spend a lot of time with Carina. Her recently graduated and currently unemployed status means she doesn’t have to hurry to get back to Knoxville, and I’m enjoying her company, so we aren’t in any rush to take her home. We watch movies, go to the spa to get massages, and tour the Country Music Hall of Fame. We go shopping and to the Johnny Cash Museum, and we wander up and down Broadway, visiting different music venues and sampling overpriced mocktails.
At first, I wasn’t sure about going out, afraid people might recognize me, but without Freddie beside me, it’s easy to fly under the radar. I wear a hat, sunglasses, and no makeup,intentionally dressing myself down, and it works. Aside from two teenage girls who eye me in a record store, whispering behind their hands, no one else pays me much notice. At first, it’s slightly awkward having Jason, a member of Wayne’s security team, following behind us—Freddie insisted, just in case—but after the first outing, we get really good at ignoring him.
At home, we bake cookies and make our favorite meals, and while I keep up with what little work Freddie is still letting me do, Carina spends a good chunk of each day playing with Jace’s kids. Jace’s mom, Shay, is incredible—she reminds me a lot of our mom—and she’s mothering us as much as she’s mothering her grandkids.
Annie, who is only three and a half, talks like a tiny adult and has learned how to roll her eyes in a way that I’m sure will frustrate her father in a few years. But for right now, it’s so completely adorable that Carina keeps coming up with ways to trigger it.
Shay thinks it’s hilarious, but I should probably apologize to Jace before he flies back to California. It’s possible Carina has accidentally taught Annie how to be a drama queen.
As a couple, Freddie and I go out together twice. Once as a group because Freddie wants to take the other members of Midnight Rush out to dinner. And once for lunch, just the two of us, because Sloane texts and suggests we make an appearance at an upscale restaurant where paparazzi are known to hang out, hoping to spot celebrities. The paparazzi scene in Nashville is nothing like it is in LA, but there’s enough country music royalty living in the city that there are always photographers around trying to grab relevant shots.
Both times, Freddie keeps me close, holding my hand,keeping his arm around me. He is attentive and thoughtful and basically the perfect boyfriend.
Perfectfakeboyfriend, anyway.
But he is also intentional. Measured in a way that makes me think he’s being careful with me. He was unguarded that first night home, when I talked to him outside his bedroom, but he hasn’t been since then.
I can appreciate his efforts to be cautious—I’m sure he doesn’t want to take advantage—but I alsohatehis efforts to be cautious. Because they are constant reminders that all of this is fake.
When we hold hands on our way into the restaurant or he guides me through the dining room with his hand on the small of my back, it’s fake.
When we stand at the curb, waiting for the car, and he wraps his arm around me, pressing a kiss against my temple—also fake. Even if the way his lips make me feel is anything but.
Still, our efforts are paying off. The public is eating up any scrap of information about our new relationship, and the buzz is having a noticeable impact. Freddie’s numbers are up across all platforms, and everyone is talking about the new album, speculating about when the first single will drop. His label is happy, his agent is happy, and now, Freddie is finally writing again, so he’s happy too.
