Page 58 of Lovetown, USA
“Good girl.” She flashes me a smile.
“How…how’s it being received in the industry?” I say softly.
She shrugs. “Haven’t had time to ask around. But the readers like it, and that’s what matters.”
Toyou.
We talk a bit more, then wrap up our meeting. I close my laptop with a sigh, my eyes shifting to my flask. I haven’t refilled it yet, but I’m very tempted.
Instead, I pick up my phone.
Later that evening, I’m standing in Shayla’s entryway, gazing around her small ranch house in awe. The eclectic art and decor draw me in immediately—paintings leaning casually against the walls, a vintage record player spinning softly, potted plants hanging from macrame hangers. Every inch of this place feels curated, but lived-in. It’s cozy like a warm hug.
She hands me a glass of red wine, smoothing her hands down her jeans. “I can order dinner, or you could sit in the kitchen with me while I whip something up.”
I take the glass, laughing at myself. “This right here? It’s why I’m here.”
“What is?”
“This wine,” I say. “I think I need your help.”
She raises a brow. “I thought this was a social call.”
“It can be. But I’m interested in therapy. I think.”
“For…?” she says, her forehead creasing with concern.
“Alcohol. My…reliance on it.”
Her face relaxes in recognition. “Well, I’m not a miracle worker, hon. Music therapy isn’t treatment for something like that. The best I can do is maybe help you identify and express your emotions instead of dulling them.” She takes the wine away gently, and I chuckle. “I don’t have the tools for anything else. Have you considered rehab?”
“That’s more of a last resort.” I blow out a sigh. “So, I’m seeing this guy, and he’s concerned. I don’t normally care what men have to say about things, but he’s a doctor. His words have some weight.”
She nods, her eyes softening. “What doyouthink?”
I ponder that question for a second, then admit, “I’m not sure.”
“Well, being honest about that is a good start,” she says, her eyes fixed on mine. “I’m open to talk, or to work with you in a professional capacity. Whatever you need.”
Her voice has a gentle spark that makes my chest tighten.
“I appreciate that,” I say. “You’re so sweet.
“So are you.”
Electricity hums between us in the silence, subtle and teasing.
I clear my throat. “I love your place.”
“Thank you. Let me show you around.”
She leads me through the house, room by room, drinking my wine, pointing out art and decor, explaining the history behind each piece. I notice the small details, like the imperfect lines, splashes of color, odd little trinkets…and in them, I see a woman who is living life to the fullest. She’s just so…vibrant.
I used to be like that, too.
“You know, every room says something about you.”
She smirks. “You notice everything, huh?”
