Page 39 of Strings Attached
“Thanks, Jules.”
His eyes twinkle in the setting sun and I understand how his charm is so easy to fall for, when those emerald eyes glistenunder stage light and he looks at you like you’re the only melody worth listening to. It’s the same charm that’s carried him through three albums and countless performances, that makes audiences lean forward in their seats. But now it feels like a familiar song I’ve heard too many times—all technical perfection with no real heart behind it.
“So, this evening after our performance, we’ll work on the album?” he asks. “When will you be done here?”
“I’m enjoying the Hoopla today, Jules, we’ve discussed this.”
His smile tightens. “You keep giving one excuse after another. I’m only here for a couple more days. When else are we going to work on it?”
He’s right, of course. We do need to finish the album. I’m being unprofessional, disappointing our label, our fans, our manager. And him. Just because maybe I don’t want this career anymore, doesn’t mean Jules doesn’t. He’s yoked his career to mine and I’m letting him down. “I’m sorry, Jules. I’m distracted.”
He shrugs. “It’s this town—charming as it may be. It’s thrown off your focus. You remember I told you it would.”
“You did.” I struggle to keep the words from sounding bitter.
He pulls an envelope from his jacket—crisp white paper with my name in his precise handwriting. “I’ve printed the contract for you. We need to make this official if we’re going to keep our performance slots.”
The weight of the envelope feels like lead in my hands. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve been, condensed into legal terminology and touring dates. It should feel familiar. Instead, it feels like chains.
“I’ll get my parts done,” I promise, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
Jules leaves with the explanation that he vowed to take a picture with the young star performer, leaving me clutchingthe envelope and trying not to think about our upcoming performance. How are we supposed to harmonize when everything feels so discordant?
Alex appears at my elbow, her brow furrowed. “Hey, sis. Can I get you a cup of tea before your show?”
“Sure.”
We end up at a food truck getting a Harvest Moon Chai—cinnamon and cardamom and that pinch of magic that feels like comfort. Like Magnolia Cove itself. Which only makes everything harder.
Alex leads us to a picnic table beneath an ancient oak tree where Spanish moss hangs down like a curtain, creating an illusion of privacy. I set the envelope on the table, Jules’ handwriting staring up at me like an accusation.
“Everything okay?” Alex asks softly.
I paste on my performer’s smile, the one that’s gotten me through countless uncomfortable donor meetings and less-than-perfect venues. “Looks like I’m going touring again!” I wave the envelope with forced cheerfulness. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back the month before the wedding. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Alex’s eyes narrow. She’s quiet for a beat, her pink painted fingernails gripping her paper teacup so tightly she leaves dents in its side. Finally she releases a breath. “Okay, I know you’re an adult and maybe it’s not my place, but I can’t take it another minute. Missy, what’s wrong?”
Something in her gentle tone breaks me. My hands shake around my cooling cup and suddenly I’m crying—ugly tears that do not belong at a public festival. No, they belong firmly in one’s private bedroom. Preferably in a house. With no neighbors.
“Oh, Missy.” Alex pulls me into a fierce hug that reminds me of skinned knees and first heartbreaks, of all the times she’s been my shelter from the storm.
When I can finally breathe again, I whisper, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Anything. Always.” She brushes a bit of hair back from my face.
“I know about magic.”
She stills for a moment, then lets out a long breath. “Oh, good. That’s a relief. I’ve hated keeping the secret from you.”
“I understand why you’ve had to, though.” I twist my hands in my lap. “But there’s something else too.” Deep breath. “I’ve been seeing Dean Markham… like romantically.”
The silence stretches so long I finally force myself to look up. To my complete surprise, Alex is grinning.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Missy, half the island knows that.”
“What!?” Heat floods my cheeks. “We’ve told no one.”
