Page 23 of Where the Little Birds Go (Little Bird Duet 1)

Corbin’s father makes me wonder if he’ll sound the same when he’s older—gravelly and sweet, but also blunt and demanding. It wouldn’t hurt if Corbin also aged like him too, but I keep that little tidbit to myself.

Corbin never mentioned hanging out with anyone today when we talked last night, so I’m not sure if agreeing to go inside is a good idea. The cold air against my body is making my hands shake, and I know Mom will give my blue skin one good look before saying I told you so when I get back.

“I wouldn’t mind cocoa,” I admit, following him inside. He holds the door open for me like Corbin does every time I’m over, before closing it and leading me into the kitchen.

From upstairs, I hear laughter. The louder tone is undoubtedly Corbin and makes me smile. The others I don’t know though. One of them even sounds pitchy, girly, and I feel like maybe I should make up an excuse to go home and leave him to whatever is going on.

“I forgot,” I blurt, jabbing my hand toward the door. “I just remembered that I promised my mom I’d help her clean the house today.”

Internally cringing at the poor excuse, I turn toward the door and shoot Mr. Callum a quick wave before walking out. The laughter dies down as I pass the stairs, and I hear Mr. Callum call my name which causes me to walk a lot faster before anyone else can hear him.

I’m fighting the wind that’s picking up my loose hair with its brutal gusts when I hear a different voice call out after me. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk just as Corbin jogs over to where I’m standing.

“Hey.” His smile is no different than usual, which makes me feel a little better. The last thing I want is to bother him when he’s with his other friends. I even like some of them, like Zach Russo. He’s two years older than me like Corbin is, and not nearly as annoying as the boys in my sophomore class. He’ll even say hi to me in the hallway, and not just when Corbin is around.

“I didn’t know you had people over.” I lick my lips and gesture toward the house. “Sorry about just showing up. I should have texted you or something to see if—”

He nudges my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Kinley. What’s up?” His eyes look down at the paper in my hand. “What is that?”

The smile on my face reappears. “It’s what I wanted to show you. I got so excited that I bolted out my house like it was on fire.”

He laughs and reaches down, taking the paper and studying what’s written on it. When he glances up at me, the prideful smile showcased on his face makes my fingertips tingle.

“You won.”

I nod enthusiastically. “They chose the winner last night, but I didn’t see the email until this morning. As soon as I saw it I squealed. Mom thought I found another mouse in my room which freaked her out. She hates mice.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” I press on, jumping. “I won a chance to talk to a bestselling author and get my story published in a literary magazine!”

He draws me in for a hug and squeezes me to his body. Melting into his warmth, I wrap my arms around his midsection, burying my nose into his chest. We’ve never done this before, but I like it.

I pull away first when he asks, “Who’s the author you get to talk to?”

“I have no idea.”

His laugh bursts out of him. When I meet his amused gaze, I can’t help but laugh too. In the bright November sunlight, a rarity between cold snaps and snow flurries, I notice the prominent scar on his e

yebrow. We exchanged war stories about our scars not long ago. He was chasing Fred around the house when he lost his footing and slammed his head into the corner of the coffee table, leaving the slightest white scar across his brow. I remember how embarrassed he was to admit that he’d been wounded because of his cat.

“But,” I amend, pulling my focus back to the contest, “it doesn’t matter. Do you want to know why? I may not have heard of them, but someone has. And in turn, they’ll have heard about me. Even if they forget about my existence after we’re done talking.”

“Nobody could forget you, Little Bird.”

I scoff. “Stop. Did you forget the bestselling part? They’re busy being successful. The last thing they’re going to think about in their free time is the girl from a town they’ve never heard of in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s still your name out there.”

Grinning, I take the paper back. “True.”

“I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

For the first time since I arrived at his place, I take a deep breath. “I’m proud of me too. It may not be much, but it’s something. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your friends. I need to go put on like forty layers to warm up.”

He notes my lack of outerwear. “It’s like forty today. Where is your jacket?”

I roll my eyes. “At home, Mom.” Sticking my tongue out as I back up, I hug the paper to my chest. He mimics me, making me laugh.

---