Page 55 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

Half of my lips quirk up. I love it when Dad asks me about my writing. Unless I offer up the conversation at home, the only time I speak about it is when it’s just him and me.

“I spoke with Jamie before we left.”

“And?”

I try not frowning but fail. “The woman she submitted my book to told me I need to revise it. It’ll take at least six months before she even reads it again. Maybe more.”

Dad shifts, looking out the windshield. “I suppose that’s not a bad thing. You’re going to be busy with school anyway.”

Humming out a non-reply, I nod my head.

“It sounds like she’s interested though.”

“Six months is a long time.”

I remember having this very conversation with Corbin when he complained about graduation being so far away. Now that he’s gone, it feels like the time I had with him passed too quickly. But I bet he preferred it that way since he wanted out since the day he stepped foot into our small town.

My grip tightens on the wheel.

“It’ll pass before you know it,” Dad promises.

I don’t agree, but I let it go. It’s just my bitterness leaving me in a foul mood. I thought I’d have better news to share with my family by now—something to show for all the work I’ve done the past few months on my book. Like I’d have a book deal or promise of one to celebrate so my parents would smile and congratulate me. Maybe we’d go out to eat to celebrate like they did when Gavin first got co-ownership of the farm.

Instead, I have nothing except revisions plaguing me. Revisions that still boil my blood the more I think about it. What kind of conflict does she want me to give them? Their love story is already riddled with tension.

When Dad clears his throat and shifts for a third time in the short amount we’ve been here, I know I’m about to have a conversation I don’t want to. “Have you heard from him?”

Staring at the road ahead of me, I debate on lying or stalling to answer. Dad would know better though. If not by my hesitation, by the strong grip that turns my knuckles white. “No.

From what his mom says, he’s been put to work quite a bit doing small roles and commercials.”

He makes an effort with me that nobody else has, but it’s feeble at best given my reluctance to entertain the topic. “That sounds exciting for him.”

“It is,” I relent.

Silence.

“You know—”

“Can we not?” I ask awkwardly, twisting my grip on the wheel until an eerie squeal sounds from the movement.

He sighs, clearly not wanting to relent but doing so anyway. He’s told me before that bottling up my feelings doesn’t get me anywhere. But he told me that when I’d gotten into a fight with Mom. Not Corbin. It’s different. “Sure, kid.”

I turn on the radio and let the music drown out the silence between us. It doesn’t ease the screaming thoughts haunting my mind.

The light layer of fresh snowfall coating the pavement and small tree branches planted along the side of the bustling Big Apple streets has me smiling as I walk toward the familiar skyscraper. It no longer intimidates me as I near its large structure because I know today is different.

Gavin and his new girlfriend Kayla agreed to stay behind and look around some of the storefronts while I met with Jamie, and I was thankful. If it hadn’t been for Kayla insisting that I didn’t need a babysitter, Gavin would have planted himself in the same chair he did last time until I was ready to go.

Shoving my gloved hands into the pockets of my down-filled coat, I walk through the carousel door and smile at the security guard sitting at the desk off to the side. He simply nods in acknowledgment as I walk toward the elevators and press the up button.

A dark-haired guy in a fitted black button peacoat and light gray slacks walks up beside me as the elevator makes its decent. Nerves prickle the back of my neck as I offer him a tiny smile. He doesn’t hesitate to smile back, giving me a quick once over with his equally dark brown eyes that I think I may have imagined before he looked forward again.

But the corners of his lips twitch into a wider smile that I note from his profile. And it’s a nice profile. Full lips, squared face, and a straight nose that looks like it may have been broken at one point in his lifetime. His skin is darker than mine by a few shades, making my already milky skin look worse since winter took over and hid the sun.

I bite down on my inner cheek and wait for the doors to open. When they do, he gestures for me to walk in first. My fingertips tingle in my pockets as he follows me in, keeping a decent distance between us at opposite corners of the elevator.

“What floor?” he asks me, getting ready to press one of the buttons on the panel in front of him.

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