Page 73 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

Something sparks in her eyes. “Who better to play Ryker than the man he’s based on, hmm?”

I narrow my gaze. “You read the book?”

“I’ll read everything that girl writes,” she answers simply, looking around me at Kinley as she plays with her nephew’s hair. “No matter what, she’s family and I am proud to know her. And the baby … well, I may not have seen that coming so soon, but I already love it because it’s a mixture of two people I love dearly.”

Not good at the mushy shit, I shift

in my chair until the wood creaks. “So, it doesn’t matter what the past is anymore. Lena, Parker, nobody matters but you two. And I think it’s best to realize that when you return to your worlds.”

I lock eyes on the chestnut hair that rests loosely down Kinley’s back. The way she coos at the little boy until he giggles makes emotion swirl in my chest as I imagine it’s our child on her lap.

I choke on the feelings settled into my throat until Mom rests her hand on my arm knowingly and caresses my skin with her thumb like she used to, to comfort me when I was younger. Kinley thinks everybody but us moved on from the past we’d created, but I think everybody always knew, whether they wanted to or not, that we’d end up here.

When I manage to look around at the two merged families together, I realize that we may have a long way to go before we’ve fixed things, but we’re trying.

And that’s more than I ever did before.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kinley / 20

It was the kiss—a nice kiss that felt foreign but welcome. Soft but sure. A little sloppy and awkward in a I’ve-only-done-this-with-one-other-person kind of way but … nice.

The more I think about the first kiss, the more I accept my naivety. Parker’s lips aren’t as full as the ones I acquainted myself with in the past and they didn’t have an urgency like the ones I knew well did, but as far as first kisses with new people went, it wasn’t bad.

The second kiss was the same.

The third…

They were all just … nice. Good, even. And good isn’t bad, obviously, so I rationalized the tight feeling in my chest as a pesky cautious feeling since my past two experiences ended badly. It’s the same feeling that has me accepting that Parker’s kisses aren’t just friendly pecks.

My parents would ask about Parker since he visited Lincoln, and I’d tell them he was doing great. They know he graduated NYU because I went to the ceremony, and they know he’s been hired fulltime to work for Jamie because I’d gone to their celebratory party in the city. But I felt wary of offering them more information because I didn’t know what they thought of us and worried it was nothing good after Corbin.

Each break from college I find my way out of Lincoln and in the Big Apple. Parker has a place to stay, so I crash with him and his roommate for a few days and go to Parker’s favorite places—museums, cafes, parks, and restaurants. He showed me freedom. Distraction. He gave me a way to separate myself from everything I only pretended to deal with at home.

Every time we find ourselves together, something shifts. It wasn’t like that the first time in my hometown when we hung out as friends without any expectations. There was something lingering that changed how I saw him.

And I saw him … as an escape.

It was when I called him crying over my reckless decision with Eric that changed us completely. Looking back now, I don’t know why I ever told him to begin with. It isn’t like I cried because I didn’t want to sleep with the guy, but because I regretted it. And I could have called Zach, someone who knows me better, but chickened out when I thought about the mutual friend we shared who he’d seen me kiss and tease and touch in high school.

I found myself struggling to admit my recent choices to Zach because I know he’d congratulate me for moving on. And if he did that, it’d cement the importance of me letting go when I didn’t want to.

Swallowing as I look over my shoulder at the dark-haired boy currently reading a book with a pair of thick reading glasses perched on his nose, I manage a little smile. The only light on in his loft bedroom is the lamps by his bed, offering just enough light for him to read and me to study.

He looks up and smiles. “How’s it going over there?”

Nose twitching, I glance down at my handwritten notes. They’re barely legible. “I’m not sure I’m going to pass this exam.”

He knows my struggle over school the past two years. I’ve managed to suck it up and enroll in classes every semester, but it’s wearing thin. I’ve written a few books when I can, but none that ever made me feel like my first one did. I’ve shelved one, deleted another, acted on irritation instead of rationality. Through Shattered Glass has projected more sales in the first month than anyone expected.

My entire sophomore year of college has been a battle to pass because of my lack of interest. Every semester I sit in classrooms and zone out, jotting down story ideas in my notebooks instead of actual lecture notes. And then I feel bad for myself when I get my midterm grades and notice the way I borderline fail in every class except my literature ones. Nobody cares that I’m a published author here—if anything, my English professors just expect more from me which only adds on the pressure.

“Why don’t you just drop out?” he asks, setting his book down and sitting up. Taking the glasses off, he puts them on the hardcover book in his lap. “You’re an adult. It shouldn’t matter what your parents think if you’re unhappy.”

Rubbing my lips together, I consider how to answer. He’s met my family—knows their views. Mom thinks it’s great Parker graduated from NYU.

“They’d be upset.”

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