Page 5 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

From: [email protected]

Subject: Little Bird

Little Bird –

You might have noticed the email address. Knowing you, you rolled your eyes. I watched the remake and liked it better than the original. I remember your reaction when I put on IT and still laugh. I’m pretty sure you asked me if Stephen King was known to smoke crack before writing his novels. I still don’t know the answer to that, but I’m guessing no.

I need to know you’re okay.

I love you, Kinley.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Little Bird

Little Bird –

Remember what I said before I left the hotel that night. This isn’t goodbye. Not again.

Call. Me.

Brushing a hand through my hair, I don’t bother reading the rest of them because the lack of response will just batter me more. I want to believe the post office lost my gift, but I have a feeling she received it. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth wondering if she made the final decision about us without me.

Grazing the keys of my cell, I exhale a heavy breath and type out one last email before resorting to new measures. Our history is a record of cycles that bring us back to the same outcome.

Corbin and Kinley.

Actor and author.

Two dreamers.

I’m not ready to break that cycle, but to form a new one. One without pain. One without heartache. One where there’s nobody but ourselves to stop us from finding that feeling that kept us soaring in the past.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Little Bird

Fly with me, Little Bird.

Sending the email unsuccessfully, I switch to social media and track down one person who might be able to help without asking too many questions. That is, if I didn’t burn that bridge too.

When I click Zach Russo’s name, I hold my breath and type out a quick message hoping not everyone from

Lincoln hates me.

To my surprise, he replies. It gives me hope that it’s not too late for me to patch up old relationships no matter how many years have passed. There’s only one I want to focus on, and I’m staring at her phone number and a message from the very friend I thought I’d lost her to.

Don’t fuck it up this time, asshole.

Chapter Three

Kinley / Past

Staring up at the large skyscraper, I swallow back the nerves that ground my feet to the pavement. The sun’s reflection on glass and steel has me wincing as I trail my eyes over to the sign of offices within the huge building.

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