Page 19 of Heart Beats

I lean on the counter beside her, as close as I can get without being shooed out of her workspace. “I have tickets for a flight tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow?” She stares at me with wide-open eyes that give me a clear view of her heart. Then she blinks, and it’s like the first time I was here, when she literally pulled the blinds on me. “I bet you can’t wait to get back to doing what you love. I’m sure you’ve missed the excitement.”

“I have some big stuff in the works that I’m looking forward to.” I push off the counter and loop my arms around her waist from behind. “But I have all the excitement I need right here.”

Her breath catches when I skate my hand inside her skirt and press my fingers over the front of her panties. “I’m going to miss this excitement.”

“You don’t have to miss anything,” I say, turning her until we’re face to face. “Come with me.”

“To the bedroom?”

“No, beautiful,” I chuckle. “To Kansas City.”

She stiffens in my arms. “I can’t just leave. People here need me.”

“I need you.”

“Rich, famous rock stars don’t need anybody.” She laughs, but the low sound that’s usually music to my ears doesn’t make my cock instantly hard. “I’ll help you pack after supper.” She pats my chest as if that’s it, joke’s over, we’re done here.

But it’s not a joke, and we’re sure as hell not done.

I pull out my phone, make the necessary taps, then nod toward her phone when it chimes. “I emailed you. It’s your ticket.”

“My ticket for what?”

“Our flight tomorrow. I need my muse with me in Kansas City.”

“You don’t. I’m not really your muse, Marshall.”

“You’re right.” I catch her hands and bring them to my lips. “You’re my everything.”

“I can’t be. Even if you mean it,Ican’t be. You need someone who can share your big life, and that’s never going to be me. My world must seem very small to you, and I never expected you to stay in it, but you shouldn’t expect me to leave it, either. I told you when I met you—I’m a boring, small-town girl. This is who I’m always going to be.”

“I don’t want to change you. Not a single thing.”

“But I’d have to change to fit into your life. I knew from the beginning that we’d have an ending, and I think…” She steals her soft hands from me, swallowing hard as she puts space between us. “I think this is a logical place for the ending.”

“No. Fuck, where is this coming from?” I take a step, everything in me tensing when she stops me with the simple shake of her head. “If you don’t want to go to KC, or anywhere else, then you don’t. They’re just places.You’remy home, Maria. No matter where I go, or how long I’m away, I’m always coming home to you.”

She shakes her head again. No words, no tears, just glassy-eyed silence and a single, silent sob.

Fuck it, I’m not done here.We’renot done. I cross the room, wrapping my arms around her tight enough for her to know I’m never letting her go. “I don’t want a logical ending. I don’t want an ending, ever. Do you?”

“A world-famous rock star and a small-town music teacher don’t make sense.”

“But we make a perfect harmony.” Our song’s not over. I just need a new plan to show her I want to sing it with her for the rest of my life.

* * *

maria

There’s a playlist looping in my head, and it includes every breakup song I’ve ever heard. With our last goodbye kiss, Marshall refused to accept that we’re over. There’s no arguing with a determined rock star, especially when you’re in love with him… even if he doesn’t know it. But you can leave his messages and calls unanswered once he’s gone. And that’s what I’ve done. It’s for the best, in the long run.

Knowing I made a safe, sensible decision hasn’t stopped me from repeatedly opening his email. The airline ticket I didn’t use for the chance I didn’t take. It’s for the best. If I repeat that enough times, it won’t hurt as much. I won’t think of him every minute of the day. I won’t miss having him beside me at night.

I need a distraction. I also need to practice, something I’ve done far less than normal in the past month. Because of Marshall playing the piano. Because of Marshall playing my body.

I warm up with scales, then lead into Bach’sPrelude No. 1 in C Major, which I’ve been playing from memory since childhood. Eyes closed, I let the notes wash over me, cleaning out the mental junk and laying a salve on my soul. At the end of the piece, my fingers continue moving over the keys, as if they have a mind of their own. There’s nothing new about that—it’s a zone all musicians frequent. Sometimes it’s musical rambling, sometimes it’s a piece we know, other times it’s a composition.

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