Page 28 of A Love Song for Dreamers

“Probably Shay. Maybe someone’s booked in torecord.”

“Okay. I’ll catch up with youlater.”

I head outside and go to the label, letting myself through the side door and into thelobby.

The girl behind the desk is the same one from yesterday. She’s facing away, humming a catchy song. She turns around and spots me, startled, and pulls off her headphones. “Annie! Can I help with something? I’m supposed to make sure everyone signs in. I know it’s weird to ask you to, but… I got a new book and everything,” she saysproudly.

I write on the fresh sheet of paper. “Sure. No one else has signed inyet?”

“Studio One is booked all week starting at noon. Your dad is holding studio two for his own artists. Today you’re our firstguest.”

I head down the hall, bracing myself as I glance into StudioTwo.

I know I won’t see the same thing I saw yesterday—that woman and Tyler—but my stomach tightensanyway.

The studio isempty.

I continue to the offices. The door of the one with Dad’s name on it is closed, but the second’s isopen.

It’s sparse but stylish. There’s a desk, a potted palm in one corner, and a beautifulpiano.

Unable to resist, I cross to the piano, skimming a finger over the ivory keys and playing a few bars of the song I’ve been working on allmonth.

“Don’t stop now, it was just gettinggood.”

I jump at the sound of Tyler’s voice, spinning to see him emerge from under the desk wearing jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a crookedgrin.

“What are you doing here?” Iask.

“Trying to plug in. I need to hardwire the internet for a virtual meeting later. I’m babysitting your dad’s new shining star, who is coming by”—from under the edge, I see him check his watch—“twenty minutes ago,supposedly.”

Some musicians make their fans feel welcome, invite them into their lives and homes on socialmedia.

Tyler’s always held them at adistance.

The paparazzi love him. The cleverer he gets at evading, the more they stalk. I empathize with both sides—him wanting privacy and fans dying to know more about this man who lights up a stage with his earnesttalent.

They want to know who Tyler Adamsis.

Can’t say I blamethem.

Seeing him at the party affected me. Not in a jealousy kind of way, but because catching up with him after reminded me of the deliberate, thoughtful guy I grew up with. Except there was a new dimension to him, too. An ease, with himself and the world, that he didn’t have when we weretogether.

Just because we’ve barely spoken in two years doesn’t mean we can’t be civilized adults now. There’s no rule that say you need to hate yourex.

“Let me try.” I brush past him and tug the phone from the pocket of my jean shorts and set itdown.

It’s a tight fit under the desk as I crouch, but there’s a hole to thread the cord through, and I work away atit.

“Thanks. Didn’t know this office came with tech support,” Tyler says, his voice muffled from above thedesk.

I flip him off and hechuckles.

My phone rings on thedesk.

“Ian,” he reads off the display, and Istiffen.

“Do not getthat.”

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