Page 44 of Sky Full of Stars

“Do you have any of your music?”

I glance at her. “Yeah, I don’t usually listen to it but it’s on my Spotify. Have you listened to any? I know you think new music sucks.”

“Oh god,” she covers her face with her hands. “I said that didn’t I?”

“I won’t take it personally if you listen before you judge.”

She leans her head back against the headrest. “I may have already listened to a couple.”

“And?”

“Not bad.”

“That’s all?” I laugh.

“You’re no Whitesnake.”

“That’s true.”

She laughs too. “You have better hair than David Coverdale though.”

“Good to know.”

“Does it embarrass you listening to it?”

“Not really. Here,” I pass her my phone and tell her to go to my Spotify account. I suggest she puts on Hopes and Aspirations, our second album and the one I am most proud of. The one where we really found our sound. She navigates the phone and the album starts, she puts the phone in the space between the seats and sits back, looking through the window as we listen. I hope she actually likes it and doesn’t just say it’s good to stroke my ego.

The album is three songs in when she finally speaks. “Your voice is beautiful, Adam.”

My heart thumps. “Don’t think anyone has ever called it that before,” I laugh, a little embarrassed. “But I’m no Coverdale.”

“You’ll get there,” she smiles. “I like it, and I’m not just saying that.”

This girl. She’s borderline insulting me and I’m grinning like an idiot. She asks about Keira and Jake and I spend some time talking about my family. She opens up about her family and I’m sad to hear her dad died when she was young.

“Did you grow up in New York?”

“Brooklyn,” she says, her voice lifting a little. “Mom still lives there in an old loft, she got it while property over there was still fairly reasonable and she had the money,” she mumbles to herself, probably not wanting to say life insurance money. “She started painting late in life so the place is full of canvases and paints and there are two huge murals on the living room walls. I don’t think I’ve ever left without paint somewhere on my person,” she laughs.

“Does she sell her work?”

“Yeah, she has a bit of a following in the neighbourhood.”

“I’d love to see some.”

She looks over at me and gives a little smile but doesn’t say anything else about the possibility. Things are going better than I hoped, I didn’t expect her to open up quite so much but if I thought about it, Jenna was forthright in our text conversations, she didn’t hold back.

When we neared my old neighbourhood I pointed out some places from my childhood.

“That’s where I committed my first crime,” I point to a convenience store as we pass it. She arches an eyebrow. “I stole a dirty magazine.”

“Oh my God, how old were you?”

“Eleven.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“It was really hard-core. If I’m being honest, it scared the shit out of me.” She laughs and that sound makes me smile. I like making her laugh. “Of course, dad found it and I was grounded for a week and made to pay for the magazine. I found it a few years later under some blankets in the closet in my parent’s room. Dad clearly got my money’s worth.”

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