Page 41 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Pressley

I’m sitting on the couch, reading a book, when the front door flies open. I look up to see Bram stride in, his head swiveling from left to right until his bright gaze lands on me. Kicking the door shut behind him, he hurries over. I barely manage to mark my spot in the book and set it aside before he grips my shoulders and pulls me to my feet.

“What––” I start, but the question is cut off when his mouth lands on mine.

His tongue demands entrance, so I part my lips. I groan and lean into the kiss, driving my hands up into his hair to grip the strands tightly as desire begins to buzz in my core. He breaks off the kiss just as abruptly as it began, then pulls back slightly to meet my gaze.

“What was that for?” I ask as I release his hair, my voice a bit breathless. “Not that I’m complaining, or anything.”

He chuckles and gives me another quick kiss before sitting and pulling me down onto the couch beside him. “I just had the most amazing conversation.”

“Really? With whom?”

“A woman,” he says simply, then chuckles again at my arched brow. “A tourist. She came into the tavern, and she recognized me.”

He let that sink in for a moment, and anxiety rears its ugly head inside my chest. Confusion quickly follows, because he said the conversation wasamazing, didn’t he? Yeah. He did.

“What did she say?”

I listen raptly as he repeats her story. A toxic relationship with her ex-fiancé. Her feeling of being trapped, of being convinced the guy would somehow go back to the man she thought he was. And then she heard Bram’s song.

“She said my music gave her the strength to get herself out of that situation. My lyrics touched her, changed her, and now her life is so much better.”

My pride for Bram nearly overwhelms me as he speaks. He looks so affected by this woman’s story, so humbled and touched by his own part in it.

“Pressley,” he says, his tone dropping an octave, “I’m so sorry I got so angry with you over the whole thing.”

I’m shaking my head before he even finishes. “No. I deserved your anger. I took your choices away and did what I thought was the right thing. I should’ve listened when you said you didn’t want that.”

“Stop,” he says before I can go on. “I’m telling you, you were right. If my music can touch people this way, ifit can help them, inspire them…I shouldn’t keep it to myself. I should share it with the world.”

I go completely still save for the widening of my eyes. “What are you saying, Bram?”

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Will you help me record more content and get it out there?”

“Really?” I squeak out, my eyes burning with emotion. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s time. I’m ready.”

With that, he pushes to his feet. He plucks his guitar from the stand in the corner, then moves back to the couch, sitting on the edge and facing me expectantly.

“Oh,” I say, tugging my phone from my pocket. “You meant right now?”

“No time like the present,” he says, then starts plucking the strings while listening intently and turning the pegs at the end of the neck.

“Wait,” he says, pausing to look down at his white t-shirt and black jeans before glancing over at me. “Should I shower and change first?”

I shake my head as a smile curves my lips. “No, you look great.”

“This is something I’ve been working on,” he says, playing a soft melody after I start recording. “I’ve just got the first verse, so far.”

When he starts to sing, I glance up from my phone screen to look directly at him, my heart tripping the way it does every single time he plays for me. I force myself to look back down, making sure I’m keeping the camera pointed at him.

His voice reverberates in my chest, his words ring inmy ears, and the overall effect has me practically swooning as Bram sings about lost chances and a possibility for love that slipped through his fingers.

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