Page 45 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

Trace and I have been best friends for decades, and somehow, Gavin has notched himself seamlessly into that friendship like he’s been here all along. You’d think there’d be some tension since he’s dating and living with Trace’s little sister––who’s also been a little sister to me since the day she was born––but he’s a great guy, so we have nothing to complain about.

At least, not since he came clean to Willow and madeher realize he never cheated on her with his costar in the Cursed movies like she thought he did when they were teenagers. He meshes well with us, and our “catch-up” lunches have included him the last several times.

I settle in and peruse the menu while they continue whatever conversation they were having before I arrived. My mind starts to wander, inevitably focusing on the looming decision I have to make regarding the music label. I look up from my menu at the two of them as I try to picture how my life would change, in turn, altering our friendship.

I’d have to fly to Los Angeles to record the music, I’m sure. I looked them up and saw the label has their own studios there with all the most expensive, high-tech equipment an artist could ask for. I have no idea how long I’d have to be there or how many trips south I’d have to make. Then there’s promoting that would have to be done, I’m sure. Interviews, appearances, performances.

My heartrate kicks up just thinking about it, and not necessarily in a good way.

I’m happy with my life. I love Evening Shade, my house, my friends, my job. It’s part of the reason I was so upset with Pressley when she posted that first video. I didn’t want anything to change.

And what about her? We’ve only just started this romantic relationship, and I’m excited to see where it goes. What would happen if I had to leave her for weeks at a time? Even months? I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to find out.

But at the same time,would I really pass on such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because of a little fear? I know Pressley cares about me and loves my music. She wants me to share it with the world, so she’d support me if I decided to go for it. Right?

“Bram.”

I snap out of my thoughts at the sound of my name. “Sorry, what?”

“Where were you?” Gavin asks, and I shake my head.

“Sorry, I just zoned out for a minute,” I reply. “What was the question?”

“I said that was good news about the apartment,” Gavin says.

My brows pull low with confusion. “The apartment?”

“Didn’t Pressley tell you? The crew made record time repairing everything, and it’s going to be ready for her tomorrow.”

Trace must see something in my expression, because he cocks his head, saying, “Maybe it’s not such good news, after all.”

“Pressley knows about this?” I ask Gavin while ignoring Trace’s accurate observation.

Gavin nods. “Willow texted her yesterday. She didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

What does it mean? Why wouldn’t Pressley tell me about this last night? I know we talked about the message from the label, then I told her I just wanted to relax and watch a movie. Maybe she didn’t want to pile on the news that she’s moving out.

The mere idea of her leaving forms a pit of dread in my stomach. I know her staying with me was alwayssupposed to be a short-term solution to her housing problem, but things have changed. Haven’t they?

Yes. Of course, they have.

Even though we haven’t exchanged any deep words of love or labeled our relationship, we’re definitelyinone. A relationship, that is.

And she wouldn’t just pack her stuff and move out without a discussion, would she? Shit, is she packing right now?

“I have to go,” I say, my chair screeching across the tile as I forcefully slide it backward and stand.

“What about lunch?” Trace asks, a spark of humor in his eyes.

“Next time,” I say, and he gives me a single nod.

“Go get her, Tiger.”

I roll my eyes at his terrible sense of humor, then give Gavin a wave before stalking out of the restaurant. Hopping in my car, I get back on the road, praying Pressley isn’t planning on packing up and leaving before I get home. I have to force myself to drive the speed limit. The last thing I need is to waste more time by getting pulled over.

When I pull into the drive, the tension drains out of me when I see Pressley’s car still parked in front. She hasn’t left.

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