Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
My stomach dropped. Brennan had no idea Trace was here, that I’d already invited him to the cookout.
Jake flicked his eyes at me, unsure. “I don’t want to impose…”
Brennan continued on as if I wasn’t suddenly straddling a very awkward situation. “It’s no imposition, is it, Will? Everyone’s welcome. You just have to bring your own drinks and whatever meat you want to grill.”
I could tell he was trying to do me a solid. Trying to hook me up with a nice guy who was into me. But it was going to be a major problem.
“Um,” I began, hoping that would be enough to send Jake the message that I wasn’t super on board with it.
“That sounds great,” Jake said, flashing a big smile. “I’ll be there.”
After Brennan nodded and grinned, he grabbed Pup and headed back to his van. I stared after him until Jake leaned in and brushed his lips against my ear.
“Figured I could keep an eye on your dads’ friend. You know, make sure he doesn’t upset you or anything.” He pulled back and smiled as Shay loaded the guitar into the truck. “Hope that’s okay. I kind of feel a little… possessive about you.” He added a wink before leaning in to kiss my cheek.
My eyes immediately skipped over to the orange tent, but thankfully, the parking pad was still empty.
“You don’t need to do that,” I said. “Really. It’s fine. He’s fine. Trace is… a friend of the family.”
Why did that make it sound so lame?
Jake shrugged. “Then maybe I’ll give him another chance tonight. It’ll be like practice for meeting your real family.”
I gaped at him, but before I could figure out how to reply, he was gone.
I stared after his red taillights, wondering what he’d meant about meeting my real family. Even I wasn’t desperate enough to jump that far ahead after meeting a man only a couple of days ago.
It was nice to be wanted, but I felt like Trace’s arrival might have turbo-boosted Jake’s interest in me. And something about that didn’t sit right.
I turned back to my songwriting when I realized my journal wasn’t on the picnic table where I thought I’d left it.
I stepped into the van and glanced around, relieved to realize I must have put it away when Jake and Shay showed up. But it wasn’t on the counter where I’d had it earlier or under the pillow where I usually kept it.
As I continued looking around the van and through my backpack and guitar case, a twist of unease began in my stomach. Where the fuck was my journal? Not only did it have snippets of my thoughts and feelings, but it also had three completed Fletcher Coe songs, along with notes on at least four others.
The lyrics and music from the completed ones had already been sent off to my manager, but the original notes in my journal were proof I’d created them. If my copyright was challenged, those notes were evidence of my process.
My brain scrambled back to the last time I remembered writing in it, just before Shay and Jake had turned up. I’d sat on the picnic table outside in the sun, jotting down notes.
I returned to the table and scoured every inch of the area, walked a circle around the van while peering underneath it, and finally glanced around at the people near me to see if maybe it had been dropped outside of my immediate campsite.
Nothing.
If I’d been working on it at the table before Jake and Shay arrived, that meant I’d had it after Trace had left the campground. At least that was something. I couldn’t imagine the humiliation I’d feel if he read my private thoughts about him. Having him realize I’d put those feelings into song lyrics would be even worse.
But then… where was the journal? Was it possible Jake or Shay had taken it? Or Brennan?
I couldn’t imagine Jake would have done it. What would he have to gain?
I’d watched Brennan walk away with Pup, but I’d been distracted at the time.
And then there was Shay. Who had a slight case of hero worship toward me. And taking my journal sounded like something a teenage girl might do, especially if she thought it had music stuff in it. Would she be able to put two and two together? She’d mentioned Fletcher Coe before when we’d talked about songs.
I racked my brain, trying to remember what, exactly, was in my journal. Thoughts, lyrics, notes about the musical composition. Private thoughts of Trace, even though I only referred to him by an initial. Notes for Sunny, too, about reaching out to specific artists I thought might add an interesting angle to each song.
Fuck.
I continued searching frantically, hoping I was wrong. I even considered begging for Trace’s help when I noticed his rental car pull back into the campground… but one insidious thought stopped me.