Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
She clears her throat. “All right, you two. Subject change,” Rye says. “Who wants dessert?”
“Is it store-bought?” Lily asks.
“Yes, because I know my limitations.”
We clear the table together. Lily rinses, I dry, Rye puts away. Every time Rye’s hand brushes mine while taking a plate, I notice.
“Can I show Darian my song now?” Lily asks when we’re done.
Rye checks the clock. “Thirty minutes, then it’s reading time.”
“Mom,” Lily groans.
“Thirty minutes. It’s a camp night.”
Lily runs to the living room. Rye touches my arm. “You don’t have to stay.”
“You kicking me out already?”
“I’m giving you an out.”
“I don’t want one.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “Okay.”
With Lily in the other room, I put my hand on her hip. “Thank you for inviting me over.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I really want to kiss you,” I say as quietly as possible.
Rye bits her lower lip and nods. “Lily . . .”
“I know.” And I do know but it sucks because I don’t know where we stand. I’m fine being Rye’s friend and Lily’s teacher, if that is all Rye can handle right now. If all we’ll ever be is writing partners, so be it.
I follow Rye to the living room. Lily’s ready with her guitar when we get there. The song she plays is simple but real, lyrics about feeling different and finding your voice. She messes up once, keeps going, finishes strong.
“That was beautiful,” I tell her.
“Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Really. You’ve got something.”
She grins, then yawns. “I’m not tired.”
“Go read,” Rye says.
“Fine.” Lily puts her guitar away, then surprises me with a quick hug. “Thanks for coming to dinner.”
“Thanks for having me.”
She goes to her room, leaving us alone. The air changes.
“Want to sit outside?” Rye asks. “I need air.”
The porch has two old chairs and a small table. It’s warm. Crickets singing. Someone’s grilling down the street.
“That went well,” I say.
“She likes you.”
“Good.”
“It’s terrifying.” She pulls her knees up. “She doesn’t attach easily. When she does, it matters.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Everyone says that.”
“I’m not everyone.”
She looks at me. “What do you want from this, Darian? Really?”
I could lie, make it smaller. But she let me into her home.
“I want Sunday dinners and Tuesday recording sessions. I want to teach Lily new chords and watch you remember you’re an artist. I want complicated and messy and real. I want you to stop being afraid of wanting things.”
“That’s a lot.”
“What do you want?”
Long pause and then, “I want to stop running from things that might matter.”
“So stop.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is. You just stay instead of go.”
“And if it falls apart? If you decide we’re too much trouble?”
“Then we deal with it. But what if it doesn’t fall apart? What if it works?”
She uncurls, feet finding the floor. “I don’t know how to believe that.”
“You don’t have to believe. Just don’t close the door.”
A sound from inside. Lily’s at the window, supposedly getting water but obviously checking on us. She waves and disappears.
“Subtle,” Rye says.
“She gets that from you?”
“Shut up.” But she almost smiles.
We sit quietly. After a while, Rye’s hand finds my chair arm. Not holding, just there.
“I should go,” I say, though I don’t want to.
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
“Darian?”
“Yeah?”
“This scares the shit out of me.”
“Me too.”
“But maybe being scared isn’t always a reason to stop.”
I turn my hand palm up. She looks at it, then threads her fingers through mine.
“No promises,” she says.
“Just possibility.”
Her thumb moves against mine. “Maybe I can do possibility.”
Lily calls for her mom from inside. Something about needing help finding a book.
“Go,” I tell her. “I’ll see myself out.”
She stands but doesn’t let go right away. “Saturday?”
“What about Saturday?”
“Lily has the talent show. Two o’clock. If you’re not busy.”
“I’m not busy.”
She squeezes my fingers, then lets go. “It’s probably going to be terrible. Camp talent shows always are.”
“I’ll bring earplugs.”
She goes inside, laughing. Through the window, I see her heading down the hall, hear Lily’s voice explaining something about her science report and molecular structures and why Spotify keeps suggesting songs she hates.
This is their life. Their routine. Their world they’ve opened enough to let me see.
I sit on the porch for another minute, listening to their voices drift through the open window. Rye says something I can’t make out, and Lily laughs. It’s domestic and normal and everything I didn’t know I wanted until I was sitting in the middle of it.
The drive home is quiet. I don’t turn on the radio, just drive with the windows down, letting the night air clear my head. At a red light, I check my phone. Text from Zara: How’d it go?
I’d told her about the dinner invitation this morning, couldn’t help myself. She’d immediately started planning our wedding, because that’s what Zara does.
Good, I type back.
Just good? I need details.
Her kid likes me.
And Rye?
Working on it.
Darian Mercer, don’t you dare fuck this up.