Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“I like to help. It makes me feel like I’m…part of things.”
We’re gazing at each other when our attention is pulled by someone calling Vivian’s name. We haven’t brought security, but for a flash, I feel like we should have.
“Vivian! Can I get a picture?”
I put my body between Vivian and whoever is speaking, then I see that it’s a girl around fifteen, coming toward us in wellies and a puffa jacket. She’s definitely not paparazzi.
Vivian approaches the girl. “Of course.”
She asks the girl questions about her favorite songs and I take a picture on the girl’s phone, then hand it back.
“Thank you,” the girl’s mum mouths at me.
We wave and I can hear the girl squealing as we head back to the car.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine. It’s nice that people like my music. She was respectful and I just made her day. How can I be anything but happy about that?”
I chuckle as I unlock the car. “That’s a lovely way to look at it.”
“It’s the only way to look at it. I’ve been in hiding a few weeks now, but I can feel the old me emerging. The one that appreciated every privilege, every sunset, every note I can sing.”
God I love listening to her. I love watching her. I love touching her.
There’s nothing about the way I’m feeling about her that’s fake.
TWENTY-THREE
Vivian
As I carry the last of the dishes into the kitchen, I’m singing.
I’m blue.
You’re you.
There’s something that’s just so true.
Speak out.
Speak up.
I wonder if I’ll fall, but…
“That’s a pretty tune,” Carole says as she slides the dishes on the counter. “Is it one of yours?”
“Just something I’m working on,” I say. “But I’m always working on something.” Or at least I have been recently. The period after the split from Matt was probably the longest I’d ever been without writing. There were days immediately in the aftermath when I wondered whether I’d ever write again. But the words, the music, the desire to write again came back, first as a slow trickle. Now the ideas are flowing like it’s Niagara Falls inside my head.
“Just like I said, work shouldn’t feel like work. Go join the others around the firepit. I’m going to head up to bed just as soon as I’ve finished loading the dishwasher.”
“I can help,” I say.
“You’d help me by going out there and enjoying the rest of your night.” She touches the necklace I gave her at dinner, which she insisted on wearing immediately. They all did. “Thank you again for the necklace. It was so thoughtful of you.”
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I say.
“I’m so pleased you came,” she says. “You obviously make my Beau so happy.”
I smile at her, wondering what I should say. Then I figure I should just speak from my heart. “He makes me very happy, too.”
I give her a hug and then head out to the firepit, where Jacob and Sutton, Vincent and Kate, and Nathan and Madison are. There’s a spare seat next to Beau. Smiling, he watches me come out of the house and doesn’t take his eyes off me as the others continue to chatter.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Vivian,” Sutton says. “Look what Jacob found.” She gets up and turns three hundred and sixty degrees, then grabs something from behind her chair. “A guitar. Do you play?”
“Sutton,” Beau says. “Stop.”
I smooth my hand over his knee. I whisper, “It’s fine. But thank you.” I reach for the guitar as she hands it to me. “I’m not a big guitar player. Let’s see.”
A hush twists around the fire and I place my fingers and strum. “I might need a bit of help here, so make sure you join in.”
I strum the opening chord for “The Long and Winding Road”. It’s my favorite Beatles song and it seems fitting as I’m sitting here, among these people who I met because I spilled coffee on a guy. To be sitting in front of a man who seems to have my happiness at the front of his mind, despite the fact I didn’t know him a couple weeks ago.
Maybe that’s why I feel like the best version of myself with him.
Maybe that’s why I feel so safe with him.
Maybe that’s why I was led to his door.
I turn to Beau and we lock eyes, him looking at me, me looking at him, me singing to him, him singing to me.
When the song’s finished, I pass the guitar to Vincent, who knows a few chords. After swapping seats with Beau, Vincent starts messing about with Jacob.
“Hey,” Beau says. “That was beautiful.”
I grin up at him. “Thanks. It’s my favorite Beatles song.”
“It’s my favorite now too.”
I laugh. “How did you get so charming?”
“I mean it. It’s great having you here.” He slides his hand into mine and I shift closer to him on the bench so there’s no space between us. His warmth seeps through my jeans and my shirt, and I can feel him all over.