The sound from the call button on the gate barely drowns out the buzzing of my nerves. It’s 1:00 AM, so I determine—after pressing the buzzer two more times—that Bo is either not home, or he’s ignoring me. The latter is certainly not acceptable after finding out he’s been sneaking around and watching me perform for the last month. I smile, biting my lip. He’s been watching me. I should have known. The last few weeks I’ve felt so good, so alive, on stage. I realize it’s not just because I feel at home on stage—it’s because I feel at home with him.
When he doesn’t answer, I tentatively punch in the code he gave me months ago. It works. With nervous energy, I jump back into my car and head down the long driveway. My heart races when I find the lower driveway empty. He’s not here? He left Delta Blue long before I did. It didn’t occur to me he’d make other plans for the night since it’s already so late.
Wait for him.
I sit on the front steps for ten minutes; hope sinking with each changing number on my cell phone clock. I screwed up. Not recently, but five months ago, when I flipped my hormonal shit and kicked him out of my life. I rejected Bo’s advances, dove into an ill-fated relationship with Adrian—a decent guy who didn’t deserve my mess any more than I deserved his expectations of me—and I, worst of all, left Bo after Rae’s funeral. Shit, I left him. Yeah, he asked me to, but what would have become of us if I had held onto him?
I panic, wondering briefly if it was some test—some grief-soaked test of my faithfulness to ask me to go. When he needed me most. Shit. I jump to my feet and head for the front door—I know it’s not locked.
“Bo?” I try, even though I know he’s not home. You can’t enter a house and say nothing.
On a whim, I decide to call Regan. I know he was meeting up with Bo earlier today—maybe they’re drinking together somewhere now.
Regan answers, sounding exhausted. “November? What the hell? It’s...Jesus, one AM.”
“Shit, Regan, I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”
“Trans-Atlantic shit, remember?” He laughs.
“Sorry. I was just wondering, do you know if Bo had plans tonight?”
Awkward silence.
“Regan?”
“Uhh ...” He sounds conflicted, making me laugh.
“Well, besides hiding in the back of a bar while I performed?”
Regan suddenly sounds more awake. “Did you see him?”
I explain the night’s events to Regan, ending with me standing in the empty foyer of the Cavanaugh house.
“No,” Regan answers, “we met for lunch today, but he didn’t mention anything about his plans for the rest of the night. Sorry, Em.”
“It’s OK, just thought I’d give it a shot. Go back to bed. This was all a dream.” I laugh and hang up.
I quickly decide that I’ll stay here all night if I have to, but I’m not leaving until I talk to Bo. I can’t walk away again without telling him how I really feel. Not again. I decide to wander down to the studio, where I find evidence of Bo scattered everywhere. His guitar. Sheet music with his handwriting. God, even his smell circulates through the eerily silent studio. Sandalwood and sex. I chuckle thinking about the first time I really smelled him, out on the beach behind Finnegan’s five months ago. I glide my fingers across the tops of the piano keys, letting the sounds of a broken scale fill the anxious space around me.
“November?” I jump at Bo’s voice as his heavy footsteps race through the first floor. “Ember?” He calls me again from the top of the stairs. Bo doesn’t wait for my reply as he runs down the stairs. I’m afraid he’ll fall going at that pace.
Only the hall light is on as I wait in the darkness of the studio. I straighten my back and pray that he’ll hear me out when he walks in here. In a second, his broad shoulders fill the doorframe. He flicks a switch that illuminates dim track lighting just above the piano. A second flick turns on a light above his head. I’m breathing through my mouth as he walks slowly toward me.
“You’re here,” he whispers.
I nod. “You watched me sing tonight.”
He nods back.
“And the last few weeks?” I question, knowing the answer.
“Yes.” He shifts side to side and puts his hands in his pockets. With his chin lowered, he looks at me through his thick, gorgeous lashes. “You’re smiling?”
“You make me happy,” I whisper.
I step forward, reaching for his chin with my hand. When my skin connects with his, his lips part with a gasp. His eyes meet mine, and he slightly furrows his brow when he speaks again.
“You’re not mad?”
I smile. “No. I spent months trying to be mad at you for something so stupid, Bo, and I was miserable. Irreparably miserable.” I swallow hard and put my hand down, remembering why I’m here. “I’m sorry, Bo.” My chin quivers as I struggle to maintain composure.
“Oh, my God...Ember...no.” Bo grabs my face with both hands.
I stare into his eyes and it’s there. Everything’s there. Kissing him first in the parking lot of Finnegan’s all those months ago, waking up in his arms, and singing “Heaven When We’re Home” when we were just strangers. Though I suppose we were never really strangers—a thousand lifetimes is a powerful thing. And it’s there.
His thumbs trace my cheeks. “I was never mad at you, ever.”
“I left you after Rae’s funeral ...”
“I told you to go. I needed you to go, Ember.” Bo moves one thumb to my chin and presses down on it to stop the quivering.