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I nod and watch her walk away and not once does she look back, but I can’t take my eyes off her. Even after she’s long since disappeared, I find myself lingering and replaying our exchange.

6.Laney

I pushopen the apartment door, kicking it shut behind me with a little more force than necessary. My heart is still racing from what just happened, but I do my best to keep my face neutral as I drop my guitar case onto Christie’s tiny couch.

Christie, lounging at the kitchen counter painting her nails neon pink, barely glances up before she smirks. “You’ve got a look.”

I scoff, toeing off my boots. “What look?”

“The look of someone who either just landed a record deal or got proposed to in a very dramatic, rom-com fashion.”

I snort. “Neither. Just… something weird happened at the park.”

She drops the nail polish brush back into the bottle with a clatter. “Oh my God. Please tell me it’s good weird and not serial killer weird.”

I shrug, heading for the fridge like I’m not about to drop the biggest bombshell of my life. “Define good weird?”

Christie narrowed her eyes. “Laney.”

“Fine.” I grab a soda, pop it open, and lean against the counter. “Eddie Crowe was there.”

Her jaw actually drops. “Eddie Crowe? As in the country music god you met at that tattoo shop?”

I nod, sipping my drink. “Yep. That Eddie Crowe.”

She gasps so loudly I was a little worried for our neighbors. “And you’re just standing there all casual? Girl, what happened?”

I take another slow sip, milking it for all it’s worth. “He saw me busking.”

Christie blinks. “Excuse me?”

I set my drink down and shrug like it’s no big deal, even though my heart still hasn’t returned to its normal rhythm. I’d been forced out of my comfort zone to sing in public out of necessity and Eddie seeing me was my worst nightmare. Okay, not worst but it was humiliating, and I just knew I would spend days agonizing over what he’d really thought.

“Yeah. He was just… there. And I was singing one of his songs. And then he came over and—”

“STOP.” Christie holds up a hand. “You were singing one of his songs? And he saw you? And then he what? Threw his underwear at you? Got down on one knee? Proposed a duet at the O2?”

I laugh. “Not quite. He asked for my number.”

Christie actually screamed.

I wince. “Could you not?”

“Could you not pretend this isn’t the biggest deal in the history of ever?” She grabs my shoulders, shaking me. “Laney. He likes you.”

I snort. “He does not.”

“He does too. He saw you once, and now he’s watching you busk and asking for your number? This is, like, the country music version of a rom-com.”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips. “He was probably just being nice.”

“Oh, please.” Christie plops onto the couch. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened. Has he texted yet?”

I glance at my phone. The screen is blank. “No.”

“Ugh, men.” She waves a hand. “He will. And when he does, you’re going to be cool, mysterious, and slightly unavailable.”

I huff. “I’m literally none of those things.”