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Whatever life brings
My heart always sings
When you’re with me
Because all I have to do
Is look at you
And life is better
Life is brighter
All I have to do
Is look at you
I love you, Skylar
You make my life brighter
She should’ve stopped the player as soon as she heard Franky’s voice, but she couldn’t bring herself to click the button. By the time the last note played, she was in tears. The new lyrics were sweet and all, but her heart broke all over again—for the future they would never have and for the demise of their friendship. Her therapist had encouraged her to end it, to get much-needed closure so she could finally move on. She dreaded having that conversation with him, but now that she’d received this song, she knew she had to.
A knock at her door startled her, and she desperately wiped at her face.
“Just a second,” she called out as she ran to the bathroom.
Another knock.
“Be right there,” she cried.
She did her best to look presentable and rushed to the door, unlocking and opening it as quickly as she could.
“Sorry about tha—” Shock jolted through her at the sight of Franky, standing at her door, looking as handsome as ever.
“Sky, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?” Franky stepped into her, wrapping her up in his arms.
She held onto him for dear life, inhaling his scent, soaking in what would probably be the last hug they ever shared. “What are you doing here?” she mumbled.
He let go and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I needed to see you.” His eyes darted around the apartment behind her before returning to meet hers. “Is Luca here?”
Skylar’s brow scrunched up. “No.”
“Good, then we can talk. Can I come in?” He glanced back and chuckled. “I mean, I guess I’m already in.”
Skylar stepped aside and closed the door as he moved into the room.
He looked around, taking in the space. “Did you take those for Luca?” He pointed at the black and white photographs of the vineyard and closeups of the grapes that Luca had hanging on the wall above his couch.
“No. They’re great pictures, though.”
His eyes continued to scan the decor, moving over the mishmash of furniture and landing on a ratty old reading chair in the corner. “Not really your taste, is it?”
“It’s not mine to decorate,” she replied.
“I’m sure you’ll add your own touch eventually.”
Her face screwed up. “What do you mean?”