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“Friendly neighborly peace offering,” I say, holding it out to her.
She sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “Fine. But only because it’s been a long day.”
I settle into my chair the evening breeze cool against my skin as we sit side by side in the fading light. For a while, we don’t say much, just sipping our beers and listening to the sound of the waves in the distance.
It feels like old times, but it doesn’t. There’s a weight between us now, an unspoken understanding that things have changed.
“We’re leaving for Cleveland tomorrow,” I say as she takes another sip of her beer. “Ten days, we have a few shows in the Midwest.”
“I saw that on your website.” Her cheeks pink slightly at the admission. “The venues look amazing.”
“Yeah, Emily’s outdone herself.” I glance over at Lila, trying not to notice how good she looks just sitting there. “I heard how your private chef business is booming,” I say with enthusiasm. “That’s huge.”
Her face lights up. “I still can’t believe it. Jenny and I have been working on menus and logistics all week.”
“You’re going to kill it.” I mean it. “The way you handled that dinner party... you were completely in your element.”
“It felt right,” she admits. “Like everything finally clicked into place.”
“Speaking of clicking...” I take a breath. “I need you to know something. About Crystal.”
She stiffens slightly. “Luke, you don’t have to—“
“I do.” I set my beer down. “I’m working on ending things. The right way, not just—It’s complicated with her father and—other things, but I’m figuring it out.”
“Okay.” Her voice is carefully neutral.
“But until I do, until everything’s resolved...” I meet her eyes. “We’re just friends. I won’t cross that line again. It wasn’t fair to you, and you deserve better than stolen moments in stairwells.”
She looks away, but not before I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes. “We both knew what it was.”
“Did we?” I lean forward. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“Luke.” Her voice holdsa warning.
“Right. Friends.” I force a lighter tone. “So, tell me about your new clients. I’m sure you’ll soon have everyone eating out of your hand.”
She laughs, and something in my chest eases. We spend the next hour catching up on everything new in our lives—her business plans and the band’s upcoming shows. But underneath it all, there’s a current of awareness. Every accidental brush of hands, every shared laugh that lingers too long... We’re playing at being just friends, but we both know it’s a lie.
Because friends don’t notice how the setting sun paints gold across each other’s skin—friends don’t track every smile, every slight shift of our bodies. Friends don’t feel this bone-deep ache to reach out and touch each other.
“I should head in,” she says finally. “You know me and early mornings.”
“Yeah, me too. Bus leaves at seven.”
We stand awkwardly, neither quite sure how to end this new version of us. Finally, she gives me a small smile.
“Have a good tour, Luke.”
“Thanks.” I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Take care of yourself, Country.”
Forcing myself not to want more, I turn and head inside, hearing her door close softly behind me, but I don’t look back.
I find myself at my keyboard, fingers hovering over the keys. The melody comes easily this time—a bittersweet progression that captures everything I can’t say out loud. About pretending not to want what you can’t stop wanting and how sometimes doing the right thing feels exactly like torture.
Some lines, once crossed, leave permanent marks on your soul.
The roar of the crowd is like electricity, a living, breathing force that surges through the arena and into my veins. The energy is addictive, the kind of rush that makes you feel invincible, like you could take on the world and win. The lights are blinding, the bass vibrating in my chest, and every time the audience screams the lyrics back at us, it’s a reminder of why we do this.