Page 24 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Rather Be

A fter days holed up in the studio, recording the songs I had written about Alex as last-minute additions to the album, the day had finally arrived. Philippa said she’d meet me after work, and I’d already sent Riley a quick text to come over.

I can hardly wait. Although hesitant at first to accept the apartment from my father, as the weeks went on, the need for my own space won out. Living with Philippa and Andrew was fine, but stifling.

Eventually, the idea of freedom—of distance—made the unwanted gift easier to swallow.

Now, excitement hums low and restless beneath my skin. After such an electric session, sitting still feels impossible.

When the key turns in the lock, a thrill sparks sharp and sweet through me.

My apartment.

Stepping inside, I kick off my shoes and take in the perfection of it all. Philippa has outdone herself. Every piece of furniture has been selected with a level of taste I wasn’t sure I deserved, but damn, do I love it.

The apartment is a beautiful blend of minimal vintage eclectic—modern simplicity with old-world charm.

The living room has a warm, neutral palette, with a velvet sofa in forest green, my favorite color.

Vintage brass floor lamps cast a soft glow, and a mid-century coffee table with delicate carvings sits in the center.

A large, built-in bookshelf stretches across one wall, already stocked with some of my favorite novels and a few I know Philippa picked out.

The bookshelf from the vintage store where I met Alex makes me smile.

I trail my fingers over the velvet cushions, marveling at how it all feels so… me .

The open-plan kitchen is sleek but has touches of character—marble countertops, antique gold fixtures, and open wooden shelving lined with ceramics and delicate glassware.

My father has clearly spared no expense.

That thought alone both annoys and warms something in me.

For all his faults, this was his way of showing he cares.

I move down the hall, peeking into the second bedroom—now a cozy music room, complete with an upright piano, a record player, and an impressive vinyl collection.

My guitar rests on a stand beside the window, its polished wood gleaming in the golden light.

The third bedroom, a spacious spare room, is decorated simply at the moment, but a thought comes to mind.

Stepping into my bedroom, my jaw drops. The centerpiece is an ornate, four-poster bed with billowing linen drapes, a perfect contrast to the minimalist nightstands and the soft, neutral-toned bedding.

The walls hold framed artwork—some classic, some modern, all carefully chosen.

A reading nook sits by the window, complete with a tufted armchair and a side table stacked with books.

It’s beautiful. Thoughtful. A mix of Philippa’s impeccable style and my father’s resources, but somehow, it still feels like mine.

This is it. My first home.

I drop my bag onto the kitchen island and pull out my phone to text my father, who is in Chicago for work.

Got the keys. Moved in. Thank you.

It feels too formal, too short. I sigh and delete it. Then try again.

Elena

Hey, just got into the apartment. It’s amazing. Thank you for this—really. Hope your trip is going well.

That’s better. I hit send, turning my attention to the champagne chilling in the fridge, courtesy of Philippa.

As if on cue, the front door bursts open.

“Let’s get this party started!” Riley sings, twirling in with a bottle of tequila raised above her head.

“There goes the neighborhood,” I laugh.

Philippa follows, much more composed, but holding a small bag from the trendy new Filipino bakery nearby.

“I assume you haven’t eaten,” she says, setting it down.

“Not since breakfast,” I admit, popping the cork off the champagne.

Three glasses clink together.

“To new beginnings,” Philippa toasts. “And no longer crashing at my place.”

“To independence!” Riley adds, taking a big gulp.

“To… everything ,” I smile as the bubbles tingle against my lips.

I turn to Philippa, feeling a swell of emotion rise in my chest.

“Pip,” I utter, and she raises an eyebrow at the unexpected sentimentality in my tone.

“Thank you. For all of this.” I gesture around the apartment. “For making me feel welcome here in New York, for looking out for me when I probably didn’t deserve it, and for putting so much effort into making this place perfect.”

Philippa’s expression softens, and for a moment, I see the warmth beneath her usually polished exterior.

“You’re my sister, Elena. Of course, I was going to make sure you had everything you needed.” She smirks. “And besides, you deserve your own space. Plus, a fully stocked fridge—I’ve seen you take down an entire charcuterie board solo. Can’t let you get hangry.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but the lump in my throat remains. “Still, it means a lot. More than I can probably explain.”

Philippa smiles, squeezing my hand briefly before letting go. “Then that’s all that matters.”

“Aww, you guys,” Riley sings, watching the exchange between us. “I love this.” She gestures between the two of us.

We all laugh.

“Group hug!” Riley bellows, pulling my sister and me into an embrace.

One drink turns into two. Then three. Then, a very questionable shot of tequila that Riley convinces us to take.

Philippa, ever the responsible one, cuts herself off early.

“I should go before you two get messy,” she announces, swiping her purse off the armchair. “Elena, try not to let her burn the place down. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she adds, reminding me of the brunch we have scheduled.

“No promises,” Riley says with a grin as Philippa rolls her eyes and makes her exit.

The second she’s gone, Riley turns to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Now, how many drinks will it take to get you to spill about your first date with Alex?”

I feign innocence.

“A lady never tells.”

“You? A lady?” she exclaims. “Come on, I’ve been dying to know, and you held out on me the other day! So don’t skimp on the juicy details.”

My face goes warm all at once, but I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face.

“Fine…It was…” I sigh, searching for the right words. “Insanely good. He planned this epic day: coffee, laser tag, food trucks, and, um…” My voice trails off, remembering the mind-blowing orgasm he gave me, blushing at the thought.

Riley gasps, cutting me off.

“Wait. Did you—?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

A nervous laugh spills out of me, and I shake my head.

“No, not that . But let’s just say, um…I didn’t leave unsatisfied.”

Riley screeches, grabbing my arm.

“Elena Montgomery! Are you telling me you had your first non-solo orgasm?”

I bury my face in my hands, but the laughter bubbling out of me gives me away.

“Maybe.”

She flops back against the couch dramatically.

“This is a monumental occasion. My best friend finally had a ‘real’ orgasm with an insanely hot Swedish hunk? I could cry.”

I snort.

“Please don’t.”

“This calls for another shot.” She grabs the tequila, pouring two more.

“To Alex, orgasm-giver, and for finally rocking your world. Cheers!”

We clink our glasses and down the shots, both of us dissolving into a fit of giggles.

As the laughter dies down, I sigh. There is still so much I want to know about Alex. I’m greedy for any little bit he’ll give me. A part of me is also wary because it feels as though he’s holding back in some ways.

Riley notices and tilts her head at me. “So, what’s the catch?”

I hesitate.

“He’s great, really open about his family and himself, yet—he’s super evasive about his job.”

Riley waves a dismissive hand.

“Maybe he’s trying to be mysterious. You’re probably overthinking it. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Maybe,” I admit, though the nagging feeling remains.

“We’ll see.”

“Well, when do you see him next?”

I chew my lip, thinking.

“We’re both in San Diego next week for work. So I think he wants to take me to the zoo for our second date.”

“Perfect. That means more orgasms,” she teases, sinking deeper into the sofa.

“I hope.”

Riley grins.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I’m seeing Logan. He’s starring in my music video,” I add, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

“Logan? Cousin Logan?” she slurs, confused.

“Yeah, he’ll be at Geek-Fest. Mark got me tickets.”

“GEEK-FEST! I’m coming!” she screams.

“Don’t you have work?”

“I’ll say I’m scoping out an artist, visiting galleries. Or I’ll quit and come anyway,” she rambles tipsily.

Our celebrations carry well into the night. Riley’s blitzing margaritas in the kitchen, head thrown back, singing off-key to whatever playlist she’s hijacked. The blender whirs violently, drowning her out, but I don’t care.

Watching her dance barefoot through my shiny, way-too-perfect kitchen—carefree, wild—makes something in my shoulders loosen.

It feels…right.

Like maybe this place could be ours. The beginning of the dream we once dared to hope for.

Our New York.

The blender groans to a stop. Riley glances at me, one brow lifting as she reads me like a damn book.

“You okay?” she asks, still holding the lid, like she’s ready to launch into full therapy mode if I so much as blink too long.

“Yeah.” I smile, cheeks warm—partly from the tequila, partly from the idea forming in my head. Solidifying faster than the frozen margaritas she’s about to pour.

She doesn’t move. Watches me closely now, lips twitching like she already knows.

“Elena,” she says slowly, tilting her head. “You’re looking at me like you want to make out with me or something.”

I let out a breath, laughing into it. “I know I complain about all of this,” I start, words bubbling up before I can stop them.

She snorts. “You? Complain? Never.”

I roll my eyes.

“Seriously, babe.” My throat tightens. “I wouldn’t have gotten through any of it—the shit with my family, with my mom—without you. I don’t think you realize how much I need you.”

Her face softens. For a second, I think she’s going to crack a joke. But she doesn’t.