Page 23

Ethan

Dawn light slipped through the hotel curtains, painting a thin gold line across the carpet. I lay still, Mel’s body warm against my chest, her hair tickling my chin with each breath she took. My arm had gone numb beneath her, but I wasn’t about to move. Not yet.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb her. The screen showed 6:07 a.m. and several notifications but nothing marked urgent. I opened the team chat.

Need the morning off unless there’s an emergency.

Logan’s response came within seconds.

Got you covered. We’re packing up for the move anyway.

I set the phone aside and settled back against the pillows. Two more shows until the week-long break. Everyone on the team was counting down the days, though no one would admit it out loud. This tour had been more taxing than most—not just because of the threats, but because of the constant vigilance required to keep Nova safe while she insisted on maintaining her public persona.

Mel shifted in her sleep, her hand sliding across my chest. Images from last night flooded my mind. The way she’d looked at me when I’d come back for her at the club. The desperate need in her kiss when we’d finally made it to her room. The sounds she’d made as I’d moved inside her.

I’d had my share of relationships, but nothing compared to what had happened between us. The connection went beyond physical. When she’d taken control, riding me with that fierce determination in her eyes, something had shifted inside me. This wasn’t just attraction or convenience. This was something deeper, something that scared the hell out of me if I thought about it too long.

Careful not to wake her, I slipped out of bed and pulled on my boxers. After popping open a bottle of water, I noticed several of her canvases propped against the wall.

I moved closer, studying the paintings in the growing light. They were all landscapes, variations on the same theme. Rolling hills stretched beneath clear skies. A house nestled in a valley, smoke curling from its chimney. Children playing in the yard, their figures small but full of movement. A dog running across the grass.

The consistency struck me. Not just in subject matter, but in feeling. These weren’t random scenes. They were dreams captured in paint. The same dream, over and over.

“You’re up early.”

I turned to find Mel sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched to her chest. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed with sleep or embarrassment—maybe both .

“Habit,” I said, gesturing to the paintings. “These are really good, Mel.”

She pulled the sheet higher. “They’re nothing special. Just something I do to relax.”

I studied the nearest canvas again. The brushwork was confident, the colors carefully chosen. “You have talent.”

“It’s just a hobby.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself like a toga. “I paint the same thing over and over. Not very creative.”

“But what you paint matters to you.” I watched her cross to her suitcase, avoiding my eyes. “If you weren’t managing Nova’s career, is this what you’d want to do? Be an artist?”

She laughed, but it sounded forced. “God, no. I’m not good enough for that.”

“Then what would you do?”

She pulled clothes from her bag, still not looking at me. “Does it matter? I have responsibilities.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She finally met my gaze, something defensive in her expression. “The tour’s almost over. After that…” She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

I recognized the deflection. She’d done the same thing that night at the estate when I’d asked about her dreams. Always redirecting to Nova, to duty, to what needed to be done rather than what she wanted.

The difference between her and Samantha struck me like lightning. Both women were organized, efficient, capable of managing complex situations. But Samantha had wielded those skills like weapons, climbing over anyone who got in her way. Every move calculated to advance her position, gain more power, more recognition.

Mel used those same skills to serve others. To smooth paths, solve problems, make sure everyone else succeeded. She put herself last, always .

“You matter too,” I said softly.

“I know.” She turned away, busying herself with selecting clothes. “I need to shower. Nova will be up soon.”

I let it go. Pushing would only make her retreat further, and I didn’t want to ruin what we had. Not when everything still felt so new, so fragile.

“Do you need to get back to the team?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Not yet. Logan’s got it covered.”

She nodded, then surprised me by dropping the sheet and walking naked to the bathroom. “Good. Because I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

The bathroom door closed behind her, leaving me staring at the space where she’d been. I heard the shower start, pictured water running over her naked skin, and had to force myself not to follow.

Instead, I ordered room service—coffee, fruit, pastries. By the time she emerged, wrapped in a hotel robe with her hair damp, breakfast had arrived.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, eyeing the spread on the small table.

“I wanted to.” I pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. Eat.”

She settled into the chair, reaching for the coffeepot. “Thank you. For breakfast, but also…for last night. For coming back for me.”

“I told you—I’ll always come back for you.”

Her eyes met mine over the rim of her cup. “No one’s ever done that before. Put me first like that.”

“Their loss.”

She set down her cup, her fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth. “You’re different than I expected.”

“How so?”

“When we first met, you seemed so…hard. All business. But you’re not like that at all. Not really.” She looked up at me. “Yo u’re patient. Gentle. Even with Nova, when she’s being impossible.”

I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable with the assessment. “It’s part of the job.”

“No, it’s not.” She reached across the table, covering my hand with hers. “It’s who you are. You’ll make an amazing father someday.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh God, I didn’t mean— I’m not trying to— After last night, I don’t want you to think?—”

“Mel.” I turned my hand over, lacing our fingers together, laughing. “Breathe. I didn’t take it that way.”

She took a shaky breath. “I just meant you have those qualities. Protective but not overbearing. Strong but gentle. Patient.”

I stared at our joined hands, processing her words. “I never thought about it like that. Always figured I was too…distant. Too closed off.”

“You’re not distant with the people who matter to you.”

The certainty in her voice made something loosen in my chest. Samantha had called me emotionally unavailable, said I’d make a terrible father because I couldn’t connect. Part of why we’d broken up was her complete lack of interest in children—understandable, given her career ambitions—while I’d always assumed I’d have kids someday.

“Do you want children?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

She withdrew her hand, reaching for a croissant. “Someday, maybe.”

Her noncommittal response surprised me. Given the domestic scenes in her paintings, I’d expected more enthusiasm. Maybe she was like Samantha after all, more interested in her career than family. Or maybe she just didn’t see that future with me .

Either way, I wasn’t going to push. Not now. Not when everything between us was still so fragile.

“More coffee?” I asked, lifting the pot.

She nodded, holding out her cup. “Thanks.”

We ate in comfortable silence, the morning sun warming the room. Outside, I could hear the city waking up—traffic noise, distant sirens, the rumble of delivery trucks. Inside, everything felt suspended, separate from the chaos that would soon reclaim us.

“The break’s coming up,” she said eventually. “After the next two shows.”

“Looking forward to it?”

She shrugged. “Nova wants to use the time to work on new material. Dexter’s already planning intensive rehearsals.”

“What about you? What do you want?”

That defensive look flashed across her face again. “What I want doesn’t?—”

“Matter,” I finished. “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

She stood abruptly, gathering plates. “I should get dressed. Check on Nova.”

I caught her wrist as she reached for my empty cup. “Mel.”

She froze but didn’t pull away.

“Your wants matter,” I said quietly. “To me, they matter.”

She stood there for a long moment, dishes forgotten, her pulse jumping beneath my fingers. Then she leaned down and kissed me—soft, sweet, with a hint of desperation that made my chest ache.

“I have to go,” she whispered against my lips.

I released her wrist. “I know.”

She straightened, gathering the dishes again. “Will I see you later?”

“Count on it.”

After she disappeared into the bathroom to dress, I sat at the table, finishing my coffee and thinking about those paintings. About the dreams she wouldn’t voice. About the way she deflected every time I asked what she wanted.

Mel Rivers was a puzzle I was determined to solve. Not because I needed to fix her or change her, but because I wanted to understand her. To know what put that longing in her paintings, that sadness in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

To figure out how to make her believe that what she wanted mattered just as much as what everyone else needed.

The bathroom door opened, and she emerged fully dressed—back in her professional armor of slacks and blouse, hair pulled into a neat bun. The transformation was striking. The vulnerable woman who’d shared a bed with me had vanished, replaced by Nova’s efficient manager.

“I’ll see you at sound check late this afternoon?” she asked, checking her phone.

“I’ll be there.”

“I have to go. Nova is already asking for me.” She hesitated at the door, looking back at me. “Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with her paintings and the lingering scent of her shampoo. I gathered my clothes, dressed quickly, and prepared to return to my own room.

But as I closed her door behind me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something important. Some key to understanding what Mel really wanted, what she was afraid to admit, even to herself.

Whatever it was, I’d figure it out. Because Mel Rivers had become more than just a job, more than just an incredible night.

She’d become someone I didn’t want to live without.