Page 28 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

“I’ll help with that part. Natasha is always talking about how she’d love to get her hands on you. I’ll have her come to the house. Bring over a thousand dresses for you to try. Then we’ll pick one out together. Honestly, you’ll make my stylist’s year if you let her help.”

She rolls her eyes the slightest bit. “You’d help me pick out a dress? That feels…”

“Like something I would love to do,” I say. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

Tears fill her eyes. “You’re being very sweet about this. Especially when it feels like such a stupid thing.”

“It’s not a stupid thing. You lost your sister. It’s okay that this feels like a big deal.”

She’s quiet for a long moment before she asks, “If I freak out, can we leave?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “I’ll fake an illness. Claim I’ve got crippling diarrhea. Whatever it takes.”

She huffs out a laugh as she wipes her eyes. “Please don’t fake diarrhea.”

I grin. “Why not? It works better than anything else. Nobody wants to get in the way of exploding bowels.”

“Freddie, stop it,” she says, but she’s still laughing, so I don’t care. “I don’t think it’ll come to faking diarrhea. But knowing we can sneak out early would be helpful.”

“Done. We’ll come up with another sign. One tug on your earlobe, and you’re getting a kiss. Two, and we’re making a run for the bathroom.”

She shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re smiling, so…mission accomplished.”

She stands and holds out her hands, and I let her pull me to my feet. “A tug on the earlobe means we should kiss,” she says. “And if I squeeze your elbow like this—” She reaches up and grips my elbow, right below my bicep. “Then you know I’d like to go.”

“Earlobe, kiss, elbow, leave. Got it.”

She grins. “If our system gets any more complicated, we’re going to need a cheat sheet.”

If she gets any more adorable, I’m going to be tugging on my earlobes all the damn time.

But I don’t say that part out loud. I just smile and squeeze her hands before dropping them so I can shove my hands into my pockets.

It’s getting harder and harder to touch her because of how much I want to keep touching her.

If I start, I might not ever let her go.

I hold her gaze for one more moment. “I’m really sorry about Daphne,” I say. “That we have to have this conversation at all.”

There’s a sadness in her eyes that makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest, and I find myself wishing there was something— anything— I could do to make that sadness disappear.

The intensity of my response surprises me, and for a split second, I fight the impulse to flee, to pull myself back from what feels like teetering on the edge of a very high cliff .

But then Ivy reaches up and cups a hand around my cheek, her thumb brushing across the stubble lining my jaw.

In a different circumstance, the gesture might pull my eyes to Ivy’s lips, make me think of pulling her into my arms, finding more ways to touch her.

But right now, the touch feels like something else entirely.

It feels like connection. Like her soul talking to mine.

The sense of overwhelm building inside me stills, then dissipates, and it’s replaced with a sense of peace, of rightness that I’ve never experienced before.

“Thanks,” Ivy says softly, then she lets her hand fall from my face.

I tilt my head toward the front of the plane. “Ready to head back in there?”

“Should we be scared of what else Kat has planned for us?” she asks.

“Nah. I read ahead. That’s pretty much it as far as events go. The last few points are about social media posts. Dropping your name at the Nashville concert, maybe hinting somewhere that a song or two on the new album are about you.”

She pushes the curtain aside, looking at me over her shoulder as she moves back to where Kat and Sloane are waiting for us. “I get to inspire an entire song?” she teases. “Lucky me.”

Funny she mentions it, but I have had lyrics floating through my head the past couple of days. Nothing concrete yet, but I feel it—a shimmering, simmering something in the back of my mind just waiting for me to pull it out, to mold it into shape.

It doesn’t always happen like this, but I’ve learned to trust the process when it does.

To let the song come to me when it’s ready.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but the fact that I’m feeling anything at all—I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Ivy and whatever feelings she’s triggering inside me.

“Everything okay?” Sloane asks, her eyes moving from me to Ivy then back again.

“We’re good,” Ivy answers. “I can do the movie premiere. What else is on the list?”

I look past Sloane and Kat and meet Carina’s eyes.

She looks surprised by Ivy’s declaration, her eyebrows lifted, and I offer her a tiny shrug and a nod, hoping she understands that I’ve got this.

That I know why this is such a big deal for Ivy, and I won’t make her do anything she isn’t ready to do.

Carina smiles, gratitude clear in her expression, then I shift my focus back to Ivy as she talks through the last few bullet points with Kat.

For all her vulnerability a few moments ago, there’s no trace of it now.

Now, she seems more like the assistant I’m used to. Efficient. Practical. Wicked smart.

“I’ll make sure the paparazzi are aware you won’t be attending alone,” Kat says, referencing the movie premiere. “This is one instance when we need them to take as many photos as possible.”

“Do we need to be more strategic?” Ivy says. “All of Midnight Rush will be at the premiere.”

“Hmm,” Kat says. “So you’re worried the photographers will be more focused on the four of them together than on the two of you?”

“Freddie Ridgefield having a girlfriend is more exciting than the four of them together,” Sloane says.

“Debatable,” Ivy says. “Midnight Rush fans are intense. Either way, if we want good photos of the two of us, it can’t hurt to relay our wishes to a specific photographer. I can reach out to Jeff Burns. He’s honest, and he’s been good to Freddie in the past.”

Kat nods, like she’s impressed with Ivy’s insight. “Good thought,” she says, “but let me reach out to him. You’re not just the assistant now, Ivy.”

“Manager,” I correct. “She’s not my assistant. She’s my manager.”

Sloane lifts her eyebrows, then nods. “Noted. Either way, Kat’s right. Considering the circumstances, she should make the call instead of your girlfriend.”

Ivy’s eyes cut over to me, and my stomach swoops into my shoes. Girlfriend. Here lately, I’ve been liking the sound of that word more and more.

“I know Jeff,” Kat says. “I can definitely let him know what we need.” She looks over her list one more time. “Okay. The rest is pretty straightforward. We can coordinate on some social media posts that drop a few more hints, but after your appearances together, those will feel like gravy.”

“Are we concerned about Margot at all?” I ask. “I know we’ve got the edge here, but she might still talk. She always does.”

“Margot is a nonissue,” Sloane says. “I’ve been in communication with her people. Our story is airtight. You were at her house to pick up your girlfriend’s sister. Everything online corroborates that story.”

“This might have started because of Margot,” Kat says, “but we’re keeping it up because it’s generating a lot of really positive press. You’re all over the news. Streaming is up. Downloads are up. Radio play is up. Those are all good things.”

“I talked to Voltage this morning,” Sloane adds, “and they had nothing but positive things to say. They didn’t mention your missed album deadline once.”

Ivy reaches over and puts a hand on my arm. “Maybe the lack of pressure will make it easier to write.”

“Let’s hope,” Kat says. “All right, then. So we’re all in agreement?”

“Sounds good,” I say, and Ivy nods.

“Yep. I think so.”

“Excellent. Then just leave things in my very capable hands.”

I don’t doubt Kat’s competence.

Or Sloane’s.

But this isn’t just about my career anymore.

It’s about me and Ivy. And every minute I spend with her makes it more and more clear: that’s what I’m worried about the most.

Not my career.

Not public opinion.

Just her. Us. And the possibility of there being an us long after all of this is behind us.