Page 31

Chapter 31

James

Telling you it was all a blur would be a cliché, but that’s what it was at first. There was a band behind me and a wedding party in front of me, but they faded to nothing when I saw her. The sunlight dimmed, the instruments quieted, and the guests’ pastel-colored clothes started to bleed together like a dyed Easter egg gone horribly wrong. I know it’s a rule of thumb that no one should outshine the bride on her special day, but today’s bride? Whoever she was?

She had nothing on Isa.

Isa—she couldn’t be less of a blur, standing there clear as day in the garden and somehow still wearing her ridiculous heels with her favorite skirt and what looked suspiciously like the blazer I only pulled out of my closet when my grandparents came into town for the holidays. Keep it, I wanted to say. It’s yours, I’m yours.

I worried my heart was going to give out as I sang but keeping my eyes on Isa eased the pressure. Suddenly I wasn’t onstage at a big wedding; we were just hanging out in my room, working on our latest set. Nobody else was home, so we could play as loud as we wanted without spoiling any surprises. Afterward, I had Frankie Valli going on my record player while Isa was stretched out on my bed and watching me slide across the carpet in my socks. Then I’d spin around and belt the song’s bomb-ass chorus. “You are such a clown,” she’d say, rolling her eyes and smirking when I tripped over a pile of laundry. It made my pulse quicken. “Such a clown, James!”

Performing now felt a little like that, except that there was no laundry to trip over and Isa wasn’t smirking. Her hands were clasped together and she looked like she was crying once the song faded out and the applause came screaming in. Smile, I told myself, even though all I wanted to do was find Isa and wipe away her tears. Were they happy tears? Or sad ones? Had this been too much for her?

I was kind of a dickhead and bowed for the crowd, too. I couldn’t not, right? It would look weird if I just awkwardly jumped offstage and walked away. Okay, let’s go, my mind nudged me after a second. They’ve thanked you, and you’ve thanked them. Now leave. Go get your girl—

Cheers erupted again, and I noticed some smiling guests bouncing up and down and pointing to the left side of the bandstand. My eyebrows furrowed, but then I turned to see Isa striding across the stage. My stomach flipped. “Izzy,” I breathed when she got close.

“Shut the fuck up” was her exquisitely eloquent response before she flung her arms around my neck and kissed me.

Finally, I thought once I had my hands on her waist, steadying us both. Holy fucking shit, finally.

Her lips were sweeter than ever before, sweeter than cotton candy, and she giggled when I released a deep sigh. “Sorry to ambush you,” she whispered.

“Ambush me anytime,” I replied, kissing her again and then blindly reaching for the scarf that held up her ponytail.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I didn’t answer; I just tugged the scarf until her soft and silky hair spilled down her back. My chest ached, wanting to run my fingers through it. Isa gave me a funny look, but there wasn’t time to explain. “Encore!” the wedding guests were cheering. “Encore!”

“J,” Isa said, her hands sliding from my neck to my shoulders. She was going to pull away, and I desperately didn’t want that. “They want you to sing another song.”

“Let’s play one together,” I said. “We’re a duo. We’ve always been a duo.”

Isa was silent for a beat, but then nodded. “Okay, other half.” She grinned. “It is what we’re best at, after all.”

I kissed her quickly, and maybe a little teasingly. “Yes, it is,” I smirked, “but I have a feeling pretty soon we’re going to be ‘the best’ at something else….”

“James!” Isa gasped.

But feel free to note: She didn’t deny it.

We asked for the piano to be moved to center stage, and the band was more than happy to help us. The audience was whispering excitedly among themselves, wondering what we were going to play. “What are we going to play?” I asked Isa as she settled on the piano bench. I knew she would get up and drift around the Steinway at some point, but she always started a song sitting next to me.

“Something nice,” she told me, linking her arm with mine like we were about to set off on an afternoon stroll. “Something slow.” She nodded across the dance floor, and I followed her gaze to see Grace and Everett holding hands at its edge. (Barf, but good for me—our carpool would be bearable now.) “Something romantic.”

I gave her a sideways look. “Izzy, that’s like a million songs.”

She kissed my cheek. “Yes, J, but she likes only one. ”