Page 35 of With Stars in Her Eyes

Thea

“So… where are we going?” Courtney’s tongue was red from her cherry Slurpee, her green eyes full of excitement.

“Patience.”

“All out of that.” Courtney played with the loose hair at the base of my neck.

Holy hell that feels good.

“Where are we going?” I wasn’t sure how long I could hold out against the sultry tone in Courtney’s voice or her light kneading on my neck.

I settled on an almost truth. “To the sea.”

“You do know we’re in Kansas right now, and we both have the book fair on Sunday.”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

Courtney touched my lips. “Also remember my thing about boats?”

I pretended to bite her fingers. “I don’t like boats either, so you’re in luck. I’m also resigned to keeping my feet on land permanently.”

“Then where are we—”

“Courtney Starling, goddamn it will you just let me woo you?”

Courtney fell silent. I kept my eyes on the road, unsure if I wanted to risk a glance at her.

“I’ve never been wooed before. I’m not sure I deserve to be wooed after kissing you, then crying and then disappearing.”

A smile re-formed on my face. “Well then, baby, I’m going to need to take your woo-ginity.”

Courtney poked a finger in one of my dimples. “Did you just say woo-ginity?”

“I’m really wishing I hadn’t.” I gripped the steering wheel harder.

Courtney exploded with laughter and then took a long slurp of her drink. “You also called me baby.”

“The heavier Alabama comes out sometimes.” I muttered the words.

This plan was seeming sillier. It had now occurred to me that I could have simply pushed Courtney inside her house and made out with her rather than hauling her onto a road trip.

“Especially when I’m frustrated. Also, I kissed you first.”

“Not how I remember it.” Courtney adjusted her seat belt and leaned onto my shoulder.

God, that feels nice.

She touched my elbow. “So you’re frustrated how, exactly?”

I was driving one-handed as I often did on these long, straight stretches of road. My right elbow rested on the console. A hand still chilled from holding the Slurpee slid over my arm to rest palm to palm. Our fingers intertwined.

“So people really just do this.” Courtney’s thumb moved back and forth over my knuckle.

“Go on an impromptu trip on a Friday afternoon?”

“I mean, yes. But I meant… just meet and… share sandwiches, soup, and a curated selection of bodice rippers in a bookstore, and…”

“Oh… that. I guess so…”

Attention drawn by the stereo, Courtney reached her unoccupied hand forward. “I like this. Bluegrassy? Cool voice.”

“She’s one of my favorites.”

“Is that the type of music you listen to? Bluegrass or country? We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“I listen to everything, but I was raised on bluegrass and classical. My grandfather’s favorites. He died several years ago around this time of year, so I get nostalgic. I like a lot of different stuff. I go through cycles and have my comfort listens. You?”

“This shouldn’t shock you, but I was raised on old-school gospel and cheesy Christian stuff. Literally wasn’t allowed to listen to anything else.”

“ Jesus, that sucks.”

“Jesus sure is a bummer.” Courtney smirked.

“Were you playing cello again while you were in New York? It seemed like you didn’t really want to talk about it in your emails.”

“Some. Just in studios. Prerecorded stuff with small audiences. And some meetings with lawyers. They want me to go back to performing live in front of crowds, and I’m just not sure I can.”

I tried to imagine this version of Courtney. She would probably be dressed in black and sitting in the front of a massive orchestra as a wild-haired man conducted with one of those batons. I couldn’t wait to hear her play for the first time.

“Why don’t you think you can play live anymore?” I flinched. “But you don’t have to answer if it’s too—”

“My migraines aren’t exactly like a lot of people’s migraines. I get slurred speech and balance issues. Basically, it looks like a stroke, so I’m telling you if it happens I’m not actually having a stroke, so please don’t call nine-one-one or anything. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It kind of sounds like a big deal. I hate to be this person, but… you’ve had scans and—”

“ Literally every kind of test imaginable. Chronic migraines can be a lot worse than I knew, and I let it get really out of control. I hid that it was getting worse.”

“Is that why you want to stop performing? Because you’re worried about it happening onstage—”

“It happened to me onstage for the first time in a really big performance when I was supposed to introduce a song. I really fucked everything up. Second-worst night of my entire life.”

“Whoa… That sounds traumatizing.”

“It sure fucking was.”

“When did that happen?”

“Right before I came back here. It took me a while to be able to even leave the house.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine having something like that happen so publicly.” I squeezed her hand. “But for context, I threw up the only time my mom tried to put me onstage.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Ruined a pair of her favorite shoes, but my mom never tried again.”

Courtney laughed, adjusting her position beneath her seat belt to be angled toward me.

“But this migraine onstage only happened once, and you’ve been playing since you were a peanut, right? When did you start?”

“I think I was onstage for a paid performance for the first time before I was five.”

“Five?” I frowned. “Is that even legal?”

“Probably wasn’t.”

“Do… do you honestly actually want to quit playing or do you just think you can’t do it anymore? I’m not judging or anything. Shit, I’ve quit more things than you could possibly imagine.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Like five careers. Before that I switched my major three times before graduating with a general studies degree. A sorority. A local bowling club.”

“You were not in a sorority.”

“Alabama’s a weird place. But a house full of hot girls with enough of us in the closet at that point, it made some nights very interesting.”

“Oh my god, really?” Courtney snickered. “I want stories. Or I want to see photos.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What was the first thing you ever quit?”

“Hmm.” I adjusted my sunglasses. “The Little Miss Huntsville Starlight Princess Pageant in 1995. That was the shoe incident actually. Stop laughing at me.” I flicked Courtney’s earlobe.

“My mom was into that stuff. I wasn’t. We were just a normal family otherwise.

My sisters did all that, so when I turned out to be more of a disaster than a debutante, she didn’t know what to do with me. ”

“I bet you were a debutante dropout too?”

“Shh…” I uncurled my fingers from Courtney’s hand to press a finger to her lips. “You’ll give me flashbacks.”

“How have things been going with your family? Still talking to your mom all the time?”

“Less…” I traced Courtney’s palm lines, thinking for a few minutes before deciding what to say. “It’s getting even more obvious every day that I’m just really different from them.”

“You’re really different than Marshall and you’re still close.”

I signaled to change lanes to avoid an aggressive tailgater in a giant off-roading truck. “Marshall doesn’t feel like he needs to give a ‘warning’ whenever he introduces me to someone.”

“Ugh. I hate that.” Courtney’s exhale was full of regret. “Fuck, it’s hard when your family wants you to be different.”

“Yeah, I guess at least my parents didn’t push me into being a baby musician.” I smiled. “I still want to hear you play or sing.”

“We’ll see.” Courtney lifted our clasped hands to her mouth and swept soft lips over my knuckles. I risked a glance at her. The afternoon sun gilded Courtney’s natural highlights, her green eyes glowing warmer than usual. “So where are we going?”

“ You’ll see.”