Chapter 97
W e make love. In the shower. Against the wall. In the window seat.
We eat just so we have the strength to make love again. The sun rises and sets outside the apartment before we put on clothes. Sitting on the couch together, Bo wears only his jeans. I’m in a slinky robe. I lean against the armrest, and he lays his head on my chest.
“I like being here with you.” I take his hand. Holding it up to the light, I marvel at the differences between his and mine. I thread my fingers between each of his. Looking out the windows, I see the stars popping out one by one in the night sky.
It has only been twenty-four hours, but I feel like I’m glimpsing our future. I want it. I want him more than anything in the world.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“You and me,” I reply without hesitation. “Our future.”
“Deep thoughts,” he observes.
“Hopeful ones.” I can no longer envision a future worth having without him in it.
“My thoughts are hopeful because of you.” He turns his head. Nuzzling me, the stubble on his jaw scrapes my skin. My nipples tighten beneath the silk as he presses his warm lips into my cleavage.
“What are the guys doing tonight?” I ask, changing to a lighter subject.
“Car was actually in the apartment before you arrived.”
“Ah.” I run the fingers of my free hand through Bo’s silky hair. “So is he staying in Vancouver for the summer too?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “No place else to go. We’re all a bunch of nomads, even when we’re not on tour.”
“Shooting Star’s next album is due before the end of the summer.” I trace the shell of his ear.
“We’ll get it done.” He settles more fully into me.
“Do you have any songs for it yet?” I ask.
“I have music.”
“The tour was so busy.” My brow creases. “When did you find the time?”
“Toward the end, every time we chatted on the phone, I felt inspired and grabbed my acoustic. I recorded tons of new melodies on my phone.”
“Can I hear them?” My excited heart beats faster.
“Of course you can, my muse.” He lifts his head and points with his chin. “My phone’s on the lamp table behind you.”
I remove my hand from his hair. I reach for his cell and give it to him. He types in his passcode with one hand and hits play.
We both go quiet and let the music fill the silence. I smile when the last note fades away. “They’re all good, Bo. I really liked the last one. Very moody. What were you thinking about when you played it?”
“You,” he replies. “I was missing you terribly.”
“Only fair.” I lower my head. He lifts his, and I press my lips to his. “Since I was missing you too.”
“I think there’s enough material there for an entire album,” he says.
“Two maybe,” I murmur and tip my head to the side. “Have you played them for Car?”
“Not yet. Just you so far.”
“I’m honored.” Warmth like shimmering light fills my chest. He calls me a shooting star, but it’s his words and his actions that make me feel like one.
“I love you, Peace. I don’t want you to be a part of my life. I want you involved in every aspect of it.”
“Car and the brothers okay with that?” I need to know if I’ll meet resistance from his bandmates, who are more family than his parents are.
“Absolutely. He understands, they all do, that you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”
My confidence rises, knowing we have their support. “Those chords are good, Bo.” I nod. “Really good. I have some ideas for lyrics.”
“I hoped you would.” He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “You’re not just my muse, you’re my wordsmith.”
“You’re my everything.” I let out a blissful sigh. “I imagined. I hoped. But I never could have dreamed it would be this amazing being with you.”
“Are you certain now?” he asks softly. “About us?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I reply, and he shifts. Placing me on top of him, he kisses me deeply. The fire that always simmers between us bursting into flames, words and phrases for an entire song come to me. It crescendos in my mind as we do.
In a satisfied daze afterward, we go to the shower. I wash my hair and when I emerge, I find Bo sitting on the bed with his guitar on his lap.
I grab my robe and put it on while he plays chords that bring music to life. “I need a pencil, paper.” I glance around.
“In the nightstand,” he tells me.
I pad over on my bare feet. Withdrawing a notebook, I quickly jot down the words that tell a story, our story. The paper shakes in my grip when I’m done. He doesn’t notice my excitement. His head is still bowed. Looking at him wearing only jeans with an ebony Martin in his talented hands, my blood warms and the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise. His chords. My words. We’re on the brink of something big. I wait for him to feel it, and then I know he does as he strums majestic chords that will fuse to my words like magic.
“I have lyrics,” I announce in a hushed whisper.
“Read them to me. Better yet”—he gives me a crooked and very sexy grin—“sing them to me while I play.”
So I do.
In my robe, in front of Bo, our gazes connect. The stars twinkle in the night sky, providing a velvet backdrop for us better than any stage curtain. Together, we create something beautiful out of nothing. We merge our passions. His music and my lyrics make a song. We are two damaged souls that love made whole. Love did that for my parents, my uncles, and Bo’s parents at one time. Love like Bo and I share can mend. It can heal. It lights up dark spaces. It transcends. It helped a fearful girl find her courage, and it was the path a lost boy followed home.
Love like a really good book isn’t meant to gather dust on a shelf. It should be read and shared with others so they can flip through the pages, be inspired, and go on to pursue happy endings for their lives too.