Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Jaxon
“Hey, Iz!” I call as I walk into Izzy’s house on Tuesday carrying my guitar and a bag of takeout.
No answer.
I pause in the entryway, listening. There’s a soft creak down the hall, then her voice floats out. “Hey, Jax.”
The way she says my name is soft, but it doesn’t have the same spark as it did Saturday night when we were sitting out at the firepit, drinking wine while I played my guitar.
We text almost constantly these days, so I know she’s been stressing about work things, but it seemed like she was remaining at least mostly positive about the lack of response from her potential client.
Izzy appears from around the corner a few seconds later, barefoot and in a faded T-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans. Her hair is pulled onto the top of her head, though there are more than a few strands falling down. She looks…tired.
Gorgeous. But tired.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I say, lifting the bag like it contains the world’s best gift. “I brought dinner. And I have a surprise for you.”
“Please tell me the surprise is ice cream,” she says, walking past me toward the kitchen.
“I brought those crispy chicken wraps you like,” I say, following her. “But no ice cream. I could run back out, though.”
I should’ve thought of ice cream. She used to show up at my house with two pints—mint chocolate chip for me and cookie dough for her when I bombed a test or she was fighting with one of her sisters.
She waves me off with a flick of her hand. “I’ll survive. Two pints in one week is probably too much anyway.”
She digs through the bag and sets our food out on real plates. She licks her fingers when she’s done, and I stare, unable to look away as the tip of her thumb slowly enters her mouth.
“So what’s the surprise?” she asks, lifting her eyebrow when she catches me staring.
“A song!”
“Another one already?”
I nod enthusiastically. “The one I couldn’t get out of my head after Saturday night. I finished it yesterday and sent a video to my team. Andre is beside himself and already asking when I can get back to record it. I can’t believe the last song for the entire album is already written.”
That gets her attention. She straightens. “Wait—the last one?”
Honestly, it’s shocking to me too. If you don’t count the eighteen months I wrote nothing, this will be the fastest I’ve ever put together an entire album.
Andre is texting me constantly with marketing opportunities and recording dates.
My management team and the label are thrilled, though they were decidedly unhappy when I told them I need to stay in Wild Bluffs until after the sale.
“The album’s done. Every track. And the one I wrote Saturday night…” I whistle and give her a little finger drumroll on the table. “It’s a single. I know it.”
Her eyes crinkle into a smile, but it doesn’t quite look right. “That’s amazing.”
She says it like she means it, but something’s off. She’s distracted. Distant. Like when you drive someone else’s car and the seat is just a little too far away—you can still drive, but it feels wrong.
I slide her food to the spot next to mine. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
She gives a soft, noncommittal sound and joins me.
We eat side by side at her kitchen island, the air thick with a silence that doesn’t quite qualify as comfortable. Izzy stares at her plate like she’s worried her wrap will run away. I take a bite and force a smile.
“This is exactly how I imagined it going,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. “Album done. Me, taking time out of my delivery route to eat with the most beautiful woman I know. You, radiating support and admiration.”
She huffs a breath—half laugh, half sigh—but it doesn’t quite make it to her eyes.
“Remember when you used to eat these wraps every Friday and claim it was part of your ‘wellness routine’?”
Her lips twitch, just barely. “It was spiritual. A sacred ritual.”
I grin, encouraged, and put on my best impression of her sixteen-year-old self. “‘Chicken wraps are self-care, Jaxon. It’s not emotional eating if it comes with lettuce.’”
That earns me a glare, but not the full laugh I’m chasing.
She nods slowly, then murmurs, “I’m happy for you. Finishing the album. That’s huge.”
For a second, I think maybe she means it. But the spark dies behind her expression before I can answer. And just like that, we’re back to silence.
This should be the part where we celebrate—entwined on the couch, experimenting in the bedroom, kissing like we’ve got all the time in the world.
Instead, I watch her, chewing slowly, waiting for the moment when it feels right to say what I’ve been turning over since Friday.
The moment doesn’t come. Especially when Izzy says, “I haven’t heard from that client in Nashville.”
I stop mid-chew. “Still?”
She nods, taking an angry bite out of her wrap. “Nothing. I followed up last Friday. Crickets. It’s been over a week since the pitch, and I’m starting to think I blew it.”
“You didn’t blow it.”
“I did,” she says, not even arguing—just stating. “I stumbled on the competitive analysis. I froze on one of the regional stats. I was awkward during the small talk.”
“Maybe they’re just busy.”
She shakes her head. “Or maybe they realized I’m not as impressive as I tried to make them believe I am.”
I set my food down and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Hey. Don’t do that. You’re incredible.”
Her laugh is sharp. “Yeah. Real top-notch material over here. Pretty, but not as pretty as Becca and Kelsey. Funny, but not as funny as Bryn. Smart, but not as smart as…any of them. God, I bet if your fans found out you were with me, they’d riot.”
She can’t think that. At least, I can’t imagine Izzy—the smartest person I know—could believe that about herself.
“Iz.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls back.
And I feel the shift before she says it. The start of a retreat. She’s putting up the walls.
“I’ve just been so wrapped up in this whole fake-dating thing and making sure I’m not falling for you—”
Her eyes flash to mine. My world stops moving.
She looks like she wants to frantically grab the words and shove them back into her mouth, but they’re already loose.
They’ve changed everything. And nothing.
“I didn’t mean—” she starts.
But I know she did.
“I think we should probably…reevaluate our situation,” she concludes.
“What? Why?”
Her eyes flick up. “You finished the album. That was the deal, right? You got what you needed. And the wedding’s in less than two weeks, so maybe you can go back to Nashville, fly back for the wedding, and we just…forget about the rest.”
The rest.
The nights on the couch. The kisses. The wine at the firepit. The way she looked at me like I was more than a borrowed fantasy.
“Izzy…”
“It’s fake anyway,” she says quickly, like saying it first will give her the control she seems to need so desperately right now.
“I still need you to be my date for the wedding, but you don’t have to keep pretending to enjoy the role of fake boyfriend—with all the awkward attempts at orgasms included. ”
She tries to smile.
I nod, slowly, but then—
I’ve never stayed for anyone, but Izzy isn’t just anyone. She’s the woman who managed to steal my heart with her wide smile and sarcastic comments. The first person I want to talk to in the morning, and the last person I want to see at night.
She’s the passion behind every lyric I’ve written in the last month, and now every song I play, every chord, feels like her.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“What do you mean no?”
“This isn’t fake for me. Plus, I’ve walked away once before, and I know what I lost. I’m not doing it again.”
“Jax,” Izzy says, her eyes begging me to believe her, “this doesn’t work between us.”
“It does, Izzy. I don’t know exactly how yet, but I know it can.
This is real. We are real. And we’ll figure it out.
Nashville’s not that far away when you have a private jet.
Wild Bluffs has lots of land to build a recording studio on.
I have the means to make almost anything possible happen. And I want to make us work.”
My heart drops when I see the fight still in her. In the hint of disbelief still in her eyes. So, I hold up my hand, stopping her objections before she can even voice them.
“I know you don’t believe me. And you have every right to question my staying power.
But I’m going to prove it to you. In the meantime, the way I see it, I still have my end of the deal to uphold.
So we just keep doing what we’re doing for now.
See it through the wedding. But this close to the finish line? We have to up our game, not back off.”
Her brows pinch slightly. “What?”
“You don’t get to back out of our public romance now,” I tease gently. “I will be wining and dining you every minute until the wedding where I will prove I’m the best date you could ever hope to have—the best you will hopefully ever have again.”
I can see the gears turning in her head—processing what I’m saying and what I’m not.
And I see it—the exact moment she lets go.
Izzy exhales and nods. “Okay.”