Chapter Twenty-One
Rafe
I sit in my room at Graham’s house, a coffee mug in one hand and my face cradled in the other. Whatever I thought my life was before Sparrow is completely undone. When I left her yesterday, I had never been more grateful for a series of moments in my life. I didn’t intend to kiss her—I wanted to, of course, but I didn’t intend to. I just wanted to share the same air. Now, we’ve shared much more. After talking to Lily, I was ready to tell Sparrow everything.
Yesterday, I met with another singer in Boston while he was in town for a stop on his tour. He wants me to write a song for him, and we had an amazing brainstorming session. I think it might be one of my best songs yet. He invited me to meet him in Nashville next week, and since it lines up with my other meetings there, I would’ve been a fool to say no. So, I didn’t. I’ll have to leave a few days earlier than planned, but I’m hoping Sparrow will understand.
I know that it’s partially from being here that I have this new confidence, but I couldn’t get Sparrow out of my mind. So, when I remembered the bakery specializing in viennoiseries — a perfect blend of bread meets pastry—and the croissants she loves so much, I knew I had to stop. Had to.
I was disappointed when she wasn’t home, but right as I was about to walk away, she sent me a text. I had given myself thirty minutes to wait, and twenty-nine minutes later, the door opened, and like the angel she is, she appeared. I also didn’t mean to stay so quiet, but the silence felt necessary, given all that I was feeling.
When we started another sweet dance of silence, I leaned into the moment and saw on her face what I hadn’t fully seen before—that she wants me too. She wants me for me .
When I finally saw what I hoped for, something in me broke. And I spent the next several minutes lost in a world we were building all on our own. I memorized the feeling of her hips under my hands, the gentle slope of her waist, and the way her soft lips can feel like both a feather and an avalanche. I keep replaying her hands in my hair and the sound she made when I traced her spine. I couldn’t even bring myself to change my sweater last night—it smelled like her. And the way she traced kisses across my face . . . well, I’m pretty sure I forgot to breathe for a bit.
And after we were wrapped up in each other, pushing and pulling—it was so much that all I could think to do was hold her. To show her that she doesn’t have to stay in a castle on her own. That I can be her safe place. The best part was, she hugged me back. No one has ever treasured me the way she did in that moment. I swipe at my eyes, thinking about it. I’ve always been a poet with my songs but not much of a crier—until moving here.
“Get it together, man,” I mutter.
I don’t think I can. Even if I leave Birch Borough next week, which was always the plan, Sparrow now holds a part of me. What started as a moment on the train and an impulse to step in and help her get the man she wanted—which, I can admit, was stupid—has given me what I never saw coming: a glimpse at a life of love.
I sing about love for everyone else, and I’ve never had my own. Noémie played a game with my heart. I wasn’t enough, so I had to keep chasing it. Earning it. Making myself worthy of it. The same is true with my parents. With Sparrow, I can feel it kindling. But I don’t know where her heart is at. I don’t know if what we shared completely derailed her considering any other options but me. I’m not even sure she’d take me if she knew the truth. It’s one thing to see me the way she did; it’s another to discover the parts of myself that I’ve yet to share. And after feeling what it’s like to kiss her and have her in my arms, I’m terrified to know the answer.
I pace across the floor for God knows how long until I hear a rap at the door.
“Rafe? You all right, man?”
Attacking the door like it might hold the answer to my questions, I swing it open to find Graham home early from his business trip. He winces.
“Sorry, I’m stressed.”
He looks me over and shakes his head with a slight smile. “Man, you look terrible.” He looks at me again, and I don’t know whether to laugh or punch him for how he’s sizing me up. “You’re in love,” he finally concludes.
I hang my head at how easy it was for him to guess. Taking a brief look into the rest of the house to ensure no one else is lurking, I pull him into the room and slam the door. Everything outside is scary and unknown. I’m breathing heavily like I just ran from something chasing me.
Putting down his travel bag, he sits on the edge of the small couch in the corner and clasps his hands together, a little concerned and a little amused. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
A weird laugh escapes me. “I don’t know!” I’m unhinged, and I don’t even care anymore.
Graham is smug. It’s decided. I definitely want to punch him.
I start pacing. “Should I write another song?”
He shakes his head.
“Tell her?”
He shakes his head again.
“Take her on a date?”
Graham thinks about this but then quickly does the move I hate the most right now—he shakes his head.
“Graham, I swear if you don’t stop with that ...” I shake my hands toward him. “That ... stupid shaking-your-head thing.” He raises his eyebrows, and I stop pacing to sink into the couch. I shut my eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just ...”
“In love?”
I crack open my eyes slightly to see Graham looking at me without judgment. He really is a solid guy. It makes me feel even worse for wanting to punch him a minute ago. I rub my face, disheveling myself even more.
“I don’t know what to do about it. She drives me nuts. Hides my guitar picks. Declares she’ll only marry a Frenchman to the world—I mean, who does that?” My question is rhetorical, so I keep going. “Makes the best muffins I’ve ever had. Kisses like a freaking miracle. Has me so nuts that I’ll end up with coffee stains on me for the rest of my life because I’ll try to keep them off of her.”
“And this was supposed to be fake, or at the very least, you weren’t planning on staying ...” he summarizes. And then he seems to hear what I said only a few seconds ago. “Wait. You kissed her?”
“Yes! I don’t know what the heck I was thinking, but she’s got me so upside down ...” I trail off. My hair feels like it could hit the ceiling it’s been pulled so much.
Graham leans back on the couch and rests his arm on the armrest. Thankfully, because he’s a gentleman, he doesn’t rag me about it or ask for details. “But you haven’t told her the truth?” I fix him with a glare, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “The whole truth.”
I shake my head slightly.
“Why?”
My jaw clenches so tight it will be a miracle if I don’t have to visit a dentist after this conversation. “You know why.”
“No, you know why. I don’t, actually.”
I sigh and pull out my guitar. Nothing seems to calm me like the guitar, apart from Sparrow. But she also drives me wild. So, guitar it is.
“Is she familiar with your father’s brand?”
I shake my head. “It’s not me.”
“But it is a part of who you are. It’s your last name.”
I try to deny it, but he’s right. My heart is beating faster, and I wish there was a way that I could skip all these uncomfortable bits. I wish I could calm the anger brewing within me. And I realize I’m so angry because I let my fear surrounding my parents interrupt my fear of telling Sparrow the full story. I haven’t even given her a choice.
“I left everything behind and moved to LA to have a life so I wouldn’t be defined or controlled by my family. How do I even talk about it? Because she lost both of her parents, and they loved her. My parents are still here, and they hate what I’m doing with my life.”
“That can’t be true.”
I casually strum my guitar, and Graham nods for me to continue.
“It’s true.” That’s all I can get out.
Graham lets out a slow whistle. “I’m sorry, man.”
I put the guitar aside because it’s making me remember the way I played my fingers on Sparrow’s spine, like my favorite chord progression. That woman has invaded my life. I stand and start conducting the air with my hands.
“I still live in LA! I have an apartment. I have a car. I’ve lived around the world ... this is a small town. I have my music to think about ... I’m here to write! She makes me want to leave everything behind ...” I’m now so worked up that I do the best thing I can think of—I take another sip of coffee.
“And you want to tell her,” Graham observes.
“Of course I want to tell her!”
“And it seems like she’s the reason you’re able to write again.” I growl in frustration at how insightful he is and resume pacing. “You still need to tell her.” He’s right, of course. Graham gestures toward my pacing and lifts a brow. “What’s the truth here?”
I groan. “The truth is, I saw her, and everything stopped. It was like all those sentimental movies we’ve seen and called fake have laughed in my face. Our connection was so real it felt like lightning. Even when I’d only seen her on the train, I couldn’t get the image of the woman with the big sweater and the darkest honey-colored hair out of my mind.” I’m wearing out the floor with my movements, and Graham just keeps listening.
“I never thought I’d see her again. And then, BAM! There she was. And when her eyes met mine, my heart danced. I mean, I write love songs—and even I thought it must be a joke. Nothing could be that real. Nothing could be that scripted. But then she said she would only date someone French—for the second time—and I froze.”
I am tired at this part of the story, so I sit back down and keep my gaze focused on the floor. “It was like I forgot everything bad in my life just at the sight of her. If I had told her my last name then, I would have felt like I was cheating. Like if she knew who I really was, I wouldn’t have earned it. I wouldn’t have known that she truly liked me for me and not because of my family or the fact that Paris was home for a long time.” I try to add a lighthearted touch. “I could’ve used that to my advantage, you know.”
Graham sees through my bull. “Oh, I know. Good thing you’re too upstanding of a guy.”
I scoff lightly. “It felt dishonest. But now, because she doesn’t know everything about me, I still feel dishonest.”
Graham stands to his feet and rolls up his sleeves while he looks out the window, still thinking. Always thinking. “I get that. I do.”
I nod with relief, and he holds up his hand.
“However,” he starts, and I pick up my guitar to attempt to do something again with my racing mind. I’m really going to have to go for a run or something to help with this chaos. “How can she like you for you if you don’t actually tell her who you really are?”
My hand slips on my guitar with a scratching sound that makes us wince. He sure knows how to punch someone with his words.
“You made your decision with the knowledge you had at the time. But if she doesn’t know all of you, then I don’t think it’s love at all.”
I know he’s right. But I also don’t miss how his jaw tightens, as if he knows from experience. “G, what happened to you?”
I see a flash of fear cross over his features. I’ve never seen a crack in his armor. He’s always the polished one, the clever one. He says everything straightforward and matter-of-factly. He’s funny if you can get enough time with him to wear down his stoicism. I didn’t think it was possible for him to have a secret he hasn’t told me, and I realize how much I’ve missed him. He’s been my best friend even though we haven’t lived in the same place since we both lived in LA. He’s been the one I could turn to—clearly, since I’m now living in his apartment, staying here until I figure my life out. He told me to come here, no questions asked, and he’s always been that way with me.
“Another time,” is all he says before focusing back on me. “Seems to me that you know something needs to change if you think Sparrow is worth it.” I nod aggressively, and he nods back. We’re on the same page. “Ok, so what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Telling her of my true heritage right now , after all that’s happened between us, just doesn’t seem like enough.”
Graham crosses his arms in the stance I’ve seen him use when he means business. “You need to make a move.”
“Well, I kind of did . . .”
He raises his brows. “A kiss isn’t enough.”
“You weren’t there. Not that I would’ve wanted you there, but this was not a normal kiss. I can’t ... words aren’t enough.” I don’t even hide the grin on my face. It was the best moment of my life, and I’m not ashamed of it.
“Wow. You two kiss one time, and the musician and lyricist is stumped.”
I nod enthusiastically before I realize I look like a teenage boy and not like the man who needs to make the next move. “It was more than once.” I’m grinning like a lovesick fool. But then I think of leaving or, worse, Sparrow choosing Jacques when I leave after all ... because he’ll be here. “Graham?”
He uncrosses his arms.
“I’ve never loved like this before,” I admit.
Graham rubs his chin with his hand and then pauses, a sad smirk on his face.
“What do I do? How do I make this right?”
He stands and walks toward the door. It’s only when he’s halfway through that he turns to look over his shoulder. I motion for him to tell me whatever is on his mind and immediately regret it when I hear his next words. “Are you still leaving?”
I nod briefly. I have to go, even if it’s just to Nashville for a bit.
“Then tell her. Oh, and you remember she has a best friend, right?”
I think of Lily and her fierceness for Sparrow and sink deeper, hoping the sound of the door shutting behind Graham isn’t a sign for what’s to come.