Chapter 5 Missy
Missy
The scent of garlic and herbs fills Alex’s cottage so thoroughly I’m sure I’ll still breathe it while I sleep tonight. It reminds me of living in our apartment together, how it always smelled like gourmet restaurant leftovers or some new recipe Alex tried.
I walk toward the cutting board where a pile of washed leeks sit and eye the knife. I’ve never been much of a chef, but I’ve watched Alex enough. I think.
Before I can make that potentially reckless decision she swoops up beside me and gives me a gentle nudge. “You’re my guest. Go relax.”
I hover anyway, watching her efficient movements. There’s a new confidence in how she handles the knife, a sureness I don’t remember from our cramped apartment kitchen when dinner was whatever we could cobble together between her jobs and my practice sessions.
Now she moves like she has all the time in the world. Her once permanently furrowed brow is relaxed, and she sips at a glass of wine as she glides between the stove and the cutting board.
“At least let me set the table?” I ask.
“Already done.” Ethan appears with a stack of fresh towels in hand. He drops a kiss on Alex’s temple as he passes. They move around each other with the grace of dancers who’ve memorized their partner’s rhythms.
The kitchen is compact. With me in it, I feel constantly in the way.
But Ethan and Alex navigate the space like it was built for them, their movements a duet I’m not part of.
It’s beautiful to watch—my sister who used to rush through life with the frantic energy of someone always running late, now moving with this serene confidence.
The Alex who counted every penny for my tuition would never have hummed along to the record Ethan started in the living room while she lazily chopped vegetables. She wouldn’t have had time for it.
I hover to the side, my hands empty. I press them together as if that will make them less awkward and lacking.
“You can open the wine,” Ethan suggests gently, as if he can read my thoughts. Then he smirks as he raises his voice to include Alex. “Tom’s bringing his ‘special’ vintage and we’ll need backup options.”
Alex snorts a laugh as she scrapes the contents of her cutting board into a sizzling pan.
I accept the bottles and head toward the table.
Wedding magazines are stacked near the couch, a glaring reminder of everything Alex should be focusing on—planning her wedding, juggling work deadlines, managing her restaurant—anything but hosting me.
I pull a cork free from a bottle and set it with a clink against the table. Alex spent a decade putting off her dreams to support mine. Now here I am again, taking up space in a life she’s finally built for herself, disrupting the careful composition of her happiness with my discordant presence.
My stomach twists, and the next bottle of wine nearly slips from my hand.
Maybe I should’ve followed Jules, traveled more, poured everything into the album.
But the thought of that dries out my mouth.
Because that version of success—the constant spotlight, the airports, the interviews, the need to perform even offstage—it's perfect for someone like Jules.
But not for me.
I smack my lips and move on to the next cork.
Alex and Ethan’s laughter rings out from the kitchen. I’m just going to have to find some way to make myself useful and busy for the next six months so I’m not a burden to them.
The house fills gradually with voices and laughter.
Mia and Zoe arrive first, bearing a spiced rosemary and candied orange cake that spurs Ethan into asking half a dozen questions about flour grade and technique.
Tom follows with his promised wine, then Violet, and finally Rachel and Grant.
They all embrace me as though they’ve known me forever even though I’m meeting a few of them in person for the first time.
There’s something fascinating about watching the group together—like observing a long-running orchestra where everyone knows their part by heart.
Inside jokes flow as freely as the wine, and I smile even when I don’t quite get the references.
Even Alex seems to slide into their dynamic like she’s been part of it all along.
“So…” Rachel leans forward, her second glass of wine nearly drained. “Are we finally going to discuss the elephant in the room?” She grins at Alex. “Will your incredibly talented sister provide the wedding music?”
Heat floods my cheeks. And it’s another reminder that I can’t quit my life.
Alex has sacrificed so much to make it happen and she’s so damn proud of me for it.
She looks over the emptied plates and gleaming glasses at me and her brow furrows.
Her lips part, probably to excuse away her friend’s request. Don’t worry about it, Missy. Of course I have a plan.
“I’d love to,” I chime in, before she says anything. “If you’d like that. I draw the line at Wagner’s Wedding March, however.”
“Thank god,” Ethan mutters, then brightens. “Speaking of the wedding, Zoe, I was thinking maybe you could be an actual guest this time? Let someone else handle the pastries and cake?”
Zoe’s fork clatters against her plate. She jerks her head up so quickly the purple in her hair catches the light, shimmering like a prism. “I’m sorry, did you suggest serving subpar pastries at the wedding of not one, but two pastry chefs?”
“It’s our wedding,” Ethan says. “We should get to enjoy it.”
“I mean…” Alex’s eyes flit away from me toward Zoe. “We have other friends in the industry.”
“But none from Magnolia Cove.” Zoe wiggles her eyebrows like that means something special and everyone laughs like they get it.
I release a breathy chuckle but have zero idea what she’s referencing.
Zoe punches Ethan in the arm. “You’ll enjoy it best if your cake is perfect.
Besides, if your future sister-in-law is providing some of the finest musical talent that recently toured the grandest performance halls in Europe, the least I can do is match that with world-class pastry. ”
“Speaking of romance…” Tom exchanges a knowing look with Violet. “Nothing beats a wedding trope.”
“Oh god, I love weddings in books!” Violet curls her hands together, then nudges me. “Hey, maybe you’ll fall in love and end up staying in Magnolia Cove too. We have a track record for that sort of thing.”
Dean’s face flashes unbidden through my mind—the intensity of his dark eyes, the way his presence seems to charge the air like the moment before thunder breaks.
The thought catches me off guard, like hitting an unexpected note in a familiar piece.
I take a sip of wine, but my pulse has picked up tempo.
“Not likely.” I laugh. “I don’t really have main character energy.”
I’ve always been more comfortable offstage than in the center. Even when I’m playing, it’s the music that’s meant to shine—not me. I’m just the hands behind the sound.
“Besides,” Mia says, “remember the last time we tried matchmaking? It was the matchmaker who fell in love, hmm. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for, Violet?”
“Real life romance. Eww.” Violet grimaces before exchanging a high-five with Tom.
The conversation shifts into discussing Rhianna, the apparent matchmaker, and her boyfriend Eli and their recent globetrotting adventures.
I chime in with thoughts on cities I’ve visited, soaking up the laughter and the last few bites of the delicious meal Alex and Ethan prepared.
But as soon as a lull settles over the table, I excuse myself and slip out to the porch.
The ocean’s rushing rhythm fills the air. A salty breeze brushes hair back from my cheeks as I lean against the railing. Dunes block the ocean’s view but I’ve never been to a city that has stars like Magnolia Cove does. They glisten and gleam against the ebony sky like jewels.
“Mind if I join you?” Rachel walks up beside me and offers a fresh glass of wine. “Sometimes a girl needs a break from the chaos.”
I accept the drink gratefully. “That obvious?”
“Just to another performer.” She smiles and leans down beside me. “You know, I used to dream of touring professionally. I was never actually talented enough, but I held on to that hope for a long time. Used to imagine standing ovations, roses thrown on stage, my name in lights.”
“If it helps, those lights are brutal. They make you sweat like a pig. And if you get popular enough, you have to spend the hour after an exhausting performance signing autographs until your hand cramps. It’s less glorious than it sounds.”
She chuckles. “Well, maybe it’s good I ended up teaching. Though sometimes managing a classroom of hormonal teenagers with instruments feels like its own struggle.”
I laugh as the wine settles warm in my chest and I lean back, tension falling from my shoulders. There’s something comforting about talking to another musician—someone who understands the expectations.
“I think Alex said something about you running the school’s music program?”
Rachel nods and hair slips free and spills over her eyes.
She bats it away. “And a summer camp. Plus private lessons for students who need extra support. You should see some of these kids. Raw talent paired with a bucket of heart. There’s this one girl—Emma.
She has her eyes set on Juilliard, but struggles to contain all her… umm, musical talent.”
“I could help.” I scarcely even notice how Rachel stumbled on the end of her words because I’m so fixed on what an obvious solution this could be.
A student would spend her days in school—and I should spend that time working on compositions for mine and Jules’ album.
But early mornings or afternoons? I could devote hours each day to helping a promising student.
She’d probably get out of school about the time the Whisk closes.
It would give Ethan and Alex some alone time and get me out of their hair.
I shoot up, sloshing the wine in the glass.