Chapter Thirty-One
“I wrote ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya’ about someone special,” Jake tells me.
“She . . .” He trails off, like he’s lost in a memory or a daydream.
“She seemed like she was made for a melody.” He looks me in the eye, and with the tone only someone still lovestruck can have, says, “If you met her, you’d understand. ”
—“Behind the Hit: Twenty Questions with Debut Songwriter Jake Moody”
Leon, Phillip, Aspen, and I sprang out of the car as soon as Amber pulled up to the airport, and the four of us ran toward the building in a wild blur.
Spotting a set of doors, I began surging ahead, until Leon called out, “Apron!”
I skidded to a stop, whirling around. “What?”
“Apron,” he repeated, gesturing down to his waist, then pointing over at my apron I’d left on when I ran out of the café.
Ripping it off, I tossed it behind me, and Leon caught it with a grin.
I passed through the automatic doors and threw myself headfirst into the throng inside. Heart pounding, I scoured the area, looking for Jake.
My gaze darted across families rolling cartfuls of luggage and partitions set up for lines and floor-to-ceiling glass windows that served in place of outside walls.
But Jake was not there.
Moving on, I sped up and down along the security lines of travelers emptying their pockets. I tilted my head to the side, peering at their faces, before spotting a boy who stood with his back to me, wearing all black. My heart leapt.
“Jake?” I asked, getting closer, before the boy turned to me in puzzlement and I realized it was not. I backed away. “Sorry.”
Craning my neck, I peered at the row of chairs that lined the area past the metal detectors, but I didn’t see Jake there either. In a rush, the guys ran over to me.
“I don’t see Jake in any of these lines,” Phillip told me. “And we went from that end of the entrance all the way down to this exit.”
Leon huffed in frustration. “It is just like a music video. We have the dramatic airport chase. Background extras,” he said, gesturing at the crowd of tired and busy travelers around him, then out the window and over at me. “The sunset. The girl. But where’s the guy?”
Phillip looked around. “Maybe we should ask someone?”
“Great idea,” Aspen said sarcastically. “I’ll just stand on a chair and go, ‘Hey, has anyone seen pop star Jake Moody? US member and teenage dream?’ Sure. That’ll go over real well.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Guys,” Leon interrupted. “Don’t start a fight in an airport, that’s all I’m asking. The bar is so low right now. Do not limbo under it.”
“Aw, come on, we were just talking.”
Tuning them out, I turned away, lost in thought. Was I just a few minutes too late? Had Jake already made it through security and entered into an area I couldn’t reach?
Determined not to give up, I looked around again, through the moving crowd and out the tall glass windows, still searching. The final rays of daylight were filtering in through the windows, making me squint against the bright glare as I looked out.
Among the sea of cars and people, my eyes caught on one lone figure on the pavement who stood completely still—except for the way their fingers tapped out an unheard melody against the dark leg of their jeans.
Jake.
I didn’t stop to think, I just ran toward him, flying through the doors and out under the pink-and-gold-painted sky.
“Jake!” I called out. I already knew it had to be him I was running toward, but the sheet music pages tucked under his arm as I came closer still made me smile. “Jake!”
He turned at the sound of my voice, happiness and shock crossing his face. Unable to stop himself, he moved toward me even as I ran toward him, and we collided.
Loose pages of sheet music flew out of his grasp, fluttering gently in the air. For a single, solitary moment—the span of an exhale—we fell still.
We caught each other’s gaze through the white floating pages as the sheet music encircled us. It felt magical, like a scene in a snow globe. Then the white papers gently glided down to the ground, scattering at our feet.
“Lucy?” Jake laughed, as bright and warm as the sun. “What are you doing here? I was just coming back to the café—”
“Wait, you were coming back?”
“I couldn’t leave things how I did with you,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I wanted to come back and redo our last conversation. To stop relying on music for a minute and just open my mouth and say the right— Wait.” He came to a sudden stop. “You never answered what you were doing here.”
“I was coming to see you.”
His hazel eyes lit up. “Really?”
I took a breath and let it out. For once in my life, I didn’t worry about the future. Instead, I concentrated on this moment now, as the sinking sun glittered off the airport windows and sent the light back to us.
“I love ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya,’” I confessed, meeting Jake’s eyes.
“I love it. The reason I look weird when it plays is because it always made me miss you—and wish I was the one you were singing it to. I turned it off earlier so I could concentrate on telling you I have feelings for you.” His lips parted in surprise.
“I’ve liked you ever since we first met seven years ago, Jake. I never stopped.”
“Lucy, the song—it’s you,” Jake rushed out. “For you and about you. I sat down to write and you were the only thing on my mind. Everything about you ended up in chords and verse.”
I smiled, my eyes nearly going watery with how happy I felt. And in my chest, my heart ticked up in tempo.
“I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel for so long,” Jake continued.
“You said you wished you were the one I was singing the song to, but you need to know I’m always singing it to you.
It doesn’t matter what show or who’s actually in the crowd.
It’s always for you. Every single moment.
Every single note. No matter how far away you are, each performance is me reaching for you.
Each time that it comes on the radio. Every instance it’s ever been played.
” He smiled softly. “And how can it not be? I wrote the lyrics as a confession, but the music’s all you.
Your laughter’s in the rise and fall of the strings.
Your quickness is in the beat. And it’s all I ever want to hear.
” He took my hand in his. “You’re the melody in my heart, Lucy. You always will be.”
My breath caught at his words, and the evening’s pink haze settled around our silhouettes, making us glow. The rays were bright and blazing, but there was still a softness to the brilliance—a feeling that the future would be okay.
Beside us, Jake’s Uber pulled up, but instead of moving, Jake kept looking at me.
“So,” he said, “what happens now?”
I didn’t know all the details, or how we’d work it out, just that we would, somehow.
After all, we’d be there for each other through everything to come. We could make it to a happy ending.
From across the pavement, we heard Leon yell, “Now you kiss her, you idiot!”
Jake and I turned to see Leon, Phillip, and Aspen all huddled together by the sliding glass doors, watching us intently.
“He’s right, you know,” Phillip shouted, slinging his arms around both Leon and Aspen. “That’s what would happen at the end of a music video!”
“Yeah, kiss him, Lucy!” Aspen called out in agreement. “You’ll never get him to shut up otherwise!”
“Give the people what they want!”
Jake looked back at me, the sunset reflecting gold in his hazel eyes.
I arched an eyebrow. Inclining my head ever so slightly toward the car. He grinned.
Still in sync.
Without needing to speak, we moved in tandem. As seamlessly as if we discussed it out loud, we dove smoothly into the back seat of the car and slammed the door.
Outside, the three boys shouted and booed in dismay at being deprived of seeing their perfect music video ending.
Jake surged forward and kissed me, drinking in my laughter, and smiling as he did. My hands tangled in his hair before moving down to his jacket, pulling him in. I could feel the rhythm of his heart along with mine, beating out twin melodies of finally, finally, finally.
What had Jake written about me? I could build a home in your heartbeat. That about summed up my feelings for him too.
“I’m going to write you a song,” he swore, pulling away for the briefest moment.
I kissed him again. “You already did.”
“Forget about that one—”
“I will not,” I protested.
“It’s not my best work. You deserve my best. I mean, I’ve learned so much more about music since I wrote that one. And now that I think about it, the bridge is—”
I gasped. “Don’t you dare bad-mouth a masterpiece.”
He dismissed this. “I’ll write you a better one,” he decided, ever the music nerd I’d known and loved since I was eleven. “One with a better bridge, and one you’ll know is yours right from the start.”
“Well,” I said, as he dipped in to kiss me again, sweet and soft. We parted far too soon because we both couldn’t stop smiling. “I suppose that’s fine.”
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life writing love songs about you, Lucy Melrose,” he swore. “Don’t try to change my mind.”
I smiled, reached for his hand, and held on tight. “Wasn’t going to.”