Heart Strings (A Best Friends To Lovers Rockstar Romance)

Chapter 1

It always seems to rain at funerals.

Standing at a gravesite, looking down into the hole as the casket is lowered… the lower it gets, the more of your heart goes with it.

The hollowness that follows is something nobody prepares you for. Each embrace feels like it’s laced with thorns, and the murmured sympathies are met with mechanical ‘thank yous.’

The worst part? My pain is either invisible to those around me, or they choose to ignore it while cloaked in their own discomfort.

No, I’m lying. The worst part is the guilt pulling you under because your sixty year old mother shouldn’t have been driving in that storm to pick up the late order. That should’ve been you. Instead, you were home, nursing a broken heart over some guy who decided you weren’t worth his time anymore.

But because your mother had a heart of gold, she told you to take as much time as you needed to feel like yourself again. I lost my mother that day, all because I was crying over some guy whose name I don’t even remember.

Ten months have passed, yet the pain doesn’t fade.

It’s always just been the two of us. I still half-expect to see her enter the bookstore, carrying our favorite blueberry muffins and lattes from Sophie’s cafe. But every jingle of the bell brings a fresh wave of realization – she’s not coming back.

And it hits me every time that it won’t be her again.

Although this time when the bell chimes, it’s Sophie herself. She sees me and smiles, her brown eyes glittering with excitement as she holds up the signature blue paper bag and plastic cups.

“Thought you might need this,” she says as she walks towards the counter. “I know I could.”

“Aw, Soph, you really should stop doing this. I promise, I’m fine,” I say as I walk around the counter and wrap my arms around her.

We’ve been close since we were kids, the old sandbox love that always seems to stick in small towns. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be since nothing makes sense lately.

“Nonsense, you know I can come visit whenever I want,” she says, dismissing my words as we break off the hug. “Besides, the lunch time rush is over, so I have some time to spare.”

I can’t help but smile. Sophie’s daily 3pm visits are a highlight I never admit to looking forward to. She’d only make a bigger deal of it if she knew.

She opens the paper bag and starts to separate the goods, her brunette curls falling forward. “So, how have things been here today?” she says, gesturing around the room.

I roll my eyes. “You know the answer to that, Soph. No one reads paperbacks anymore, it’s all digital now,” I say with a sniff, trying to pass it off as nothing, but deep down it hurts. We still make enough to break even, but that’s it.

“I still think you should turn it into a cafe-cum-bookshop—“

“And keep them away from The Sugar Drop? I may just run you out of town!” I say sarcastically, pushing the idea to the side again even though I love it.

“Oh, babe, no offense but no one makes these muffins like I do, so you’ll have a hard time doing that,” she says with a wink, but I know she’s just humoring me. She does it to make me smile because God knows I haven’t really smiled in over ten months.

The last day I saw Connor.

Sandbox love doesn’t quite apply to Connor and I. As kids we were like oil and water, always at odds, always finding ways to get under each other’s skin. Until the day we were forced to do a project together and got to know each other better.

We found common ground in the grungy chords of Nirvana, and something shifted. He started seeing me not just as the girl he used to argue with over crayons, but as someone... interesting.

Our relationship took a turn after that project. High school years were filled with shared secrets and dreams under the starlit sky in the back of his pickup.

Even after he skyrocketed to fame with his band, becoming a rockstar that everyone adored, our bond remained unshakable. He always found his way back here after every tour, every album release.

In this small town, with no family left, he still returned and when he did it was as if he never left.

He was at the funeral too. Throughout the service, I was like a statue, no tears, just a void. But when I saw Connor standing there in the back after not being sure if he’d make it, something inside me shattered. It was in his eyes – those deep blue eyes shining with unshed tears and an understanding that went beyond words.

He was the one who finally brought me to tears, rushing to my side when I crumbled into a heap and letting me lean on him.

Later, it was also Connor who brought back my smile. He didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. Instead, he just stayed with me, sharing stories about our childhood, reminiscing about the crazy stunts we pulled, and the dreams we once had.

It was a gentle reminder of the times we shared, a nudge to remember that life, despite its brutal turns, still had moments of joy.

“So, have you heard from Con lately?” Sophie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts as if she were reading them. Then she gives me that smirk again and I roll my eyes. She always thinks Connor and I are destined to be, or whatever.

But it’s not like that, not with Connor.

“Oh, stop it, and yes, I have. He just finished the last leg of his Australian tour and popped me a text,” I say, shaking my head.

“Really? That’s great! When’s he coming back?” she asks, her curiosity unmistakable.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “He mentioned he might swing by in a few weeks. You know Connor, always on the move.”

I know that look in her eye and I prepare myself for another one of her ‘you’re meant to be’ speeches as she leans in, her expression turning more serious.

“Gracie, I know you say there’s nothing romantic there, but the way you two connect... it’s not something you find every day.”

“Soph, he’s like a brother to me. We’ve known each other forever. It’s... comfortable, you know?” I say, sipping on my latte. “Besides, he has Ava, remember? He’s happy with her!”

She arches an eyebrow, her expression skeptical, yet playful. “Oh, Ava, right. The supermodel. But remember how these things go with rockstars.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes again. “Soph, seriously, they’re good together. Connor and I, we’re just... us. We’re comfortable, we’re easy. It’s always been that way.”

“But don’t you ever think—“

“No, I don’t, “ I cut her off, not wanting to venture down that road, even in conversation. “He’s my best friend, and that’s all there is to it. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

Sophie holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. But you can’t blame me for seeing what’s so obvious to everyone else.”

I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Now you sound like one of those cheesy romance novels we have a surplus of,” I joke, immediately wiping that thought from my mind.

She gives me a knowing look, one that says she’s not entirely convinced, but she doesn’t push further. Instead, she changes the subject, talking about the new pastry chef she’s hired at the cafe, and I’m grateful for the diversion.

As Sophie chatters on, my mind drifts back to Ava and Connor. I remember the day he introduced her to me. She was stunning, obviously, but there was more to it. She had this way of lighting up the room, and the way Connor looked at her, I knew he was completely smitten.

I had felt a twinge of something then – not jealousy, but maybe a sense of realization that things were changing. Connor, the boy who used to steal my sandwiches and dared me to climb the tallest trees, was growing up, moving on in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Yet I was still here at the same bookstore, never moving forward.

But through all the changes, our friendship remained a constant. Connor always came back to our small town, to our friendship. We’d spend hours talking about everything just like we used to. It was comfortable, familiar, and safe.

His text had been casual, but I could sense the weariness. The life of a touring rockstar isn’t as glamorous as it seems. I remember the late-night calls when the loneliness of the road got to him, the sound of his voice over the phone, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

In those moments, I saw the real Connor, stripped of his stage persona, raw and vulnerable. And maybe that’s why our friendship has always been so solid – we’ve seen each other at our worst and best, and we’ve always been there, no questions asked.

I’m pulled back to the present as Sophie finishes her story and stands up to leave. “I should get back. The late afternoon crowd will be coming in soon,” she says, gathering her things.

“Remember the wine tasting evening on Friday!” I call as she walks out and she waves without turning back, but I know she’s smiling.

The moment the door closes behind her, the silence of the bookstore wraps around me again, heavy and somber. I let out a sigh, bending down to sort through a box of books that need shelving, trying to shake off the melancholy.

Just as I’m about to lift a stack, the bell above the door chimes again. I can’t help but smile, thinking Sophie’s back, probably having left her phone or keys. “Back so soo—“

But the words die on my lips as I straighten up. It’s not Sophie standing there.

Framed in the doorway, his long blonde hair tousled, a look in his blue eyes that has my heart leaping into my throat. Connor has never looked this sad, not even when he comforted me ten months ago.

Something’s wrong.

Even from this distance, I can see the familiar tattoos that snake along his arm, they’re as much a part of him as his music. They peek out from under the sleeves of the black shirt he’s wearing, the one that fits just right, conforming to the lean muscles underneath. His jeans, equally black, are the kind that look unintentionally perfect, worn in all the right places.

This is the Connor I remember from every return, the one who carries the world in his gaze and the untold stories on his skin. He always had a way of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and today it seems heavier than usual.

“Hey, Tink,” he says with a smile, that old nickname hanging in the air between us.

It’s been years, but it still sends the same familiar thrill through me. The happiness doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and that’s all I need to see before I’m moving.

In two steps, I’m at the door, my arms going around his neck, holding him close. He’s solid and real, the scent of him. I inhale deeply, taking in the scent that’s always been distinctly Connor—a mix of leather and something warm and spicy with just a hint of the stage smoke that seems perpetually woven into his clothes.

It’s a scent I’d know anywhere, the one that’s always meant home, no matter how far he’s gone. His body is tense for a heartbeat, and then I feel him exhale, his arms pulling me in.

“It’s good to be home,” he whispers into my hair, my heart breaking along with the crack in his voice.