Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rafe
I’m waiting for a call for a potential opportunity, which is why I’m pacing across Sparrow’s living room floor. The rogue remaining leaves on the trees outside are swirling and lightly hitting the windows in all their fall glory.
My demands were fairly simple and straightforward, but I’m still nervous. I’ve been burned before. So burned. But a woman has changed how I see the scars, and I’m ready to hope again. I’ve also learned not to be so trusting when it comes to protecting my creative work, so I asked for fair royalties and credits on each of the songs. I know artists sometimes get caught up in asking for less because they want to break into the scene, but I need this win. After losing everything, you realize how much you can still lose in the future.
Sparrow went to work at the bakery, and I’ve just been waiting. So much waiting. Apparently, a man named Ben was in the audience at my show in Nashville, and he is a fan of Histoire. Knowing I’m in the States, his company wants to meet with me to see what may be possible for a future collaboration and is interested in seeing what can be created with some of the American artists who are also fluent in French. All I know is that I’m so close to seeing my dream realized. To have one or more of my songs out in the world. I never wanted to be in the front or on the stage, and this gives me the chance to live out the dream and still earn my own way.
The ring of the phone cuts through the air, and I nearly jump. “Yes, hello?”
“This is Ben Carmine. Is this Rafe Durand?”
I take in a breath. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Great. We’ve reviewed your requests for a collaboration, and everything looks good. We would like you to meet with some of our premier artists, get a feel for them in person, and collaborate with their teams on some of the directions they’d like to go in. We’ll start with one of our artists who is fluent in French. She’s looking to expand into the French market and has an affinity for some of the songs you’ve written. Do you have a manager?”
I freeze. This isn’t great. Of course I’d need one for this type of deal. But then I remember I have a friend who said he’d do anything for me. And I realize in an instant that he’d be great at it. Time to take another chance. “Yes, sir. I do.”
“Excellent. Send us over their information, and we’ll send over a contract within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Great. Thank you, sir. I’m grateful.” And I am. I feel the emotion filling my lungs and hold my eyes to avoid any tears leaking out. It’s been such a long road, and if I hadn’t met Sparrow, this would definitely seem too good to be true. But she makes me believe that good things can happen. So I’m going to accept this for what it is—a gift.
“We’re glad to have you. I know I’m a businessman, but I have a good feeling about this.”
“So do I, sir. Thanks again.”
“We’ll be in touch soon. Oh, and I understand another congratulations is in order for you getting your girl.”
A full smile breaks out on my face. “Yes, she’s my dream.”
“Well, good. That’s how it should be—or so I hear. Feel free to bring her with you when you come back to LA.”
“She’ll love that. Thank you, sir.”
“Of course. I look forward to meeting you both in person. Bye now.”
He’s gone, and I’m staring at the phone in disbelief and elation. I did it. I got the contract. All the nights. All the long hours. All the pain of knowing my ex is living off my old creativity. I have another chance to build something of my own—to build a family of my own. And this time, I’m not going to let it go.
∞∞∞
“So, you may need to head to LA?” Sparrow asks as we walk through town, her hand in mine. I’m never not touching this woman again. If we’re in the same space (which is always the plan), then it’s a new rule of ours—one that she doesn’t fight me on in the least.
“I need to get my stuff at some point,” I say, leaning over to wrap my arm around her shoulder. Even though it’s early evening, it’s pitch black outside. The windows in the shops are all lit, casting a romantic light on the sidewalks. Now that Halloween is over, it’s strictly decorations that are autumn related with a hint of Thanksgiving. For the first time, I’m actually looking forward to this American holiday.
Sparrow stops outside of Marlee’s Books. “Oh! Can we go in?” She turns to face me, a hint of excitement on her face.
“Of course, Sugar. Lead the way.”
She places a far-too-quick kiss on my lips and bounces up the steps before turning back to me and reaching for my hand. I told you . . . we must be touching at all times. It’s a truth I will never complain about.
We walk into the quaint shop, the smell of paper and old bindings in the air. For a moment, it’s almost as if I’m back in a Parisian book shop. It’s amazing how the love of books translates into every language. Although I’ve been here before, I’ve never been here with Sparrow.
Grey looks up from her book, a warm smile on her face as she reaches from behind the counter to hug Sparrow. I’m pulled along, and it isn’t two seconds later before Grey has wrapped me up in her arms too.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” she says. “Were we supposed to do the kiss thing?”
I hold back a laugh. Sparrow shakes her head in amusement, fully knowing Grey is the most innocent of all of us. Plus, I’m pretty sure if she did mean anything by it, her best friend, Boston, would end me. “No need—unless you’re wanting to be very French.” I give her a wink as she laughs and sits back down.
“That’s okay. I’ll leave that to you two.”
“Good idea,” Sparrow says with a grin and a look that tells me she wishes we were alone right this moment. I pop up an eyebrow and give her a look that I hope implies she’s got fair warning that her wish is my command. The blush running up her neck is enough of an indication that my message got across just fine.
The sound of a throat clearing has us both looking back to Grey, who has both a horrified and amused look crossing her face. I would say sorry, but I couldn’t in good conscience. I’m undone by the woman beside me.
“Rory, what are you looking for? I know it isn’t love.”
Sparrow laughs, and I watch as her face lights up. “Oh! Paris!” She looks at me with a smile that’s brighter than any light I’ve ever seen.
“Paris, huh?” I whisper while I rub my thumb across the back of her hand.
Sparrow looks from me to Grey before confidently saying, “Paris.”
“Yes!” Grey jumps up and heads to a travel section a few rows away from us. The store is small, so we can see her even from across the room. She’s busy sorting through books and mumbling to herself when Sparrow turns toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
She rests her chin on the front of my coat as she lifts her face. I brush a piece of hair from her forehead, letting my fingers trail the side of her face. When she’s situated, she studies me, my hands now on her waist, her eyes flaring with desire. We stare at each other and do a dance with our eyes, moving between our lips and our eyes, back and forth. Grey clears her throat, and Sparrow laughs, the tension broken for now.
“What did you love about Paris?” Sparrow asks me, her gorgeous, melty-chocolate eyes lighting up with possibilities.
“Uh—well,I didn’t.”
Her eyes grow almost comically wide, and her mouth opens slightly.“What do you mean? You didn’t like Paris? That can’t be true. It just can’t.” Her spine stiffens.
This may take a turn for the worse, but I have to be honest. “It’s true.”
She shakes her head.“How? Why? I don’t understand.”
“Well, it’s busy ...” I begin.
“You love cities.”
“And the music—”
“You’re a singer.”
“And the art—”
“You’re an artist.”
“And the food—”
“You’re a foodie.”
I take a breath because she is not going to let me give anything other than a from-the-heart answer. “Not many good memories there, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry for that,” she whispers. “It feels like Paris should be magical for everyone. I recognize that doesn’t make it true. Of course you feel that way.” Her hand is wrapped around my arm, smoothing small circles over my coat.
“Sparrow, were you hoping my answer was different because you want to love Paris so much or because you want me to love Paris as much as you think you do?”
Her eyes dance back and forth between mine again as we hold each other’s gaze.“I don’t know,” she finally sighs. I want to kiss away the worry hovering near her eyes.“Rafe, I understand if you say no. I won’t ask you to do something that would be hurtful for you. But someday, if you ever feel like you could, will you go to Paris with me?”
For a second, I stop breathing. Not because it hurts to think about returning to Paris, but because, for the first time in years, returning actually sounds like something I would want to do—as long as Sparrow is with me. She misinterprets the silence.
“I mean, of course, you don’t have to,” she says as she takes a tiny step back, holding her head up to try to hide any disappointment. “It’s clear that it wasn’t a place that felt good for you.” She doesn’t want to pressure me, and it makes me love her more.
Lifting her face up by cradling her jaw in my hand, I meet her gaze. I nod briefly. “True. But I have a feeling it would be different now. And I need you to know I’ll go anywhere with you.” And I mean it.
“I hear Paris is lovely in the spring?” she asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
I grin. “Yes, it is. Grey, looks like we’ll need that book on Paris for my girl. We’ve got a trip to plan.”
Sparrow kisses my cheek before giving a little squeal. Looks like the image I had of picturing her in Paris will come true after all.