Chapter 27
AUSTIN
Ilooked up and spotted them walking toward the curb, and my breath caught in my throat. Melody.
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since I’d seen her in person, and somehow I’d forgotten just how beautiful she was. Or maybe I had forced myself to forget because remembering hurt too much. But now, seeing her again, all those carefully constructed defenses crumbled.
She wore a beautiful dress that highlighted her hourglass figure.
Her boobs were cradled in fabric, but they looked absolutely delectable.
Her hair was different. Shorter, maybe? Or styled differently.
It fell in these soft waves around her face.
I wanted to run my fingers through it. Wanted to see if it was as soft as I remembered.
I just knew she would smell like oranges.
Like walking in a Florida orange grove on a sunny day.
And her lips. Dammit, her lips were glossy and full and I could still remember exactly how they tasted.
I forced myself to breathe. To act normal. I did not want to look like a desperate man who’d been counting the days since he’d last seen her. I slapped on my most dashing smile—the one that usually worked on everyone—and walked toward her.
“You look incredible,” I said, because I couldn’t not say it. “That color is perfect on you.”
Her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the compliment. Like maybe she’d thought I’d forgotten how to see her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and there was something in her voice. Wariness. Suspicion.
Anger.
“I have a podcast interview,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the building. “Stylin’ with Stacy.”
Melody’s expression shifted. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. She looked almost disappointed?
“Of course,” Cleo muttered beside her. “Of course she’d stagger you two like that. How predictable.”
I frowned, not quite following. “Stagger us?”
“You didn’t know Melody was here?” Cleo’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Then it clicked. Melody had just finished her interview. Stacy had scheduled me right after. “No. I didn’t know. I swear.”
But even as I said it, I realized how it looked. It looked like I orchestrated this. Like I had used my connections to engineer a “chance” meeting.
“It’s a coincidence,” I insisted, looking at Melody. “I promise. My publicist set this up last week. I had no idea you’d be here. I would have brought flowers.”
She studied my face, trying to determine if I was lying. I held her gaze, letting her see the truth.
“Okay,” she said finally, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“It’s nice to see you,” I said, and meant it. “Really nice.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly. I wanted to kiss her. Wanted it so badly my hands actually twitched with the impulse. Instead, I shoved them in my pockets.
“You too,” she said softly. “It’s nice to see you too.”
The air between us felt combustible. Like if either of us moved, something would ignite.
Cleo cleared her throat loudly. “Well, this has just been delightful, but we should probably go.”
“How did your interview go?” I asked, desperate to keep Melody here for just a few more seconds. “I bet you killed it.”
“It went well,” Melody said. I could hear the pride in her voice. “Really well, actually. Stacy was great. She’s tough but fair. She’s going to ask about me, you know. About us.”
I nodded. “I know. I’m prepared. Did she ask you?”
“She did.”
“What did you say?”
“The truth. That it’s over.”
The words hit harder than I expected, even though I’d known they were coming.
“Right,” I managed. “The truth.”
We stood there in awkward silence, neither of us quite willing to walk away.
“I should get inside,” I said finally. “Don’t want to keep Stacy waiting.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
But neither of us moved. Melody looked like she wanted to say something. Her mouth opened, closed. Her fingers twisted together, a nervous gesture I recognized.
“Melody,” I started.
“Austin,” she said at the same time.
We both stopped. Both waited.
“You first,” I said.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Good luck with your interview.”
“We should go,” Cleo interjected, taking Melody’s arm. “Come on. Let the man do his thing.”
Melody let herself be pulled away, but her eyes stayed on mine for a beat longer. And in that moment, I saw the same longing I felt reflected back at me. She wasn’t over this either. Over us.
I watched them go, my heart doing things it had no business doing. I was so fucked. But also—for the first time in three weeks—I felt hope.
Because Melody had looked at me like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t quite ready to give up either. I headed into the building, my mind already racing ahead to the interview.
“Austin!” Stacy appeared in the doorway, all energy and warmth. “Thanks so much for coming. I’m so excited for this conversation.”
“Thanks for having me.” I stood, shaking her hand. “Your podcast is great. I’ve been listening.”
Just a little white lie.
“Oh, you have?” She looked genuinely pleased. “That’s wonderful. Come on, let’s get you set up.”
The studio was intimate. Stacy got me situated, did a quick sound check, and then we were recording.
“So, Austin Bancroft,” she began, her voice taking on that podcast-host smoothness.
“Thank you for being here today. I have to say, when your team reached out and agreed to the interview, I was intrigued. You’re not exactly known for sitting down for these kinds of conversations.
I think we’ve tried to get you and several of your brothers for years. ”
“I’m trying to change that. Be more intentional about how I use my platform.”
Platform. Not a word I knew until Melody came into my life. And since I had learned a bit more about social media, I realized I had one.
“And what a platform it is. Millions of followers. Access to spaces most people only dream of. And recently, you’ve been using that platform in interesting ways. Talk to me about that.”
We dove into the conversation. I repeated all the canned nonsense I had been practicing. It was all bullshit, but whatever.
Then Stacy shifted, and I recognized the tone change. Here it comes.
“So,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Your followers want to know—are you single?”
My guard went up immediately. “That’s—”
“Come on. They’re dying to know. Is Austin Bancroft back on the market?”
“I’m single,” I said carefully. “But I’m not dating. I’ve got some work to do on myself first.”
“Work to do on yourself,” she repeated. “Is this about Melody Stephens?”
“Next question.”
“I just had Melody in here, actually. About an hour ago. She said you two are done. That it was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.” Stacy was eyeing me like a predator eyeing its steak dinner. “How does that make you feel?”
“I think Melody’s private life is her business. Not mine. And definitely not podcast content.”
“But you two were so public. People are invested in your story.”
“There is no story. We dated. It ended. That’s it.” The words tasted bitter, but I kept my tone neutral. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Just one more question.” She leaned in closer. “Tell us the truth, Austin. Did Melody really have no idea her photos were being edited? Or was that just damage control?”
The question hit me like a slap.
“What?” I stared at her.
“I mean, she’s a professional. She must have known the brand would touch up the images. That’s standard practice. So did she really not know, or is that just the story you all agreed on to save her reputation?”
My blood was boiling now. “Are you seriously suggesting she wanted to edit her pictures to make herself look like all the other models on magazines? Honestly, did you meet her? Have you looked at her content? If you had, you would know she isn’t about that.”
“I’m just asking what everyone’s wondering. She’s been in this business long enough to know how it works. The innocent act is a little too perfect.”
I was on my feet before I consciously decided to move. “Stop. Just stop.”
Stacy blinked, clearly not expecting this reaction. “We’re just talking.”
“Melody isn’t like you or me, Stacy.” My voice was hard now, all pretense of charm gone.
“She’s good to her core. She built her entire platform on authenticity and helping other women see themselves as beautiful.
She puts herself out there—really out there—not for fame or money or attention, but because she genuinely wants to make a difference. ”
“I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”
“Yes, you did. You meant to suggest she was lying. That she knew about the edits and played dumb to save face. And that’s bullshit.
” I was moving toward the door now. “I was batting way out of my league with her. She deserves better. Better than me, definitely. But also better than people questioning her integrity for podcast content.”
“Austin, if you’ll just sit down we can have a conversation. I’d like to finish the interview.”
“And you?” I turned back to her. “You should practice being better too. You claim to care about women’s issues, representation and authenticity. But the second you get someone vulnerable in your studio, you go for the cheap shot. For the gossip. For the thing that’ll get you clicks.”
Stacy’s face had gone red. “I don’t think that’s an accurate description.”
“You don’t have to think. You just have to do better. Which I’m pretty sure was the message of Melody’s entire interview, wasn’t it?”
I walked out, my heart pounding, hands shaking with adrenaline.
The production assistant called after me, saying something about finishing the interview, but I ignored them. I made it to my car, sat behind the wheel, and tried to calm down.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I had just walked out of a podcast interview. Defended Melody to someone who probably had a massive audience. Made myself look like either a white knight or an unhinged ex, depending on how Stacy chose to spin it.
But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
Because Stacy had implied Melody was lying. She had the audacity to suggest she had known about the photo edits and played victim.
And I couldn’t sit there and let that stand.
Even if Melody and I were done and she never wanted to see me again. Even if defending her made me look like a fool.
She deserved to have someone in her corner. Someone who knew the truth and was willing to say it out loud.