Chapter Twenty-Nine
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—The Usual Suspects [@OfficialUS]
Jake and I faced each other like two parallel lines, just like we did once upon a time, four years ago.
And just like four years ago, he was leaving for LA.
After the livestream ended, Jake went back to the motel, packed his bag, and sent for an Uber to take him to the airport. He came back to the café for one last goodbye.
“I’m glad the livestream worked out,” he told me.
He spoke quietly. Mom, Amber, and the boys—who were waiting for their later flights—were in the cat room, so it was just Jake, me, and the faint melody playing over the speakers.
Something about the moment felt hushed, like when you’re in a library or museum and all your conversations come out whisper soft.
“It feels good to know this place will be around,” Jake said. His eyes met mine. “It’s something special.”
I studied him back. “It is.”
“And what about you?” he asked. “You ready to start the next chapter of your life?”
“I am.” I nodded, happy and relieved. “Thank you for helping with everything.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, shaking his head. “This was all you, Lucy. You’re the mastermind.”
Grinning at his praise, I ducked my head, and my eyes landed on the papers he held in his right hand. The papers were plain white, with rows of black bars, waiting for notes to be written.
“And what about you?” I asked, nodding down at the blank sheet music. “Are you starting a new chapter too?”
“I am, thanks to you.”
My eyebrows went up. “To me?”
“Our conversation got me thinking it’s time I go for that solo side project.
” He shrugged sheepishly. “I talked to the guys and we worked things out. It won’t be ready for a long while, but I figured I’d start writing a little on the plane while I’m feeling inspired.
The band will always be there for me—just like how this café will always be here for you to come home to.
It’s time to try another part of what I’ve always been meant for. ”
“Jake, that’s great,” I gushed, unable to stop smiling.
A smile crossed his face as soon as his eyes landed on my own, like something reflexive. But then it faltered.
“I’m sorry for flying out already,” Jake apologized. “I promise I’m going to come back soon so I can see you in person.”
“Jake, it’s okay,” I assured him. “We’re not going to lose each other again.”
“We won’t,” he promised.
It was just words, but it felt like when you made pinkie promises as a kid and meant them so deeply, they carried all the weight of something bound by law.
Jake laughed lightly before gesturing between us and around at the café. “Us being here. Me flying out. You about to ace something else. I’m getting déjà vu. I feel like I should be quizzing you on how to spell SAT words.”
“I can still spell incandescent,” I bragged jokingly.
“You still look incandescent, Luciana,” Jake repeated, just as seriously as he had back then.
A peal of laughter left my lips as I threw my head back. “I still maintain that the card did not say that.”
“And I still say you wouldn’t know that unless you cheated by peeking at it,” he countered.
It’d be sunset in a bit, and the last hour of daylight was sending out warm beams of light around us. Jake was taking me in with that look in his eyes again, the one that made it seem like I’d stolen all of his focus and was holding it in the palm of my hand.
And I knew. I knew. Amber was wrong, I didn’t have everything I wanted—not yet.
I wanted to make Jake and me work.
I wanted Jake to listen to how my first days being away at college went. I wanted to encourage him to follow his heart despite all the noise, and to pursue writing new songs I knew would make the world sing along. I wanted us to still be there for each other, even when we were miles apart.
We could do it. This time, I couldn’t let him walk out without having the courage to say something.
In a rush, before I lost my nerve, I blurted out, “Jake, there’s something I want to tell you.”
Except, at the exact same time, he said, “I need to say something before I go.”
We accidentally spoke over each other, our sentences crisscrossing like a harmony. At the sound of it, we fell silent, staring at each other.
I searched Jake’s eyes, sure this was the daydream I’d locked away in the back of my mind for years, thinking it would never happen.
“What were you going to say?” I asked softly, daring him to say it all out loud and finally make it real.
“Lucy, these past few days with you gave me something back that I’d been missing,” he began, and oh, he must really have been nervous and trying hard to get his words right, because his accent slipped out again, all musical and strong.
“Me too,” I assured him.
“So I wanted to say . . .” He faltered, and I wondered why, before I realized a familiar song had begun playing over the speakers. “That—”
Slow grin, quick wit. Sharp and silver tongued . . .
I suppressed a sigh. Of course it was “Lovely, Aren’t Ya.” It was always “Lovely, Aren’t Ya.”
Why did the radio have to play that song right now?
An odd look passed over Jake’s face, making his dark lashes flutter. He shook out his shoulder awkwardly, as if to shake off the interruption.
“That,” he repeated himself, unable to get any more words out, as he looked over at the café speakers, a peculiar expression on his face.
I couldn’t imagine how strange it would be to get interrupted by the recorded version of yourself. Singing about your ex.
I could build a home in your heartbeat, the chorus lilted menacingly.
“Hold on,” I said, as Jake still stood there silently, looking thrown. “Let me just turn this off.”
Knew it from the moment you—
I reached over the counter and shut off the speaker, flooding the café with peace.
“There,” I said in satisfaction. “That’s better.”
Jake let out a breath, like he’d been holding it. “Yeah, better.”
“So,” I prompted, “what did you want to tell me?”
“Oh, right,” he said, shaking his head. Turning the song off must’ve made him less nervous, because his accent disappeared entirely. His voice sounded like the one he used in interviews again. “I just wanted to say that . . .”
Jake trailed off, sending a very long look toward the speaker I’d just turned off. Then he looked back at me.
My heart pounded. This was it. This had to be it.
“I’m really glad we’re friends again,” he finished.
What?
I deflated. I’d been so sure Jake was going to say something else to me—something more.
I thought Jake liked me. Liked me, liked me.
I took a stilted, stuttering breath in, watching him watch me, waiting for my reply.
“Friends,” I repeated, to test him and make sure that’s what he really meant.
“Yeah,” Jake said slowly. My heart sank. “Your friendship means a lot to me. I’m glad I got you back.”
Ouch.
I swallowed hard, working to control my emotions before I let my heartbreak splash across my face.
Jake had never been good at expressing his feelings, but I hadn’t had a problem reading them when we were younger. But somewhere along the way, I must have lost that talent, because now I had no idea.
I couldn’t even tell he was not into me.
I forced a smile onto my face, hoping it hid my pain.
“Yeah,” I agreed. What mattered was that I got him back, right? That was the important thing. We were Lucy and Jake against the world, in whatever way that was. “I’m so glad we’re friends again too.”
Jake watched me carefully. “I knew you’d feel that way.”
Something undecipherable shimmered in Jake’s eyes, but before I could begin to decode the emotion, he pulled me in for a hug, quick and sudden, like he knew he had to move before either of us thought better of it.
He wrapped his arms around me and my eyes fluttered shut as I sank into his touch.
I took a deep breath, letting my senses flood with everything that made him up: The warmth and the gentleness of the way he held me.
The scent of his guitar that held traces of intoxicating sweetness and spice.
The smooth leather jacket beneath the brush of my palms.
I pulled away first.
“I really am glad you’re back in my life, Luciana,” Jake said, stepping back and taking me in, like he was trying to memorize me before he had to say goodbye.
“Me too,” I said. “I won’t lose you a second time.”
Then the Uber pulled up out front, and I watched Jake Moody leave again.