CHAPTER twenty-seven #2
“Do you have more?”
He slides the sketchbook my way, and I flip through it.
Page after page reveals a gallery of memories—intimate, striking, and deeply personal.
The band mid-set, lost in their music. City skylines scrawled in moody silhouettes.
Elias behind the wheel, arm draped casually out the window.
Jasper and Sasha curled together in a single beach chair, sun-dazed and smiling.
Vernon reading the newspaper at the tiny table.
Sasha and me playing chicken in the pool.
Cody and Elias walking down a city street, arms around one another.
Then I turn to a page that stills me completely: Elias and me behind the merch table.
He’s leaning against the edge, arms crossed with his usual coolness, and I’m beside him, caught mid-laugh.
Somehow, Grady’s captured not just the image, but the feeling of it.
“These…” I whisper, fingers lingering on the edge of the page, “These are incredible. You’ve bottled the entire summer.”
He glances over, voice softer now. “I guess I just try to hold on to moments that feel worth remembering. Kind of like you do with your camera.”
I look up at him, a sudden wave of emotion welling behind my ribs.
This summer hasn’t been unforgettable just because of the adrenaline of live music or the roar of the crowds.
It’s these small, precious moments—the glances, the laughter, these people who have become more than coworkers that have carved themselves into the deepest parts of me.
“It’s more than that. What you do—it’s art. It’s beautiful.”
He laughs gently, nudging my knee with his. “Careful. You keep talking like that, my ego’s going to get unmanageable.”
“It should be. You deserve a planet-sized one.”
He smirks, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. Tell you what, at the end of the tour, you can pick one. Any piece you want. Call it a souvenir.”
My heart lifts. “Are you serious? I already know exactly where I’ll hang it. Right where I can see it every day.”
He nods, smiling in that quiet, content way of his.
“A memento,” I say, still looking at the pages, “of the best damn summer ever.”
Grady doesn’t say anything. Just smiles again.
A steady rhythm of fingers tapping coming from one of the bunks catches my attention—Jasper, probably working out percussion for one of the new songs.
I’ve never joined them in the studio. It feels like sacred ground, a space they retreat into as artists.
But from what I’ve heard, the tracks are already incredible.
Up front, Cody’s voice cuts through the hum of the bus, animated as ever.
He’s arguing the superiority of peanut butter over chocolate with the kind of passion usually reserved for courtroom drama.
I can’t see Elias, but I can imagine him sitting there, that signature look of amused indifference on his face. The thought makes me grin.
Suddenly, the bus slows and veers off the interstate. I glance out the window to see us pulling into a tiny Wyoming town. We roll into a strip center that barely accommodates the size of the bus. A fuel stop, I assume.
Cody strolls past and flicks my nose like an annoying older brother before hopping off. I swat at him just as Elias rises from his seat. Our eyes meet, and there’s a subtle shift in his expression, his usual cool edges softening just for me.
He nods toward the door, motioning for me to follow. I give him a curious look, but slip off the bus anyway.
Cody’s already buzzing with excitement.
“Come on, Hendrix! Let’s go find some new books!”
I raise an eyebrow but follow his gaze, and there it is: Rosanna’s, a charming little bookstore nestled between a bakery and a barber shop.
Realization dawns, and I spin back to Elias.
“Is this why we stopped?”
He shrugs, a little bashful.
“You said you were out of books.”
A ridiculous grin spreads across my face. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in tight. He catches my waist and holds me like he never wants to let go. I press a quick kiss to his lips, then grab Cody’s arm and skip toward the store like a kid in a candy shop.
Elias watches us go, his smile lingering.
Inside, we disappear into bookish heaven. The selection is incredible—rows of romance and fantasy, all impeccably curated. Cody’s arms are eventually stacked so high with books that I can barely see his face behind the towering pile.
“You think this is enough?” he asks, balancing the load.
“It better be. I don’t even know which one to start first!” I say, practically vibrating with excitement.
Elias steps into the store, eyes narrowing at our haul.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, eyebrows raised.
I shrug, unfazed. “What can I say? I like to support artists of all kinds.” We make our way to the counter where a woman, Rosanna, I assume, greets us with a warm smile. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, her long brown hair woven into a braid that drapes over one shoulder.
She rings us up with genuine delight, clearly charmed by our enthusiasm. I reach for my wallet, but before I can so much as unzip it, Elias steps forward and taps his card to the reader.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask dramatically.
“Buying your books,” he says, completely nonchalant.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, flustered; it wasn’t exactly a small total.
He shrugs again, brushing his hair back like it’s nothing. “Consider it part of your salary. They keep you sane being trapped on a bus with a bunch of idiots. Plus,” he adds, smirking, “I can tell how much fun you and Cody have with this stuff. He won’t shut up about someone named Xaden.”
I laugh as I lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.”
He just smiles in return as if this simple act had always been the plan.
Rosanna carefully packs our towering stack of books into a large cloth tote, the bag straining slightly under the weight. She hands it over with a warm smile, and Cody accepts it with dramatic flair, slinging it over his shoulder like a victorious adventurer.
“Thank you!” he says with enthusiasm, before darting out the door and jogging back toward the bus.
Across the shop, Jasper and Sasha are still browsing, heads tilted close, his hand tucked casually into the back pocket of her jeans. They move in sync, eyes scanning the shelves.
I glance back toward Elias, who’s still standing beside me. His expression is soft, lips curled into a quiet smile.
“What?” he asks, catching my stare.
I hold his gaze, searching his face like it holds some secret I’m just now starting to understand.
“Nothing,” I reply softly.
But it’s not nothing.
It’s everything.