Chapter 42
Ethan
The drive to Columbus felt different from every other trip we’d taken. The windows were down, summer night air rushing through, and Lily was tucked against me. Her bare knee brushed mine every time we hit a bump, and she didn’t bother to move it.
“Okay,” she said, flipping through her scribbled notes by the glow of the dash light. “Game plan: we don’t spook them. We buy them a round, make conversation, then ease into the whole ‘hey, want to headline a festival in small-town Ohio?’ pitch. Easy.”
“Easy,” I echoed, grinning, because nothing about this woman was ever easy.
She shot me a side-eye. “You’re laughing now, but you’ll thank me when they say yes.”
I didn’t tell her that I’d have thanked her for anything—just for sitting there beside me, close enough that her perfume spilled across the cab every time she laughed.
She leaned her head against the seat, still flipping through her notes. “You know what’s funny? I never even went to bars in college. Not once.”
I glanced at her, startled by this rare glimpse into the life she usually kept locked behind her smile. “Seriously? You? The life of the party, herself?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Nope. I couldn’t risk it. I had to keep a 3.8 GPA to hold my scholarship, and I was working two part-time jobs on top of that. The idea of wasting a night hungover…” She wrinkled her nose, mock dramatically. “Terrifying.”
I should’ve left it at that, but I wanted more. “What jobs?”
“Library desk and waitress at this awful diner off campus. Picture sticky menus, a jukebox, and regulars who thought tipping meant telling you to smile.”
I chuckled, but she kept going, eyes alight with mischief now. “One night, I slipped on a milkshake someone dropped and landed flat on my butt with an entire tray of curly fries raining down around me. The frat boys in the corner gave me a standing ovation.”
I laughed at the image, but something twisted in my chest, too.
Behind her self-deprecating grin, I saw the college girl working double shifts, studying until dawn, never letting herself slip.
Yet somehow, she'd kept that light in her eyes, that way of turning disaster into a story worth telling. That was Lily all over.
I shot her another look, her eyes bright as she reenacted her “ta-da” bow for the frat boys who’d applauded. She bit her lip, trying not to grin, cheeks flushed with the memory.
“You know,” I said, quieter now, “most people would’ve cracked under half of that. That’s… pretty damn impressive.”
Her grin faltered just slightly, her eyes flicking to mine. For a beat, she looked almost shy, like no one had ever said that out loud to her before. Then she ducked her head, brushing hair out of her face with a soft laugh.
“Careful, Calloway. Keep talking like that, and I might start to believe it.”
“Good,” I murmured, meaning every word.
By the time we hit High Street, the sidewalks were packed. College kids spilled out of every doorway, laughter and bass competing for air. Lily leaned forward, eyes wide. “God, we are officially ancient.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said, killing the engine outside a dive called Skully’s. “I’m still in my prime.”
She arched a brow. “Says the man who groaned putting on rollerblades last week.”
I chuckled, but the truth hit when we walked inside. Sticky floors, dim lights, and a sea of backward baseball caps and crop tops. The bartender couldn’t have been older than twenty-two. He looked Lily up and down, then said, “What can I get you, ma’am?”
Her face froze. “Ma’am?” she hissed at me the second he turned away.
I bit back a laugh, sliding an arm around her waist. “Ignore him. You’re perfect.” I meant it, and for a second, the noise of the bar faded under the way she looked at me, like she didn’t quite know what to do with the compliment.
We sat through two opening acts, local garage bands that were more noise than melody, though Lily clapped for both like they were the second coming of Springsteen. She leaned over once, stage lights flickering in her eyes, and shouted, “They were so cute!”
By the time the stage crew started setting up for O.A.R., the bar had swelled past standing room. The air was thick with beer and sweat, a bass hum vibrating under our shoes. Lily bounced on the balls of her feet, craning her neck for a better view.
Then the lights shifted.
Four guys strode out, guitars slung low, drumsticks twirling, their energy sparking before they even touched a string. The lead singer grabbed the mic and grinned like he knew he had everyone in the palm of his hand.
The first chords hit—bright, restless, alive—and the room erupted. People jumped, shouting along even though the song wasn’t on any station yet, voices rough but sure.
Lily stayed on her feet, laughing as the beat shook the floor.
She was moving, swaying, and I couldn’t stop watching.
The stage lights strobed across her face, turning her glow electric, alive.
She glanced back at me mid-song, eyes wide, mouth open in awe, and it felt like the whole place narrowed down to just us.
I stood then, sliding in beside her until her shoulder brushed mine. She didn’t step away, just kept swaying with the beat. On instinct, I slipped an arm around her, pulling her in against me.
She fit there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The bass rattled through the floor, the crowd roared every line back at the stage, and still, all I could focus on was the way she leaned into me. Her head tipped just slightly toward my shoulder, laughter spilling out when the drummer threw his sticks in the air between verses.
And when she turned to look up at me, eyes glowing, I tightened my hold just a little, certain of one thing: whatever this was, I didn’t want to let go.
When the last chord rang out and the lights snapped down, the place erupted. The band shouted thanks, waved, and disappeared offstage. Immediately, the crowd surged toward the side doors, a mix of diehards angling for autographs and frat boys begging for a setlist.
Lily and I hung back, letting the press of bodies thin out. “What’s the plan?” I asked over the din.
She smirked, hair still wild from dancing. “Same plan as always. I do what I do best.”
We waited near the back hallway until the first band member reappeared, sweaty and laughing, half-dragged toward the bar by a couple of fans. The others followed—guitars still slung over shoulders, soaking up every bit of attention.
“There’s no way you’re getting past all these fans,” I muttered.
“Watch me.”
Before I could stop her, Lily wove straight into the knot of fans like she belonged there. She congratulated one girl on knowing every lyric, high-fived a frat boy who was begging for a drumstick, and somehow—somehow—ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with the lead singer himself.
“You guys were incredible tonight,” she said, her voice carrying over the chatter.
The lead singer blinked at her, surprised.
She stuck out her hand, professional but warm.
“I’m Lily Harper, Events Coordinator for Willowbrook.
I’m putting on a huge festival this August. And I want you guys to…
Are you ready? I want you to headline it!
” She was practically bouncing up and down at this point.
They glanced at each other, eyebrows shooting up, a mix of who is this lady and did she really just say that?
“And before you tell me you’re too new, too busy, or too whatever,” she went on, flashing a grin, “let me tell you what you get: the best crowd in Ohio, a stage that’ll make you look like rock gods, and a town that will remember you forever. You bring the music, I’ll bring everything else.”
The other guys leaned in, curious. Lily gestured like she was already mapping the stage. “We’ll give you an audience that’ll cheer louder than Columbus ever could. It’s free promotion, free hype, and trust me—this is how legends are made.”
I swear she sparkled under the dingy bar lights, talking faster, sharper, each word landing like a hook. By the time she was done, half the fans around her were nodding along like they’d been recruited, too.
“So… how much money are we talking?” the drummer asked, scratching the back of his neck.
“Someday, you’ll be charging thousands,” Lily shot back without hesitation. “But now? You just need the right crowd. We’ll cover food, drinks, housing. The rest you get in memories, and in every kid who brags they saw O.A.R. before you blew up.”
Silence fell for a beat. Then the singer grinned, wide and reckless. “Hell. Why not? Willowbrook, huh? Give us a date.”
Lily beamed, spinning to meet my eyes like she’d just pulled off a magic trick. And maybe she had.
We wrapped it up with handshakes, promises to follow up, and me trying not to look like my pulse wasn’t pounding in my ears. “Appreciate your time,” I managed, playing it cool.
We stepped out into the humid Columbus night, bar noise spilling after us. For half a block, neither of us said a word. My chest was still tight from watching her work—sharp, fearless, magnetic—and I didn’t trust myself to speak.
Then Lily broke. She spun on her heel, hair flying, fists in the air.
“Oh my God, did you feel that?!” she cried, practically bouncing on the cracked pavement.
She danced a circle under the streetlight, laughing so loud that a couple of college kids turned to stare.
“That was magic! Forget LA, forget Nashville—nothing compares to that. Nothing!”
I stopped in my tracks, just watching her glow. She was radiant, wild with joy, and so alive it knocked the breath right out of me. Pride swelled in my chest so hard it ached.
“You were incredible in there,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m so damn proud of you.”
She froze mid-spin, laughter still on her lips, and when her eyes found mine, it felt like the whole street tilted.
I didn’t think. I just moved, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in.
The kiss was fire and adrenaline, all the words I hadn’t said crashing out of me. She gasped against my mouth, then melted into it, her fingers hooking at my waist and pulling me closer, desperate and sure.
Her fingers slid up, threading into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. My palms roamed—up her spine, across her shoulder blades, back down to the small of her back—memorizing every curve, every shiver she gave me.
I backed her gently against the brick wall, caging her in—not to trap her but because I couldn’t stand losing even an inch of her. She clung to me, and I lifted her without thinking, her legs tightening around my waist, her heartbeat pressed to mine.
She tilted her face, deepening the kiss, and I cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek as if I could hold the moment steady. Her lips parted under mine, sweet and daring, and suddenly it wasn’t just a kiss. It was every near-miss, every almost, finally breaking loose all at once.
The world blurred—neon buzzing above us, headlights streaking past, strangers spilling out of the bar—but none of it mattered.
All I knew was Lily. Her breath mixed with mine.
The heat of her body pressed against me.
The way she laughed softly against my lips before kissing me harder, like she couldn’t get close enough.
My chest ached with it—this joy, this want, this impossible sense that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
When we finally pulled back, both of us breathless, she stayed there against the wall, her forehead resting against mine, fingers still tangled in my hair. Her smile was wide and reckless. “Best night ever,” she whispered.
I brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, stealing one more slow kiss before I answered. “Yeah. And it’s only the beginning.”