Page 37 of Broken Chords

The contractors finished the interior yesterday.

Fresh paint.

Repaired molding.

Refinished wood floors that look like honey.

A brand-new kitchen that smells like sawdust and possibility.

New furniture arriving in waves—beds, couches, the works.

Old furniture almost completely redone.

The place looks great.

Like a magazine spread.

Like a house someone should want to come home to.

But it’s not a home.

Not yet.

It’s missing something.

It’s missing someone.

I run my hand along the new banister, imagining a voice drifting from the kitchen, a laugh echoing down the hall, a soft shape curled up on the couch with a book and a blanket.

I know exactly who I see in every role I imagine.

Every corner of this house.

Every future I’m so damn hungry for.

Fuck it.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, grab my keys, and head for the door.

I’m going to the bakery today.

I need to see her.

I need to see Adrianna like I need air in my lungs.

Even if she kicks me out.

Even if she hates me.

Even if I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.

I’m going anyway.

Because the music might not be back yet, but the feeling is.

And it’s screaming her name.

ChapterThirteen