Page 151 of Not Another Love Song

I blink.

“The plans I made. They’re for us.”

He gathers me back in his arms and holds me until he senses I’m not about to break apart. Then he kisses my temple. “Now, let’s go find Rae, so you can wish her a good night.” A sly grin overtakes his face. “And don’t worry. She’s aware you have another sleepover to attend.”

It takes me almost a minute to manage the very eloquent response of: “Oh.”

We’ve discussed sex, come close once, so I’m not surprised, and yet I’m surprised. It’s the same emotion that gripped me the day I learned I’d won the contest. An emotion I still have no name for.

His hooded eyes spark in the dimly lit room. “Unless you’d rather your first time be with a stranger.”

Even though nerves crackle and sizzle inside of me, I swat his arm. “Will you ever let me live that down?”

He shoots me that crooked smile of his I love so damn much. “Most definitely not.”

A new song comes on. I hear the wordsgirl crush, but not much elseover the earsplitting beat Jasper has layered over Little Big Town’s song. I slot my fingers through Ten’s and lead him through the swaying clusters until we come upon Rae. She’s sitting on her kitchen counter, head thrown back in laughter, legs swinging around Harrison.

The second she spots me, she squeals and hops off the island, then ties me up in a big hug. “Havesoooomuch fun,” she whispers.

I blush. “Shut up.”

It just makes her smirk. “Get out of here already.”

“Night, Rae. Night, Harrison.”

After I climb into Ten’s car, I ask, “So where are we going?”

He reaches for my hand. “You’ll see.”

When we pull up in front of my house, my heart starts thundering so hard I fear for the safety of my ribs. Ten jumps out of the car, circles the front, then opens my door before I’ve even unhooked the seat belt. I let him pull me out, then pull me into the house, because my pulse has short-circuited my brain’s ability to control my muscles.

LED candles flicker on almost every surface.

And there are rose petals again.

Everywhere.

“I think you secretly watch chick flicks,” I tell him.

He laughs, then spins me so that I’m facing him. He gazes down at me and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“But it’s missing something,” I say.

His fingers are still on the shell of my ear. “It is?”

I draw him toward the piano, which glitters with tea lights, and sit on the bench, pulling him down next to me. “Remember when you asked me if I would sing for you someday?”

He frowns. “And you did.”

“I sang ‘Made’ for a lot of people. Not just for you. Tonight, I want to sing you something I’ve never sung in front of anyone.”

He lifts my palm to his mouth, kisses it, then places my handdelicately back on the piano keys. And I begin playing the song I wrote for him.

A song titled “Someday.”

A song about first love.

A song about him and me.