Page 33 of Two Hit Wonder

Maeve took the mug automatically. Looked down at it. Black. No milk. She took a sip. Three sugars.

She hadn't told Iona how she took her tea. Not this week, anyway. Not in the last fifteen years. But Iona had remembered. After fifteen years of marriages and divorces and a whole life Maeve hadn't been part of, she'd remembered three sugars and no milk. Maeve wrapped her hands around the mug. It was warm against her palms. She didn't say anything.

"You're welcome," Iona said, and went back to her guitar.

Maybe they knew each other better than Maeve thought. Or maybe Iona just paid attention to things. That was the kind of person she was. The kind who noticed. The kind who remembered.

The kind who'd looked at Maeve fifteen years ago and seen something worth kissing, even when Maeve had been a disaster in human form.

Maeve took another sip of tea and tried not to think about that.

The problem wasn't the technical execution. The problem was that they weren't playing together. They were playing separately, in the same space, at the same time. Four solo acts pretending to be a band.

And whose fault was that?

Maeve had brought her songs. Her arrangements. Her ideas about how things should sound. She'd walked in like she was still the leader, still the voice, still the one who got to decide.

Maybe that was the problem.

"We should try something different," she said.

Cam looked up from her phone. "Different how?"

"I don't know. Something that isn't one of my songs. Or not just my song, anyway."

The silence that followed was the loudest thing Maeve had heard all week.

"Sorry," Cam said. "Did you just suggest not doing one of your songs?"

"Don't make a thing of it."

"I'm not making a thing. I'm just checking I heard correctly. Because for the last week, every time anyone's suggested anything, you've shot it down like a clay pigeon at a shoot up at the big house."

Maeve opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. That was exactly what she'd done. "Fine. Maybe I've been a bit controlling."

"A bit?"

"Cam."

"Sorry, sorry. Continue. This is fascinating."

Maeve gritted her teeth. "I'm saying maybe we should try something else. See if it works better. That's all."

"Finally," Cam said with feeling.

Something hot flared in Maeve's chest. "If you had a problem, why didn't you just say so?"

"I did say so. We all did. You ignored us."

"I didn't ignore you. I just disagreed."

"You disagreed loudly and at length, and then did exactly what you wanted anyway."

"That's not…"

"Maeve." Ellie's voice cut through, calm and steady. She'd put her bass down and was watching them both with an expression Maeve remembered from years ago. The look of logic, of the only sane adult in the room. "She's got a point."

"I'm aware she's got a point," Maeve said. "That's not the issue."