Page 40 of Two Hit Wonder

"Are you feeling alright?" Iona asked.

"Fine. Why?"

"You're being nice. It's unnerving."

Maeve's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough that Iona felt her stomach flip. "I can be nice."

"You can't, actually. That's sort of your thing."

"Maybe I'm trying something new."

"Please don't. We've only just got used to regular Maeve. Pleasant Maeve is going to require a whole new adjustment period. Potentially therapy."

Cam had paused mid-stick-twirl to watch this exchange with the expression of someone at a tennis match. Ellie caught Iona's eye and raised an eyebrow that said both everything and nothing.

"Right," Cam said, breaking the moment with characteristic subtlety. "Shall we run through the new arrangement? Before whatever this is gets any weirder?"

They played. It was good, better than good actually, the rough edges from Manchester starting to smooth out. The song they'd rebuilt together, the one with the happy accident that had become intentional, sounded like it belonged to all of them now rather than just Maeve. Her voice wrapped around the melody like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there, and Iona found herself watching the way Maeve closed her eyes on the high notes, the slight furrow between her brows when she concentrated.

She took a breath.

Okay. This was a problem. Watching Maeve was what had got her into trouble fifteen years ago, and apparently she'd learned absolutely nothing in the interim. Two marriages and a child later, she was still staring at Maeve MacDonnell like a lovesick teenager. Pathetic, really. She should pull herself together. Maybe go on a date. Didn’t people join apps nowadays? She should do that.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.

"Take it," Maeve said. Not unkindly.

Iona stepped away from her amp and checked the screen. Shepherd. She answered, tucking herself into the corner by the door where the reception was marginally less terrible and the smell was marginally more bearable.

"How was Manchester?"

She felt herself grin. "Good. Really good, actually."

"That's what I heard. Word is you didn't completely embarrass yourselves."

"High praise."

"I'm cautiously optimistic, Iona. Cautiously. Which means I need you all to stay under the radar for a bit. No press, no social media, nothing that draws attention until we've got actual material to back it up."

"We can do that."

"Can Cam?"

Iona glanced at Cam, who was currently attempting to balance a drumstick on her nose. "I'll talk to her."

"Good. Because I'm working on something. Something big. Can't tell you what yet, but if it comes through, this could be real. Not just nostalgia-circuit real. Actually real."

The word sat in Iona's chest, warm and terrifying in equal measure. Real. They could actually be real again. "Shepherd…"

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I said if. There's a lot of ifs between here and there. Just keep your heads down and keep rehearsing. I'll be in touch when I know more."

He hung up before she could ask more questions, which was very Shepherd. All cards held close to the chest until the last possible moment. She used to find it infuriating when they were married. Now it was just familiar.

Her phone buzzed again immediately, and she nearly dropped it.

Not Shepherd this time. Mo's school. Christ, what was it this time?

The voice on the other end was pleasant in the way that only school administrators could manage while delivering bad news. Yes, Mrs. Faith, Mo's behavior has been concerning lately. Talking back in class. Not paying attention. Homework consistently late. Refusing to participate in group activities.