Page 23 of Fake Autumn Crush

“Oh, you bet. Listen.” I pick up the guitar and strum the same four chords over and over, then sing lines from six different pop hits over them until Julia is laughing like crazy.

I set the guitar down as she continues looking around at the disaster zone. "Welcome to my process," I shrug. “I know, it's a bit much."

"That list." She points to a paper near the edge of the coffee table headed Main song topics.

She jumps up and goes to rummage in the kitchen, returning with masking tape and sticking the page to the wood panel wall. "Would it help to keep this in your line of sight at all times, sort of like a vision board?"

"Elevating the main points out of the mess would be perfect." I reach out and squeeze her hand. "Thank you."

She blushes faintly. "Can I help?" she asks. “I'm always organizing things. I get that this is supposed to be chaos, but what if you had a detailed list of the main topics and beside it, the working titles of the songs that are hitting those topics? It might help you see things coming together and start to get a sense of the album as a whole?"

Her hands fly up defensively. "I mean, assuming that's your goal. But your albums all have a cohesive undercurrent of the main theme."

Jumping to my feet, I grab her, pressing her up against the wall for a slow, sultry kiss that I feel both in the center of my chest and in my groin at the same time. "I really appreciate your help," I whisper.

Her smile is pure sweetness. "Since I'm stuck here with you, I figure I might as well be useful, right?"

"I don't want you to consider this being stuck." I take her hand and place it against my heart. "Or think this is just temporary."

She stares at me unblinkingly for a bit too long. "But it is. Isn’t it? Like… I don't know I can handle the whole public thing. And we're…" Her head drops. "So very different."

Her head tucks into my shoulder as I rock her against me. "Let’s take our time, angel. I want you to be completely comfortable with me. We’ll see how things go. Okay?"

She nods. “Okay.”

I just realized: she's perfect for me, but I might not be perfect for her, between my lifestyle and the way I’m thrust unexpectedly into the spotlight, like at the music store. It all probably scares the heck out of her.

Dammit.

13

JULIA

It’s hard trying to be silent in Sam’s house, since I don’t know which cabinet doors or floorboards creak yet. But I do my best to be quiet as I put on a pot of coffee. Sam has been either napping or writing for the past few hours while I’ve been reading some of his mother’s old romance novels, jotting down any common themes that interest me.

I don’t know if I’m really helping, but it feels as if I’m contributing to something important. When he was reading me a chunk of lyrics earlier, I suggested switching the order of a few lines. The way Sam’s face lit up is going to be burned into my mind for a long time.

Once the coffee is brewing, I open the back door. A deep sense of stillness washes over me as I gaze at the trees and the lake, even though the leaves are all gently moving, and the waves never cease. It also feels very quiet, despite the gentle lap of water and the swish of branches overhead, filling the air with a textured, multi-layered murmur.

As I breathe in the crisp forest air, a deep realization fires in my brain. I no longer have a crush on Sam. That’s the sugar high of cheap candy. Fun, but bright and short-lived.

This is the slow rush from an incredible piece of chocolate fudge cake. The last satisfying sip of coffee with cinnamon. The feelings I have for Sam now run much deeper than a crush. I genuinely feel like this could last forever – well, except for the fact that he lives and works in the public eye. I am terrible at that kind of stuff.

From the beginning, Sam has acted like he wants this to last longer than through his PR crisis. I think that mission is already accomplished, but he hasn't said a word to suggest that we should go our separate ways. He constantly mentions the future. Restaurants he wants to check out with me. Galleries, theaters and other interesting places all over the city and beyond. As if he's envisioning a real relationship with no expiration date.

My phone brings me out of my reverie, and I instinctively put it on speaker so I can set it down on the picnic table and do some stretches. "Hey, Natalie. What’s going on?"

There's a pause. "I don't know, Julia.” There’s a certain tone in her voice that I’m depressingly familiar with. It’s the one she uses when she is angry. "Maybe you should tell me."

Oh no. "Um, I'm making coffee?"

“How could you do this to me?”

“Do what? Everything is looking great online.”

“Julia!” she snaps. “You’re supposed to be fixing a problem, not creating a new one!”

“It seemed plenty fixed when I checked last night. Sam got some great coverage at the gallery show and his impromptu appearance at the music store⁠—”