They were getting bigger. The crowds were larger, and there were cameras everywhere when they stepped outside. It was everything he ever wanted but an anxious nightmare at the same time.
I spent two days there and assured him that he would make it. We held each other. We slept. I kissed him fiercely, and we made love. And when I fell asleep, he was still awake, humming softly and trailing his fingers across my back and hips while bringing me to the edge with his hypnotic lullaby.
The next morning, I awoke to the acrid smell of permanent marker and Tyler sleeping on my stomach, curled into a fetal position across me in spite of the bed being big enough for him to have room. I woke him up with kisses along his scalp, and he clutched me tighter before sitting straight up in a panic.
“Ah, shit. Sorry.”
I looked at him for an explanation, but he offered none.
“Why do you look guilty?”
He grimaced and rolled out of bed, pulling me out with him. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he turned me to my side. My breath left my body when my eyes ran quickly across the expanse of marker that littered my back, from my shoulders down to my hips. “What the hell? Did you write a symphony?”
He looked embarrassed and explained that being apart had made the notes dam up. When I was sleeping, they had exploded with such force that he had to get it out. I was the closest available notepad, apparently.
It hadn’t come off for over a week, and when I got back to Austin, I made it permanent.
I can’t wait to show him.
Renting the apartment was an easy decision. He came with me and liked it, so we went with it. His furniture came out of storage, and surprisingly, my mom flew in to help me move. It was the first time since my father died that she had boarded a plane, and it meant a lot to me.
It meant a lot to her, too, because when she met Tyler, she got this sly look in her eye and pulled me to the side to say he reminded her of my dad in a lot of ways. And would he be coming for Thanksgiving?
He would. He promised.
Anything else I bought, he and I chose together. If this was going to be our place, then we’d make it exactly that.
I have very little time before he’s supposed to walk through the door, and I’m rushing in with Chinese take-out with enough minutes to spare to take a quick shower. I’m more nervous to see him now than I was that night in New York.
My heart is hammering in my chest while I wait at the kitchen table for him to arrive. My fingernails are almost gone.
I wait.
And wait.
Just when I’m getting antsy enough to call him, there’s a light knock on the door. I suddenly realize I’ve locked it, and he doesn’t have a key yet.
With shaky hands, I turn the lock. I take a steadying breath and open the door to the most exquisite pair of dark blue eyes. Tyler is standing in the breezeway with bags at his feet and one slung over his shoulder, trepidation and excitement passing across his face.
“Hi,” I say softly, finally finding my voice.
“Hi.”
We stand looking at each other for what feel like five minutes.
“Are you going to invite me in?” he whispers.
“Yes! Oh God, Mace. I-I . . .” My chin quivers, and I lunge at him. “This is so weird.”
He nods into my hair, and I feel his carry-on fall to the floor next to our feet. He tightens his grip around me, and I shiver at his touch, my eyes closing at the smell of him and the reality of his body against mine.
“You’re really here.”
His chuckle is low and deep, causing his chest to vibrate.
I lift my head to look at his face, and he’s smiling down at me with amusement. With a lift of my toes, I pull myself up to catch his lips in a kiss, and the butterflies explode a thousand times over in my belly. I don’t even know I’m crying until he whispers ‘shh’ against my forehead.
I take a step back and wipe my face. “Come in. I’ll help you with your bags.”
His brows furrow, and then he purses his lips. “That sounds like my line.”
“No. Your line was ‘I like your shirt.’ ” I’m staring at the one he’s wearing that says I’M A BIG DEAL (IN JAPAN). “I actually do like it. Maybe I’ll steal it.”
I hit his arm playfully and grab a couple of the lighter bags, taking them straight through the apartment and into the bedroom. When I turn around in the doorway, he’s standing still as stone in the living room.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I guess I didn’t expect it to feel like home so fast. This is really . . . our . . . apartment. Mine and yours.”
“Yeah, it is. Do you want to look around at the new stuff?”
He shrugs, and I walk back out to take his hand. I lead him through the living room and around to the open corner that’s surrounded by windows, where his little piano is set up. I show him the office. When we walk into the bedroom, his eyes light up, and he lets out a long breath.
“So you like it?” I run my hand over the thick down comforter.
“You got the one I liked.”
With the best sultry voice I can muster, I reply, “I know.”
His eyes find mine again. “Is there dinner? I’m starving.”
“Go take a shower and clean up. I’ll have everything plated by the time you get done.”
He mumbles an agreement and walks sluggishly back to the bathroom. His jet lag seems to be setting in, and I wonder if I’m moving too fast for him. Maybe he should sleep first.
He emerges from the shower in only his jeans, barefoot and glistening with rogue droplets of water that are falling from his hair. I watch him take in the scene and raise his eyebrows. “What is this?”
“This,” I say while I pretend to present him with a fine meal, “is our first dinner together in our apartment. You know I don’t cook, and I’m pretty much the laziest person in the world. So welcome home. Here’s some Chinese food.”
He looks at me with the sweetest face. “Home.”
I take the seat opposite him, and we eat quietly, trying to adjust to being with each other again. When we’re done, I clear the table and instruct him to take a seat on the couch, which he does, looking utterly exhausted.
“We can just go to sleep if you want.”
His head snaps up, and he yawns. “No way.”
I proceed with my plan and walk around the couch to bend and retrieve the gift I have for him. “Here,” I say proudly and hand it over.
He takes the large frame in his hands and flips it over, a look of wonder washing over his tired features. “Wow.”
“I’ve worked on it for the past few months, but I think I got all the important stuff.”
It is my map. Each place we’ve been together is marked with a tiny pin, and concert tickets or pictures are tacked on. The two of us in Austin. The band in front of the bus. My portion of the tour.
His fingers run reverently over it while he scans each item with intensity. When his eyes find the center of Texas, his stare fixates on the picture he stole of the two of us, and he lets out a laugh. “You stole it back.”
With the pins spread out and overlapping, there is something very distinctive about the pictures. I can see the change that had happened between us. It is in the way we smile, our eyes and lips. If someone were to compare the first picture to the last one, we wouldn’t even look like the same people.
Tyler puts it down and glances my way. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has done for me. You ruined your map.”
“I didn’t ruin it. It’s perfect now. You deserve it. I really missed you.”
His lips are on mine instantly, hands cradling my face and chest pushing me back onto the couch cushions. My hands rest in his hair, pulling softly through the damp strands. His kisses are insistent and needy, and I return them because I feel it, too.
“I missed you.” His tongue slides into my mouth, and I accept, taunting his slowly until he moves against me with more confidenc
e. He grips my hips as his knees settle in between my thighs, and he trails his fingers up my sides and under my shirt. “There it is,” he says when his fingers graze over my skin. “Holy shit.” His voice catches, and he closes his eyes to take a breath. “Just touching you is making me want to explode.”
“Then don’t stop.” He’s holding back, and I’m worried.
He shakes his head. “Not on the couch.”
I smile at his reasoning and push against him slightly. “Okay.”
“What?”
“Scootch.”
He gives me a look that says I’m crazy and rises up to let me slide out from underneath him. I turn my back and start walking slowly toward the bedroom. Right before I turn the corner, I pull my shirt over my head and drop it to the floor, covering my breasts with one arm and glancing over my shoulder.
He comes running, and my heart races at the sound of his feet hitting the hardwood floor.
“Turn around.”
I pull my hair into one hand and turn slowly when he approaches and touches a finger to my hip.
“When?”
“After Munich,” I say softly. I close my eyes while his fingers trace his notes across my hip and follow the path around the front and over the top of my panties.
“It goes farther?” He raises a brow, and I release my hair with a coy smile.
“I guess you’ll have to find out.”
Tyler’s fingers dip into the panties and roll them down my legs until I’m standing completely naked before him. He drops to his knees and runs his nose across my pelvis. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Really? I think you mentioned it first.”
His arms encircle my waist, and he lifts me, placing me gently on the bed. I kiss him, working diligently to get his jeans off. When he’s naked, he settles his entire body onto mine, matching skin for skin, heartbeat for heartbeat. I pull him in for another slow kiss and wrap my legs around him to let him know I’m ready. It has been too long.
“I want you. In our bed.”
“My pleasure,” he replies, that cocky grin of his playing along his lips when he nudges himself inside me.
He moves slowly out and back in, his breathing slow and deep while he grips my thighs and rolls us over so that I’m straddling him. His thumb rests over the clef note, and he lets out a soft moan.
I rest my hands on his thighs, and he lifts one of his palms to my aching and neglected nipples. The other hand slides down the front of my hip to my clit, and he strokes the nerves there until I can’t take any more. I come, calling his name while I’m trembling above him.
Tyler’s eyes are wide while he watches me come down, and then he pulls my chest to his so that my face rests in the crook of his neck. His hands trail down my spine and come to rest at the base, and his breathing picks up while he presses deep inside me. He gasps for air and clutches harder while he pulses and then stills. I hold him until his body finally relaxes and he lets out a long, satisfied breath.
“Welcome home,” I whisper in his ear and feel his cheek lift in a smile. “You’re tired.”
His eyelids flutter closed, and he stifles a yawn. “Not yet.”
“You don’t have to lie to me.” Moving slowly, I go to the bathroom to clean myself up and then bring him a glass of water. He shakes his head and laughs while we drink side by side in the bed.
Tyler excuses himself, and I settle under the covers, watching him in our bathroom. He’s comfortable here with me. When he comes back into the room, he grabs his jeans and rummages around his pockets.
I hear him get into the bed behind me, and his arm snakes across my chest. I feel his fingers slide into mine . . . and then something slides onto my ring finger.
I sit up quickly, blinking in the dim light at the diamond that now sits there.
“Better than a Ring Pop?” he asks with a grin.
I’m crying, and I don’t even care. This is worth crying over. “Oh my God.”
He kisses my tears away and holds me close before he whispers in my ear. “Marry me.”
I’m sobbing when I say yes because it feels like every road I’ve ever taken has led me to this moment. Our lives twisted and overlapped like lines on a map, but they brought us back together.
There are a million reasons to stay here, but he’s the biggest one of all.
Two years ago, I stood on 6th Street, knocking on Tyler’s front door. That place was where I thought I’d made my worst mistake. It was where I thought everything had ended, but I was wrong.
This is everything I never knew I wanted. It’s everything I never knew I needed.
And we’re just getting started.
Thank you for your purchase. Please long onto Amazon.com or Goodreads.com and leave a review for this title. We would love to hear from you.
About the Author
A true child of music, Amber’s parents surrounded her with the loudest beats they could find, molding her into a girl who found inspiration and meaning in lyrics and chords. Raised on John Hughes movies, Luck Dragons, and pirate ships, she dreamed of love and adventure. When Amber began to create her own world, she envisioned a place where Happy Ever Afters do exist. Since then, she has authored several romance novels, all of which focus on songs and the way they can touch people’s lives. Music may not be able to fix a broken heart, but it can provide one hell of a soundtrack for healing.
A full-time wife and mother with a full-time job, Amber finds her muse in everyday life and the people who bring her inspiration.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the following individuals who ensured that this book saw the light of day.
Aaron and Ems, thank you for letting me live this dream. I love you to the moon and back. Twice. Thank you for constantly inspiring me. Without you, there would be no laughter and love to write about.
Lori Wilt, you have always believed in me and stuck by my side when the world fell down. Thank you for taking my hand while I fought for this and for being the one I could turn to. I know I wouldn’t be holding this in my hands right now if it weren’t for you.
Stephanie D. Alexander, the fact that you read this manuscript means the world to me. Your praise for the final product was just the icing on the cake. Thank you for pushing me through the beginning over and over until I got it right. Your friendship is an honor and I can’t wait to see where we go from here.
Stephanie Rodriguez, thank you for reading the first draft and each subsequent one after. I am thankful for your honesty and for making me see ways to make it better. I’m so glad I found you and can call you a friend.
Angela VanBuren . . . we did it, pretty girl. It’s here, and it’s real. Thank you for the past three years of believing me and rooting me on. You’re always there when I need to slip pages your way, and I’m eternally grateful for your support.
Laura and Inus, your unending support throughout this entire thing has made my heart so full. I am blessed to call you friends, and I am grateful that you’re part of my life story.
Mandy Arthur, Dani Sorrell, Amber Sachs, Dani McAleer, Lita Gabriel, Diana Garcia, Kristy Haffey, and Kirston Hardwick—thank you all for reading through the original one last time and giving me your thoughts so that I could make this better than it would have been otherwise.
Kathie Spitz, in October 2009 you told me push the publish button. Thank you for supporting this story from the very first day I shared it. Thank you for your endless words of encouragement over the years. Thank you for telling me to fight for what’s mine.
Thank you to Six Against Seven for fueling the music for the original version of this book. Precious Few Things is as amazing today as it was all those years ago. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the perfection that is your music.
To the best street team a girl could ask for: Mandy A., Angela V., Mary Elizabeth, Sally H., Dani S., Lori W., Abee E., Karen D, Amber S., Kristy H., Marty K, Stephanie D., Stephanie R., Kriston H, Kathie Spitz, and Michele M. I do not deserve the a
mount of support you have given me, but I’m beyond grateful to for your friendship.
To the Fandom. We ebb and flow, but one thing always brings us together—we love a good story. Thank you for believing in me more than I deserve.
The Writer’s Coffee Shop, thank you for saying yes and taking a chance on me. This is such a dream come true.
Mavvy Vasquez, thank you for hanging in there when this seemed bigger than both of us. Your hard work and expertise are the reasons why this isn’t just a pile of jumbled words between a pretty cover.
Deanna Noga and Andrea McKay, thanks for being on my team and for your hard work and support in this process. It takes a village, right?
Jenn McGuire and Jenn Accinelli—this cover is perfect and it’s all thanks to you.
Lastly, to the city of Austin, Texas. Thank you for letting me walk your streets with my camera high and head down to count footsteps building to building, making sure I got it right. And thank you for letting my husband’s dream come true in the weirdest town in the world. Next time I will stay to see the bats.
Amber L. Johnson, Maybe
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends