Sabrina sat on the floor in the attic, listening to music like she had in high school. She’d travelled so far to get here. To get home.

Her father had passed away peacefully a few days ago. He'd managed to hold out until she got there. Just long enough to say goodbye.

Now the house was hers. Her aunt had left immediately after the funeral. She said something about having had enough of America. She still had family in the old country. People that Sabrina had never met, and didn’t care about her.

Sabrina was truly alone in the world.

For the first time in her life, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. Not just yet. And for once, that felt okay.

She didn’t even have a job anymore.

She'd been let go from the label. She couldn't fault them for that really. The call had come through when she was waiting for a connecting flight in New York. Then she'd flown to Chicago, before catching a tiny plane to Colorado. It had taken her almost twenty-four hours to reach home.

The whole time she'd been mourning. Mourning her father. Mourning her mother.

And mourning Nick.

It wasn't his fault really. In retrospect, she realized that the crew may have been exaggerating. It was idle talk, gossip. She was the one who hadn't given him a chance to explain.

She knew now that he'd felt for her what she'd felt for him, or at least something close to it. And she'd destroyed it. What did a rock star do when he got his heart broken?

Groupies and booze.

She sighed and picked up another record. The Sex Pistols. It was one that Nick had bought her that day in London. The records and t-shirts were the only things she'd taken.

She hadn't had the heart to leave them behind. She needed something to remember him by. Something to hold on to.

Her ears perked up. There was a rumbling sound outside. That was odd. The house was in the middle of nowhere on the non-touristy side of the ski town.

It was also the off-season, so it was even more deserted than usual.

She felt so alone. She hadn't kept up with any of the few friends she had in high school. No one was coming to visit her.

Sabrina peered out the window.

A motorcycle was parked outside.

She didn’t know anyone who rode a motorcycle. Except… Nick rode a motorcycle.

Sabrina felt something burst open inside her chest. It was hope.

But it couldn't be. He was supposed to be taking the stage in Madrid tonight. In less than two hours, in fact.

She knew the exact time because she'd been following his schedule since she left. Even now. Wondering who he was with. Wondering if he missed her.

She had been really looking forward to Spain too.

Ding-dong.

She raced down the stairs, not bothering to check the mirror. She'd been going through the stuff in the house, deciding what to keep and what to get rid of when she went- where? She wasn't sure but it wouldn't be LA. Her life there held nothing for her anymore.

Maybe she'd stay in Colorado.

Or go join the sharks in New York City. She'd had plenty of offers after business school. Maybe some of them were still standing.

At the moment, she couldn't think about any of that though. All she could think about was opening the door. She told herself not to get her hopes up. That it was impossible.

But it didn’t stop her heart from racing madly as she tore down the stairs.

She skidded to a halt in the front hall and reached for the doorknob.

She opened the door and froze.

Nick Falcon stood there, holding a bouquet of wild flowers. He smiled at her cheekily.

"Hello, love."