Singer

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I would like to finally settle into a career. Greenberg’s Grocers doesn’t even have a book section.”

My mom gives me the smile—the sympathetic one that says so much without saying anything at all.

I’m not trying to nag.

I care about you.

I’m worried about your future.

Do you think a job in publishing will pan out?

Stay in Boulder.

Meet a man and settle down.

Do you want to get married?

Whatever happened to what’s his name from high school?

Do you want kids?

I want grandkids one day.

I heard Carrie Landers got a promotion and is pregnant with her second.

What do you think about us retiring to Boca Raton?

Will you bring your family to visit us if we move?

Did you pick up milk today while you were out?

Okay, I might be getting carried away a bit, but I see it. Her dreams for me are fading a little more each day that I stay here. The idea of being the spinster Mel and I used to joke about isn’t that far-fetched when playing solitaire on a metal TV tray while watching Jeopardy in the den of your parents’ home at five o’clock at night. “I need to get out of this house,” I say to no one in particular since no one’s around.

My mom walks in and leans against the doorway. “Want to go out for dinner? Just you and me?”

I jump at the offer, desperate to get out of the house. “Yes.” When I walk toward the stairs, I tug at my cutoffs so my ass isn’t hanging out more than it is already.

“Wear something pretty. Maybe a dress?”

“Okaaay.” I head upstairs and flip through my closet. I don’t have much—some things from college, a few things my mom’s bought for me since I’ve been home, and the clothes that were brought to the penthouse.

It’s almost like I never left. My shoes are lined up on the floor, purses stacked on the shelf, and my makeup stored neatly in my Caboodles box. If I weren’t desperate to leave the house, I’d stay and mope about how sad my life has become. But there’s no time for that.

I grab my blue dress with the red polka dots and get dressed. This dress always reminds me of Ethan. My soul aches in ways that are varied from the grief of Melanie’s death. I’ve been grieving the loss of love in my life. His love. I miss the other half of my heart.

Thirty minutes later, I come down to find my mom looking so pretty, dressed fancy for a date with her daughter.

She smiles at me. “You always had such a nice figure. That dress looks beautiful, Singer.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

* * *

I should have caught the warning signs. I didn’t, though the tip-off should have been when she told me to wear a dress. I was so caught up in needing a change of scenery, I didn’t pick up on the signs clearly there—the dress and the comment about my figure.

So when she pulls into the parking lot of the Hotel Boulderado, I might have shot daggers in her direction. “What are we doing? I was thinking Mexican food or even Ray’s Home Cooking. Why are we at a hotel?”

She shifts the car into park and feigns innocence. “Why would we get all dressed up for Ray’s or a cantina?”

My blinks are slow, my glare judgmental. “I don’t want to socialize, Mom. Whatever this is that you’re doing, I’m not in the mood.”

“You need to get out, Singer. It’s not healthy to sit around like you have.”

“Where are we? Why are we here?”

“It’s Katherine Collier’s reception.”

“What? We can’t crash a wedding, Mom.”

“We’re not. We were invited. Anyway, this is the reception. The wedding was at St. Gabriel’s earlier. You know I’m still good friends with her mother, and I thought you might like to see some familiar faces.”

“I haven’t seen her since we graduated from high school.”

“Good,” she says, tapping my arm. “It will be good to reconnect.”

If I were at home, I’d go to my room and glower in private, but deep down, I know she’s right. I’m not betraying Melanie by trying to move forward, by trying to live. She’d want that. I know this. Logically, I do, but . . . I drop my head and close my eyes. Dragging my lower lip under my teeth, I know what I should do, and even though I don’t want to, I need to. “Okay,” I say, opening my door.

When we walk into the hotel, I stop her before we walk any farther. “They know about Melanie?”

“Yes. They know.”

“What will they think of me?”

“What do you mean?”

Struggling to hold eye contact, I look down the corridor that leads to the ballrooms. “That it was supposed to be me.”

“Singer,” she snaps. “Look at me.” When I do, she takes my hands. “Stop that. I mean it. Stop it. What happened is horrific on every level. I miss her sweet smile. You’ll miss her forever, but that doesn’t mean you were supposed to replace her. I know it’s complicated, and I don’t fully understand why someone wanted to kill . . .” Her hand covers her mouth as her emotions get the better of her. When she’s strong enough to look up again, she adds, “I don’t want to think about it. I know I have to, just like you, but if you were meant to die, you would have. You’re alive for a reason. You’re alive. Make the most of the time you have. Live, Singer. Live the best life you can.”

I throw my arms around her. I can’t argue with her. Not over this. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.” And this is why I’m here. There is no better place to find solace and comfort than in my mom’s arms. Her embrace is comforting. And right now? Needed. “Let’s go celebrate life.”

“Okay.” We enter the reception, the celebration already in full swing. I smile because the room is full of love, full of life, full of happiness and is infectious. “Should we say hi to Katherine?”

“Go on without me. I’m going to talk to her mother, and let her know we’re here. You go mingle and enjoy.”

She walks off and I look for the bar. I need liquid courage to face friends from high school. Lifting up on my toes, I see it across the room. Keeping my head down, trying to blend in with the Collier family and friends, I take the long route, walking on the outskirts of the tables and far from the dance floor.

“Well, if it isn’t Singer Davis.”

Turning toward my name, I see the last person I thought I’d ever see again, but my performance is Oscar worthy. “Pagely Whitehead. I did not expect to see you again . . . I mean here.” Okay, so maybe not Oscar worthy.

“Katherine and I dated in school. It didn’t last long, but we kept in touch, and our parents are friends.”

“Wow, this city is smaller than I thought.” I find my knuckles planted on my hips as I attempt the correct the worst smile ever. One positive, he doesn’t smell anymore, or I can’t smell him from here.

“I heard about Melanie. Anyway, I thought you two were going to do big things in the Big Apple.” He chuckles but I hear the hostility in his tone. “She was always . . . a big talker about dreams. A lot like you. Always dreaming for a life better than ours. So yeah, sorry she’s dead. Yep.”

His words are cruel, and I’m defensive. So when he pops that last P, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from going off on him. He doesn’t owe her anything. They weren’t friends. Melanie was popular in school. She wasn’t a mean girl, but she kept her circle tight. Really, just the two of us.

But he does owe me respect when it comes to my friend. “I get that she rejected your come-ons in high school. I get that you feel big and mighty coming all the way back from Denver to hang out with the little people. I get that you want to hurt me like maybe Melanie, or myself, hurt you because we didn’t want to go out with you. I get it. You’re bitter. You’re looking to flaunt your peacock feathers and show us that it’s our loss. I get it. But here’s the truth, Pagely. You don’t have to put on a production. My best friend was murdered, and I had to see her lifeless body carried away.” I stop and debate whether I should go on. Yes, I should because he started this, but I want to finish it. “You win. I’m nothing in your eyes but a failure. I never got my dream job in New York. We could barely afford our rent. I failed in all ways, and here I am back home with nothing to show for the last three years of my life, not even my best friend. So you win, Pagely.”

I lost Melanie. I lost Ethan when I walked away.

I suck in a breath while staring at his souring face then add, “I’m barely hanging on right now. I just want to forget that I failed her parents, my parents, myself, and apparently you. Just tonight. Because tomorrow I’ll be stuck here in reality, and you will be off doing, oh, I don’t know”—I shrug—“accounting or something?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You did. You did mean. You intended to put me in my place, and you have. It’s all good, though. I’m glad your dreams have come true. I’m not giving up on mine, but I will mourn the death of my friend unapologetically for as long as I want. So if you’ll excuse me, there’s a bottle of vodka with my name on it.”

I leave him standing there, yet guilt has already begun creeping in. I shouldn’t feel bad, but I just add it to the tally and step up to the bar. “Vodka soda. Make it a double.” I should look for Katherine and give her my best wishes, maybe apologize for crashing her reception, but after seeing my past come back to haunt me and rub my nose in my failures, this drink is badly needed.

The bartender sets it in front of me and says, “That will be twelve dollars.”

“Shoot. I’m sorry. I thought it was an open bar.” Figures. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll take care of her drink. Keep the change.”

A twenty is exchanged over my shoulder. I don’t turn. I can’t. I know that voice. That watch. That hand. The musky ocean cologne. The feel of his gaze so real that I swear his arms are wrapped around me.

I know the man.

Ethan.

Tears didn’t fall today. I felt accomplished that I held them back, but knowing he’s behind me, they fill my eyes. I turn and am in his arms—strong arms that feel like home. My head is tucked against his chest, my arms around him, squeezing him tight. There’s no space between us, no room for words quite yet. My heart bangs against the prison of my ribs, trying to escape into his.

His hands rub my back as a kiss is placed on the top of my head. I look right into the bright greens I first fell in love with, that happy-go-lucky smile that’s not New York, but all Texas—charming and laid-back. Ethan from last year seems to have returned, as though he’s comfortable in his own body again. He looks good. So good. Yet here I am . . . a mess.

“Hey baby.”

Damn my traitorous cheeks as they heat under his gaze.

Damn this smile that can’t hide when I see his.

Damn my arms as they cling to the front of his shirt pulling him closer.

Damn these lips for seeking out his.

Damn me.

Damn him.

But since we’re damned already . . .

Our bodies come together.

No more almosts.

Just definites.

Our lips meet in a long-lost, star-crossed-lovers embrace.

I’ve missed this.

I’ve missed him.

We begin to sway, the world fading away. It’s just us. With my heart tied in knots over this man, I look into those eyes that see all of me: the happy, the sad, the weak, the strong, the lonely, the needy. He came for me. He let me go but has come here for me. Surely it’s not to say goodbye or have that final kiss we missed. Does he still love me? I have replayed his words over and over again. “We need to be realistic. You’re in danger because someone wants to get to me. It’s working. They’re getting to me.” The man standing here doesn’t seem to be the same as the desolate one who couldn’t see a way forward for us. Who believed that we were better apart. The man in front of me seems lighter, less . . . restrained.

The man in front of me loves me. It’s in his eyes. And for the first time in a nearly two months, I want to cry in joy.

“I heard what you said back there,” he says.

“To the bartender?”

“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “To Pagely.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that.”

“He’s an ass.”

“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

My mouth slacks. “How am I brave when I feel so weak?”

“You’re finally putting yourself and your needs first. You’re also right. You don’t owe him or anyone else anything.” Lifting my chin, I see his smile. “Want me to kick his ass out back?”

“As much as that might be very satisfying to watch, it won’t bring Melanie back.”

“No, but the suggestion was worth seeing you smile again.”

He’s the man who sees through me and knows I love him deeply. Our fingers entwine, and with my body pressed to his I ask, “Why are you here?”

“Because I don’t want to live without you.”