“Thank you! Thank you so much!” We’re both breathless, sweaty from the hot lights, and positively glowing with joy.

Cole takes my hand, and we bow together one last time with the sound of riotous, ecstatic cheers almost deafening me. I lost count of the number of songs we did. Fifteen? Twenty, maybe?

It seemed like every time we finished one song, another old favorite came to mind. It flowed naturally. We didn’t even have to talk about it. All we had to do was exchange a look, raise an eyebrow.

He’d strike a chord, and I’d smile, and the lyrics would come back even though I haven’t sung these kinds of songs for years, ever since we last performed as a duo, as a matter of fact. It’s amazing how I don’t remember a word of the French I studied for four years, but I have this endless song list in my head.

I’m on Cloud Nine. I can hardly feel the floor under my feet. I can’t stop smiling. I even stop to take selfies with the audience without thinking twice. Normally, I only have so much patience for all the requests for a photo. I guess, I am cynical now. I know most of those photos have a monetary value. They will use them on social media to validate themselves, sell their products, or whatever.

The smile I wear for each photo is more genuine than normal. I made them happy tonight. No, we did. Together. I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to connect one-on-one with the fans. When was the last time I was able to speak to a fan, touch them, or know I made their night?

It takes another hour for us to escape the bar, between the photos and hugs and the beers Artie insists on giving us after our impromptu concert.

“It would be rude to say no,” Cole reminds me with a boyish grin.

I get the feeling he just wants to savor the moment. His pride won’t let him break down and admit what a rush he’s feeling, but he doesn’t have to explain. I understand too well. I would never rob him of this when he’s having such a great time. Still, all good things come to an end, no matter how much fun they are. As my forty-eight hours will eventually end.

I stop in front of Cole’s car. “Are you going to drive after drinking?”

“I haven’t been drinking. I’ve had three beers all night. Besides this is not LA. The most harm I can do is hit a raccoon.”

It’s wonderful to slide into the silence and privacy of Cole’s glossy dark blue BMW. The entire night has been a happy dream I wish I never had to wake up from.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“Like you’re not! You haven’t stopped smiling like a goon since we started performing!”

“I thought Artie was gonna drop dead when we kept going.”

“It’s a good thing we stopped when we did, or he might have,” I say with a laugh. “I’m glad we made him happy.” I lean my head against the headrest contentedly.

“You made everybody happy tonight.” He smiles that special smile and glances at me in that special way that always used to melt me back in the day. “Including me.”

“You? Really? You said you didn’t want to perform in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are used to getting onstage in front of people anymore.”

“You must make speeches all the time. Right? I mean, you’re a big deal too right. You must have your own business by now. You always wanted to start your own.”

His jaw clenches. “I took over my father’s business, Taylor.”

I stare at him in surprise. “You did? Why? You said you’d never do that.”

“Circumstances change. People change.” He sighs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel like he’s still picking at guitar strings.

I wonder what circumstances would have made him take over his father’s business. He used to despise it. I want to ask him more, but I don’t want to pry. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Thank you for coming up with me tonight. I know it wasn’t easy for you. Getting up there and being vulnerable in front of all those people.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, being on stage is not something I am comfortable with, but I wasn’t going to let you go up there on your own.”

“You were incredible,” I say softly.

His right hand stops strumming invisible strings and closes over mine. “Thank you. That was a hell of a lot of fun.”

“It was, right? I mean, Jesus, I haven’t felt this good after a concert in years. All that good adrenaline is back, you know? That good feeling. I haven’t felt that feeling in such a long time. I mean, the adrenaline is always there, but it doesn’t make me feel this happy. Keyed-up and happy aren’t the same thing.” I’m babbling and I know I’m babbling but I can’t make sense of, or stop the sensation of feeling so high I’m almost dizzy.

His grip tightens around my fingers. “It doesn’t make you happy anymore? Performing?”

“I don’t know. Forget it. It’s not important. I don’t wanna bring down the mood. We just had a great night! What a rush.”

“Don’t sidestep the question,” he murmurs.

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Do you ever get tired of thinking you know me so well?”

He smiles. “I will as soon as I stop knowing you so well.”

I would never admit this if I weren't three beers in, or maybe it’s because it’s Cole and I trust him with my secrets, but suddenly I’m confessing to stuff that would make my manager’s toes curl.

“I guess it’s not the way I thought it would be. Being famous, I mean. It’s much more complicated. You know, you think you’ll make all this money and nobody will ever be able to tell you what to do, ever again. You think it’ll give you choices. Really, it seems as if my choices dissolve every time I release an album, every time I’ve gone on tour. Every dollar I’ve made for the record company just ties me tighter, and they’re the ones holding the rope.” I can’t meet his eyes. I’m so ashamed. Being famous was what tore us apart, and now I’m telling him it wasn’t worth it. I must sound completely insane.

He absorbs this, screwing his mouth up to one side the way he always used to when something was on his mind. “How did you think it would be when you got famous?” His voice soft and tentative as if I am a wild animal that came up to his backyard and he doesn’t want to spook me.

I force myself to chuckle like I don’t have a care in the world. “How does anybody think it will be? Perfect. Magical. The happy ending, the adoring fans, and buckets of money and tons of freedom. How many people have spent their lives chasing it, right? Seeing my face on TV, hearing my voice on the radio. Appearing at awards shows—getting nominated for a few. Rubbing elbows with other famous people, meeting my childhood crushes. Maybe making one of them fall in love with me.”

He laughs, but gently. I didn’t fool him for a second. “Sounds like you went from general to pretty specific.”

I match his laughter. “Okay, so I had some pretty specific dreams. Sue me.”

“It may not have turned out the way you thought it would, but it looks great on the surface, though.”

“Yeah. On the surface. That’s the thing. As long as everybody thinks it’s great, things are perfect, and the whole fame myth gets perpetuated all over again. That’s how it rolls.”

“You sound much more cynical than you used to.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I had to grow up. Fast.”

His eyes narrow to dangerous slits. “You didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to, did you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I guess I’m maybe a little burned out? Maybe it’s all too much? Tonight, I remembered how simple it can be. How much fun singing actually is. I miss when it was fun. And the connection. And Artie’s burgers.”

“They still make a good burger there, don’t they?” he murmurs.

“Oh, God, yes. Just what I needed. The whole night’s been just what I needed.” I look at him again. “Thank you for that.”

He lifts my hand to his lips and places a soft, tender kiss on my knuckles. The chill that runs down my spine is something I’ve missed, too. I’ve missed it a lot. It wasn’t until I felt his touch and his kiss again that I figured out how much I’ve been missing that special feeling. He’s the only man I’ve ever felt anything real for. My pulse picks up speed when the car turns down my street. My street. Wow, what a strange thought. It’s not my street. Or, it won’t be once I sell the house. I’m selling the house.

Am I selling the house?

Of course, I am.

I frown. Until today I was so sure I was selling it. It could be because I haven’t been this happy in such a long time. Now I’m thinking: what if I didn’t? If I just kept it, just in case I want to return one day.

I’m so mixed up between the giggly giddiness still coursing through me that I miss the figure sitting on the porch when we pull up in front of the garage. It doesn’t help that the light above the door isn’t on. Cole helps me out of the car, and we are both a little buzzed, a little high on joy, as he bends down to kiss me. I return the kiss enthusiastically. Maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Taylor?”

We both jump at the sound of a male voice, and I spin around to find the dark figure sitting in the rocking chair. He stands and takes a step forward, letting the light from the street lamp fall on his face. I put a hand on my chest and let out a shaky breath. He should be careful. For a second there I was ready to pull out my Mace and blind the sucker.

“Simon? What are you doing here?”

Cole looks down at me. “You know this guy?”

“Who the hell is this?” Simon shouts, jabbing a finger in Cole’s direction. Cole’s jaw tightens just the way his hand tightens around mine.

We were having such a good night, too.