She smiles up at me. “How was your day tux shopping?”

“As good as any other day shopping. Although we didn’t get tuxes.”

“Good,” she says. “I’ve never been a fan of them. You’ll look much better in your jeans and a button-down shirt.”

“As long as you think so then I’m okay with it,” I tell her, then pause, choosing my next words carefully as my fingers wrap around her wrist. “When I came home I read some more of your mother’s journal.”

“Oh yeah?” She pretends to be only slightly interested but I feel her pulse accelerate in her wrist. “Find anything good?”

“I did. Do you want to read it?”

Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows hard, and then she looks at the sketchbook on the counter. “Can I wait just a little bit longer? I’m in good mood and I want to stay in one.”

“But what I found is good,” I promise her. “Trust me.”

“I know, but it’ll still be hard to read, whether it’s good or bad. It still has to do with her and she’s gone and it always makes me sad.”

How can I argue with that? “If that’s what you want, but I promise it’s not bad and I really think you need to read it before we get married.” I massage her right hand and she winces. “Does your hand hurt?”

She nods, wincing again. “It’s the one I punched Mikey in the face with. My knuckles collided with his jaw.”

Thinking about Mikey hitting her still gets under my skin, but I force myself to shove it aside because I promised her I wouldn’t do anything about it and I refuse to break my promises to her no matter what. “How many times have I told you to hit here?” I free her hand and pound my fist flat against my palm. “Don’t use your knuckles.”

“I know, but I was drunk and he’s a scary guy. I got a little nervous and screwed up the punch,” she says and the anger inside me flickers. I was never one for fighting. Sure, I’ve gotten into a couple of fights but the only major one was with Grantford Davis, who deserved to get his ass kicked.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” I tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.

She looks around at the empty kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

“Caroline went to your house with Dean. My mom went to dinner and Thomas went out with his friend.” I place my hands on her hips. “And Lila and Ethan went out to get something to eat.”

“So we have the entire house to ourselves?” she asks with a naughty grin on her face.

I tap my finger on my lip. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Hmmm…” Her eyes sparkle as she collects the sketchpad off the counter. “I have no idea.”

I return my hand to her waist and glide my palm around to her ass, cupping it roughly. Her body arches toward me. “Oh, I have a few ideas, starting with you getting naked.”

She laughs and then suddenly takes off running toward the hallway, chucking her sketchpad onto the couch as she passes it. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll get naked when you can find me.” She smiles at me then spins around and disappears down the hallway.

“Oh, pretty girl,” I call out, winding around the table and chasing after her. The house is silent as I walk through the living room and past the sofa, getting a glimpse of a piece she’s been working on in the open sketchpad. It’s a drawing of me holding my guitar with music notes around me. Below it she wrote, His mouth warmed my soul.

My heart does this stupid, very unmanly pitter-patter thing inside my chest, but I smile and take off jogging to my room. I check the closet, under my bed, and then, giving up on my room, I head for my mom’s room. I search high and low, but can’t find her anywhere, so I look in the bathroom. When I still can’t find her, I backtrack to the living room. I’m about ready to step through the doorway and into the kitchen when she jumps out from behind the wall and into the doorway right in front of me, scaring the shit out of me. I press my hand to my chest as I catch my breath and she laughs as she wraps her legs around me and throws all her weight into me, sending us to the ground. I manage to not smack my head on the floor, but my back does hit it hard.

She lands on top of me, her body falling on mine, and then she quickly pushes up so she’s sitting on me with one leg on each side. Her hands come down beside my head as she stares down at me, her hair veiling around our faces.

“That is for all the times you wrestled me to the ground,” she says, seeming very pleased with herself as she pants for air.

I shake my head as I sneak my hands to her hips. “Have I taught you nothing?” With one swift movement, I flip us over so she’s on the ground and I’m lying on top of her. “I always win at wrestling.”

Then I kiss her.

* * *

Hours later we’re lying in my bed, our bodies tangled together as she lies naked on her side. She hasn’t read the journal page yet and I’m not going to push her. Instead she has her sketchbook out and she’s scribbling lines down on a fresh sheet of paper, attempting to recapture a photo of her mom sitting on her bed, looking sad. On the other side of the sketchbook there’s a picture of what looks like me with the words My everything written on the bottom.

“What exactly are you working on?” I ask her as I trace a path up and down her spine, and with each stroke she shivers. “I know this one’s your mom”—I tap my finger on the drawing of me—“but what’s this one about?”

The pencil briefly stops moving across the paper. “Can I explain it to you later?” She peers over her shoulder and wisps of her hair fall into her face. “I want to finish it first and then tell you everything.”

Everything. What does she mean by “everything”? “Can I have a hint?”

She studies me, chewing on her lip, and then she directs her attention back down at the drawing, covered with angled lines and dark shades. “It’s about our past… and our future.”

Our future. I’m surprised by her honesty and feel guilty because she’s been so honest with me lately and I’ve been keeping a huge secret from her. Well, not exactly a secret, but I’ve been withholding information, concerned about how she’ll react, fearing she’ll say she’ll go even though she doesn’t want to. Or she’ll say she won’t go and that will be the end of my music dream. But it’s time to stop avoiding the decision, especially when she’s being so straightforward.

I let my finger trail up her back a few more times and then I drape my arm over her side and press my face against the back of her neck, folding my arms around her. “I have to tell you something,” I say, and her body goes as rigid as a board. “Calm down. It’s not bad. It’s just news… a decision we need to make.”

I hear her drop the pen onto the paper. “Okay.” She sounds anxious.

I kiss the back of her neck and shut my eyes. “I got a call from Mike the other day.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d he want?” She’s trying to act calm but I can tell she isn’t.

I open my eyes and press my cheek against her skin. “You remember that Rocking Slam Tour that I was telling you about a while ago?”

“The tour you really wanted to go on but didn’t think you were good enough to get on?” She rotates over onto her back and looks at me. “The one with all the bands and singers who you idolize?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

She pauses. “Did you get on?”

I nod slowly. “I did.”

A smile gradually rises on her face. “I’m so happy for you.” She smashes a cheerful kiss against my lips, shocking me, and I’m too surprised to even kiss her back. When she pulls away, she looks confused as she assesses my reaction. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“Because…” I trail off, searching for the right words. Finally, I sit up and bring one of my knees up, resting my elbow on top of it. “The tour starts in a few weeks and goes for a few months.”

She sits up and hugs her knees against her bare chest, trying to look okay about it but sadness fills her eyes. “So you’d be gone for a few months?”

I nod, staring out the window at the glow of the Christmas lights shining against the ice on the house. “And I’d have to cancel our honeymoon.”

She presses her lips together, like she wants to say something, but she’s trying to fight it. Then she lowers her head onto her knees. “I don’t care about the honeymoon. I want you to live out your dream.”

I’m silent for a moment as I work to pick up on her vibe, the real one that she’s trying to hide from me. “Pretty girl, tell me what you’re thinking?” I ask, because I can’t read her very well at the moment.

“I’m thinking you should go,” she says, lifting her head up. “I’m not going to hold you back. I promised myself I’d never do that.”

“You wouldn’t be holding me back.” I scoot closer to her and put a leg on each side of her. “I want to be with you no matter what.”

“I know you do,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “And you will. We’ll just be apart for three months, which we’ve done many times.”

“And I was miserable all those times.” I pull my hands back only to put them on her legs so I can spread them open. “I don’t think I should go.” I pull her toward me and wrap her long legs around me, feeling a ping of disappointment, but knowing it’s right. If she’s not going, than neither am I.

“No, you’re going to go and you’re going to love it. I’m not going to have it any other way.” She looks me straight in the eyes like she means business. “I won’t marry you if you don’t.”

I don’t know what to say. I know her well enough that I know she’s probably not one hundred percent okay with this, but she’s trying to make me happy. But I don’t want to go without her.