Flower(57)

“Good. I’m going to do things different this time,” he tells me. “I want to make sure you’re ready.”

I lift my head to study him. “I am ready,” I assure him.

I curl my body around his, and he reaches up a hand to touch my face. With his lips near my ear, he hums a melody against my skin.

“Is that a new song?” I ask.

“It’s something I’ve been working on.”

“I like it,” I say in an exhale, still feeling heady and like I’m made of air.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that I’m going to record a new album.” His breath tickles my hair. “I’ve already written most of the songs, thanks to you. You’ve inspired me.”

I wonder how I—Charlotte Reed, invisible bookworm and colossal nerd—could have inspired him. It’s so absurd I almost laugh.

“My manager used to tell me that I needed a muse to write meaningful songs. I didn’t really know what that meant, until I met you,” he continues, his thumb rubbing my bottom lip. “When I’m with you, the lyrics just appear in my head. I’ve never experienced it before. The songs are just pouring out of me and I can’t wait for you to hear them.”

“That’s amazing,” I say, but my heart is starting to thump erratically, the light-as-air feeling quickly fading away. I try not to think about the articles I read about Tate, how things were before he met me, when he was Tate Collins the pop idol. The girls, the drugs, all the wild things he’s alluded to. I let out a breath. “But what will all of this mean for us?”

He slides himself over top of me so we’re face-to-face, so he can look me in the eye. “It’s going to be a lot of studio time,” he admits. “I have to get this album just right. It’s a new sound, a new direction for me, and I need it to connect with my fans in a big way.” His gaze locks with mine, intense and searching. “But I promise I’ll make time to see you as often as I can, Charlotte. You’re everything to me. I hope you know that.”

I nod, trying to ignore the sense of dread that’s lingering deep within me.

“This is going to work between us,” he stresses just before he kisses me. “But I have to leave for New York first thing Tuesday.”

My lips curve into an uneasy smile and I nod, but my heart is crushed at the idea of him across the country from me when I’ve just gotten him back. “Don’t they have studios here in LA?”

“I’m meeting with a record producer who I think is going to be the perfect fit for my album. He understands what I’m trying to do—something raw and authentic. Less produced. He’s usually booked, but my manager got me a meeting, so I can’t pass up this chance to work with him.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. If it all comes together, we could start recording right away,” he explains.

“Here?”

“Maybe here. Or maybe in New York. I’m not sure yet.” He runs a finger down my temple, his gaze watchful and steady. I can’t look away. “But I’ll call you. Text you. And I promise to be back soon.”

He lowers his head to kiss me and I smile. “I’m sad that you’re leaving, but I’m also so excited for you.”

“It’s only temporary. I can’t stand being away from you for too long,” he whispers against my lips. “Everything is finally making sense. You. Me. My career. You’re exactly what I need, Charlotte.”

I kiss him back, winding my arms around his neck. Emotion swirls inside me—happiness, excitement, longing. Just when I finally have Tate, when I nearly have all of him, I feel like he’s slipping away. But I push the fear away and smile against his lips, enjoying this one moment, right here, right now.





EIGHTEEN

I HAVE BECOME ONE OF those girls. Obsessively checking my phone. Peeking at it secretly at my desk. Carrying it in my hand between classes so I can feel the vibration if Tate happens to send me a text. I hate that I’m doing it, but I can’t seem to stop. When Mia catches me, I lie and say I’m just anxious to hear from Stanford. Admissions letters will go out any day now, but still, all I can think about is Tate.

He’s been in New York for eight days and it feels like a month. So when an e-mail pops up during sixth period, I reach for my phone so quickly that I knock it onto the floor.

The clatter draws too much attention to me, and I have to shove the phone back in my bag and wait until class ends to read it. When the bell rings and I finally get to open the message, it takes me a moment to process what it means. It’s an electronic airline ticket to New York City...for this weekend.

I stop dead in the middle of the hallway, all sounds muffled around me.

He bought me a ticket to New York City! He wants me to come see him.

*

I decide that there’s no other way. I have to come clean. I can’t fly across the country without telling someone. And I need his help. After sending a cryptic text to Carlos, we meet up at the Lone Bean. I guilt-buy him an iced coffee, compliment a shirt he’s had forever, and that’s when he tells me to spill.

“Something’s going on, Charlotte,” he says. “I know you.”

Finally, after dragging it out, I confess to Carlos everything about Tate: how he apologized at the lab, how he promised things would be different, how we’ve been dating secretly. And finally, about the ticket to New York.