An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(40)

I’m so lost in the sentiment that I don’t notice Cal standing right outside my driver’s side door, hands loosely planted on his hips, eyebrows arched in question.

I snap back to reality and kill the ignition.

The dogs go wild when I open the door, trampling over my lap and darting from the vehicle to circle Cal’s ankles.

“Sorry, I spaced,” I laugh lightly, reaching for my overnight bag stuffed with a few outfits, Halloween pajamas, toiletries, and a bottle of white wine I panic-grabbed from atop the refrigerator. I figured I might need it to get through this first night with less nerves than I usually have—which, admittedly, is still a lot.

Cal bends to collect both leashes before my animals take off down the sidewalk in search of squirrels and chipmunks to terrorize. “It’s not exactly a bed and breakfast, but hopefully it’ll do,” he tells me, scratching at his mess of hatless hair. There’s a pinch of humbleness that claims his eyes, as if the accommodations might not be up to my standards.

I don’t hesitate to say, “It’s perfect.” He takes my bag from me with a nod, hoisting the strap over his big shoulder as I join him in the driveway.

“Come on, we’ll get you settled,” he says before sauntering ahead, arms full of my belongings.

When we step through the red door, I’m instantly ambushed by the smell of him. Earth and spice and a hint of amber floating off a bottle of diffuser sticks resting in the center of his coffee table.

My dogs take off when Cal unhooks their leashes, sniffing and discovering, and abandoning us in the entryway.

That’s when I’m ambushed by something else entirely.

Something that blindsides me.

Tackles me.

Steals every stunned breath from my lips.

Cal already knows why I’ve locked up and drifted away with both hands clasped over my heart. Slipping out of his boots, he kicks them to the side like he’s trying to kick the discovery I made out of my mind. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Cal…”

“I’m serious, Lucy. Dead serious. Forget about it.”

I can’t, I won’t, I never will.

It’s a piano.

Emma’s old piano sits in the corner of his living room, nearly taking up the entire space, just as she’s taken up the entirety of my soul since the day she dragged me over to their yard while Cal dribbled a basketball in the driveway. It’s draped with thick black velvet, the cherrywood legs peeking beneath the fabric. Sheathed in dust, and likely not touched for years, it just sits there.

Idle and songless.

Unforgotten, still preserved, yet missing everything it’s meant for.

Just existing.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, but I don’t care. I need to talk about it. “Do…do you play?” I murmur, my mind in a trance.

“No.”

I peel my eyes away from the instrument and swing them over to the man. Cal is, as expected, stone-faced and close-grained. He looks at me though, finding my gaze through the dimly lit foyer and the thickening wall of tension.

Off my glossy stare, he lets out that long sigh I’m all too familiar with, then scrubs a palm up and down his face.

“I can’t even look at it,” he admits, tone softer. “But my house is so fucking small, it’s all I see. Every day. And I can’t stomach the thought of getting rid of it.”

I’m nodding through each word because I understand, and I empathize, and I want him to keep talking.

“Mom had it for a while, but…” His jaw tics with trapped emotion. “She can’t.”

I swallow, still nodding, before I turn back to the veiled piano. When I lift my eyes a fraction, my attention lands on a framed art print hanging directly above it. It’s a canvas of a midnight blue sky sprinkled with twinkle lights, a quote etched across the front: Beautiful things never last,

and that’s why fireflies flash.

The tears hit me hard.

A collision of love and loss—which is, ultimately, just a potent entanglement called grief.

I hear Cal walk forward, his footsteps lighter when he’s sans his boots and armor. He’s right behind me, his warm breath tickling the hairs on the back of my head as he whispers, “Don’t, Lucy.”

It’s less demand, more defeat, but that only has my tears falling faster. I swipe at them, not wanting him to see me any less than the cheery ball of sunshine he’s come to know, but my shoulders are trembling, giving me away.

“It’s just some quote I found.”

He says it like it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing.

It’s so much more than nothing, and I’m crushed by the weight of everything it is, like there’s a giant boulder strapped to my chest.

“I’m okay,” I tell him, sniffling and swiping. “I’m fine.”

A few heartbeats pass between us before I let the moment go, packing it away so the black hole doesn’t get hungry. Cal never touches me, but he’s so close, it feels like he does. I wonder if he wants to. I wonder if he wants to wrap his arms around me and draw me to his chest, holding me like I’ve always held onto him.

I’d let him.

I wouldn’t pull away if he wanted to just hold me forever.

Instead, he releases a final sigh into my hair and steps back, forgoing an embrace for a distraction. “I, uh, don’t have a ton of dinner options, but we can order in. Pizza, Chinese, whatever.”