An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(63)

“Yep, for over a year now. I love it.”

“Wow, that’s…” He swipes a hand through his chestnut hair, falling away for a moment. Disappearing. Losing himself along that desert trail. “Jess would be so proud.”

The air in my lungs whooshes out of me like I just stepped into a polar vortex, strangled by a glacial draft. Her name makes me woozy. Lightheaded and tipsy. My fingers dig into the expanse of Cal’s shoulder, and he instinctively grips me tighter. My eyes water as I force a smile. “It’s…great to see you, Greg. And so nice to meet you, Angie. I, um…I should get going, though. I have to work in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Cal adds, rising from his chair and abandoning his partially-sipped drink. He bends to pick up my guitar case, alleviating part of my weight. “Good to meet you all.”

Greg holds my gaze for a heavy beat before nodding and turning away, leading Angie to the bar. When I look down at Alyssa, she’s spearing me with sympathy, mouthing, “Call me,” before I wave my goodbyes to the group and slip away from the table.

I’m through the door before Cal can even catch up, and when I rush out into the bitter November night, I do choke. I am strangled, but it’s more than the cold. So much more.

“Lucy.” Cal comes up behind me, my guitar case dangling from his hand. “You good?”

My car is parallel parked behind Cal’s bike on the downtown street, so I race toward it, not necessarily away from him, but away from everything else. “Sure. Of course. Thank you for grabbing that.” I spin around to reach for my guitar, but he pulls it back. “I’m fine, Cal. Really.”

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

I’m certain my face goes as white as the ghost I wish I saw. I falter, my eyes lifting to Cal as he takes a few steps closer, his breath falling out of him in little chalky plumes. Lamplight blankets him in gold and citrine, brightening his hair like a halo, and for a moment I wonder if he’s an angel.

My angel.

Words are on the tip of my tongue. The right words. The truth about Jessica and Greg and all the secrets that live inside my black hole. Instead, something else entirely escapes from my lips. “Do you have any sad songs?”

He frowns, but it’s not his typical scowl. It’s pensive, thoughtful. “What?”

I lick my lips, glancing out at the quiet street lined with idle cars. All I hear are my heartbeats pounding like a bass drum inside my chest. “Sad songs,” I repeat. “You know, the ones you hear that make you want to cry, or dive under a warm blanket to forget. The ones that you can’t sing, or even hum, because you’ll choke on them. Songs that follow you around like a burial hymn.”

His expression darkens. The streetlamp flickers above us as he looks down at the sidewalk cracks, then back up. “Yeah,” he mutters softly. Cal sets my guitar case at my feet before inching away. “All of them.”

My chest squeezes. I watch as he inhales a deep breath and pulls the beanie from his back pocket, slipping it over his head.

“Text me when you get home,” he adds before walking backward. “So I know you made it okay.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “It’s not far.”

“Text me. Please.” Holding my gaze for another beat, he turns around and stalks toward his bike, swinging his leg over the seat before starting the engine.

I stand there for a moment, shivering as the snowfall picks up, watching his taillights fade into the night. I close my eyes, thinking of Jessica. Thinking of Emma. Thinking of all the things I try so hard not to think about.

Somewhere, bar noise livens with rowdy patrons, laughter, and an upbeat song. Something bouncy and light. Dance music.

A happy song.

But…all I feel is sad.





Chapter 17





It’s no surprise I’m standing on his front stoop on Thanksgiving day with a potted orchid in my hands and a pompom wool hat shielding my ears from the sting of an impending Wisconsin winter.

He sure seems surprised, though.

Cal towers before me in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hand curled around his front door. “What are you doing here?”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” I chirp, holding out the lemony orchid. I chose yellow to symbolize friendship and new beginnings. “Get dressed. Mom’s been up since the crack of dawn grilling the turkey.”

Sweeping his eyes over me, he blinks when our gazes meet. “I already told you, I like being alone.”

“Too bad.”

Shock steals his expression, arcing his brows to his hairline, as if he’d been expecting me to instantly cower and trudge back to my car with my tail between my legs.

Nope—not today. Today, there will be no moping.

There will be no sad songs.

“Lucy, I’m good,” he sighs, leaning against the door frame, looking weary. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is messier than his usual standard for messy. Glancing away, he steps back into the foyer and clears his throat. “Tell your mom I said hi. And happy Thanksgiving.”

He shuts the door in my face.

He shuts the door in my face!

My stomach churns, and my cheeks flame, despite the thirty-degree temperature. I stand there like a pillar for a moment, ramrod straight, processing his rejection, only to be met with the door reopening with a smirk dancing across Cal’s mouth. I blink up at him, snapping back to reality. “I can’t believe you did that.”