Love Song(141)

I scratch the stubble on my jaw. I forgot to shave this morning because I was too busy preparing for this radio spot. My sister was firing questions at me on the phone all day. She tried to catch me off guard with a few, and this was one of them. I’m supposed to say my music is about no one in particular, but as I’m about to deliver the rehearsed line, I suddenly can’t do it. Because this whole fucking album is about someone in particular, and it feels wrong to dismiss that.

“It’s about a real girl,” I say gruffly, and both hosts grin at me now.

“Ooh, okay, we’ve got a muse,” Hughie says.

“Yes.”

“And you and this muse,” teases Ashley. “Are you together?”

“Not at the moment,” I admit, then want to smack myself.

The first thing the publicist told me was don’t discuss your personal life, and here I am, talking about Blake.

I quickly try to redirect the conversation. “Not all the tracks on the album are about love, though. There’s one that explores the idea of family,” I start, but that only opens the door for them to ask about my mother, which leads to two minutes of gushing about how incredible she is. And yes, Mom is incredible, but I was supposed to stay on point and plug my own work, not hers.

We’re in the middle of discussing how prolific my mother is because of all the genres she’s written in when I notice the producer in the booth pressing a hand to his earpiece. Then Ashley does the same in her plush seat, and the next thing I know, she lets out an elated laugh and cuts Hughie off midsentence.

“Guys, sorry to interrupt, but plot twist. We’ve got someone on the line claiming to be the muse.”

My shoulders tense. “What?”

Behind the glass, the producer is mouthing the words line three.

“We’re patching her through right now,” Ashley announces. She presses a button, which I deduce is muting all of us, because she winks at me and says, “Just play along, honey. It’s probably some cuckoo bird, but the listeners love this shit.”

There’s a click in my ear, and then a nervous voice comes over the airwaves.

“Hi.”

My heart leaps into my throat.

That is…not a cuckoo bird.

“How’s it going?”

A smile tickles my lips. Hi, how’s it going? She’s calling into a live radio show, and that’s her opening line?

“And to whom are we speaking?” Hughie inquires in a jovial voice.

“Um. I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this ahead of time. I just saw on your social media that you were doing this show, and I couldn’t not call.” She pauses. “I’m talking to Wyatt, by the way, not you, Hughie.”

I choke out a laugh.

Ashley looks at me. “You two know each other?”

When I nod, she motions with her hand to use my words, and I remember we’re on the radio. “Yes, we know each other,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face.

Hughie pipes up again. “You still haven’t introduced yourself, muse.”

“Oh. Right. My name’s Blake.”

“Solid name,” he tells her.

“Can I talk to Wyatt now?” she asks with a sigh.

Hughie snickers. “Permission granted, muse.”

My pulse is racing as I wait for her to continue.

“So…yeah…I’ve spent the last few days trying to think of the perfect way to grovel, because I’m told that’s how I’m going to win you back,” Blake says, and every person in the booth goes wide-eyed like they just won the lottery.

I imagine this is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened at this radio station. Even Ashley is trembling with excitement.

“Freckles,” I start. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t you dare interrupt her,” Hughie chides.

“I know I messed up.” Blake’s voice trembles. “I pushed you away, and I said things that I wish I could take back. I’m not going to repeat them here, because I don’t want the whole world knowing our business. Maybe just part of our business. I said a lot of things, but the one thing I never said is that I love you.”

I grip the edge of the table, suddenly needing to steady myself. Those words in my ear—and apparently everyone else’s ears—release a flood of emotion inside me.

“I love you,” she repeats. “I love the way you look at me like I’m worth writing songs about. I love how you see me. Like, really see me. And I miss that. I miss being seen by you, and I can’t go another day feeling the absence of that. The absence of you.”

My eyes burn, and I’m worried I’m dangerously close to crying. On live fucking radio.

“You were right. I was telling myself stories too. That I’m not special compared to other people. I thought that if I hid in the background, nobody would notice how unimpressive I was. But you know what? I don’t need to impress anyone but myself. And maybe you, because I want you to be proud of me.”

Proud of her? Jesus Christ. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder in my life. The girl of my dreams is professing her love on live fucking radio. It’s the kind of magic that people like me sing about.

“So if you mean it and nothing’s changed, then maybe when you finish your interview, you can come down to the lobby, because that’s where I am right now,” Blake says. “Waiting for you.”