Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(26)

The twinkle in his eye was a light switch, turning on the galaxy inside my chest. I paused to stare at him—to really look at Asher Reyes. He was offensively stunning.

“It’s really unfair to the rest of the world that you look like this,” I found myself saying.

His eyes refused to leave mine, indicating he didn’t hear my words—indicating he might be thinking the same damn thing about me.

Fuck. FUCK.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi,” I exhaled, trying not to melt under his gaze. I stood up taller, as if to remind myself that I wasn’t fourteen again—that I didn’t come here to drown in All The Feels.

Asher exhaled a chuckle, breaking into the same thoughtful smile I had fallen for two decades prior. There was still a thread of sadness stitched around his expressions of happiness—adulthood hadn’t changed that. It comforted me and broke me all the same. His smile faded as he pursed his lips together.

“I’m sorry you’re upset. That was never my intention. I always loved the story, and it really meant something to me—” He closed his mouth, as if he was worried he might say too much. “We actually had a big name attached to do the music and lyrics, but she had to drop out for personal reasons. So, we’re on the hunt.”

“Yeah. I read that in the article.”

“I have a co-producer on the project, and he’s not easily charmed. What I’m trying to say is: the buck doesn’t stop here. I don’t make these decisions alone. I can’t just give you a gig.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to just give me anything.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said with a smile, remembering.

I took a step forward, eyes level on him. “No one else can do this better than I will. I know that book inside and out. The only thing I’m asking for is a shot to prove it to you and your producer.”

“Full transparency: we’re going out to another songwriter exclusively next week. So if you want to be considered, you’d need to get me a song in two days.”

I didn’t flinch. “No problem.”

Dolly Parton wrote “I Will Always Love You” and “Jolene” in the same day. I could get my ex-boyfriend a song based on my favorite book in two—easy.

He brought his phone out from his back pocket. “Same email?” he asked.

I nodded, fighting a smile. It never occurred to me that Asher still had the same email address. Instead, in true Maggie fashion, I took it to the extreme and showed up at an event I wasn’t invited to, to confront him. To be fair, his Maggie Vine Bat-Signal was a movie announcement.

“Reply to me with your home address, and I’ll have someone messenger you the script tonight.” He tucked his phone into his back pocket. “You’ll see the placeholders in the script for the songs—I’d work on the breakup number in the first act. It’s the biggest emotional block.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll send you times that work for Amos, my co-pro. Plan on coming to me to perform the song.…If memory serves, you’re pretty convincing in person,” he said with a warm smile.

There was a familiar spark enveloping my chest, spreading to my fingertips and toes. Hope was dancing inside me, gloriously letting me forget what rock bottom felt like. Asher must have noticed optimism breaking through my cheeks, because he shifted uncomfortably. He was unaware that the glowy optimism that fueled my youth had met its match five years prior.

“Listen, I wish I could, but I can’t make you any promises,” he warned.

I kept the smile on my face. “I didn’t come here for promises.”

He grinned to the floor, hesitated, then locked his brown eyes onto mine.

“I was kind of hoping you did,” he said.

It was jarring, the way my heart threatened to grow, right in front of him. The way his finger brushing over the faint scar on his chin made me want to hold him. The way I longed to erase our last kiss from my memory by taking one step forward. It was dangerous, the way his eyes searched my face, as if in slow motion. I was a woman drunk on hope and something more.

Neither of us moved, we just drew each other in, as if recommitting each other to memory.

“Caroline wants a word,” said a voice behind Asher.

Asher blinked me back, turning toward a short man in a suit.

“I’ll be there in a second,” Asher said, his voice unusually low.

I had to get out of there. I had to pour a bucket of ice water on my body.

“It’s fine. I’ve already taken up enough of your time. I’ll see you in two days,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. I took a step away, and he caught my hand before it left his body. He squeezed his fingers around mine, and then let me go.

I shot him a polite smile and beelined for the exit with my cheeks flushed and my heart pounding. There was a giant wall mirror by the doors, and inside the reflection I could see Asher’s eyes on me, watching me leave. It was the reflection of his pure, boyish grin as he looked down at his shoes that nearly made my knees buckle to the floor.

I made it to the elevator banks and lay my back flat on the cool brick wall. Sweat ran down the back of my neck as my chest pounded against my ribs. A part of me had come undone. A part of me had come back to life. Maybe it was the best part of me. She was worthy. His smile mattered the most.