Before I could catch my breath, I realized he was walking toward me. The chandeliers above existed just to follow the angular slopes of his body, until all at once, he stopped giving the crystals a reason to shine. Asher Reyes was standing right in front of my face.
I soaked in the freckles swimming in his yellow-brown irises, the two-day stubble on his jaw. He had grown into a man that no picture could do justice. A man. A gorgeous man. Asher’s lips parted, but just silent air floated between us. His wide-eyed expression curled into a soft, stunned, one-sided grin, he took one more step forward, and I let the arms of the first man I ever loved fold around my body in a tenderly unfamiliar way. We had never hugged, ever, where it hadn’t meant something more. Our hearts had never beat against each other in a platonic nature. But here we were, pretending. I pulled back, letting my cheek brush his stubbly neck, inhaling the scent of wildflowers after a rainstorm, the smell of a rebellious cowboy who took refuge in a Connecticut lilac field. His hands lingered on the open back of my dress. My throat went dry amid the surreality of his skin on my skin. I wondered if he still remembered the ways we used to touch each other.
“What—how…what are you doing here?” he asked, with a stupefied grin splashed on his face.
His hand left my body, and I cracked open my jaw. It was hard to remember how vowels and consonants worked together to form sentences with his eyes peeling the protective layer off my skin.
“I…I saw the Deadline article.”
“Oh…？”
I wanted guilt to be plastered all over his movie-star face, but there wasn’t a hint of “my bad for stealing that thing you loved without telling you” in sight. Instead, he fought a smile, and a part of me was thankful to replace stars in my chest with a punch of anger.
“You got the rights to my favorite book,” I said, trying to remain cool while seething.
“I did…” he replied.
He was now full-on grinning, giving my spite permission to thunder to the surface. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“If you think I’m going to let anyone else write the music for On the Other Side without a fight, you’re out of your mind.”
His eyes widened, surprised by the undercurrent of anger in my voice.
He turned sheepish. “I—I had no idea you’d want to work on it.”
“A heads-up would have been nice. You wouldn’t know On the Other Side existed if it weren’t for me. Reading the article…it felt like you took something that belonged to me and threw it to the wolves. It felt careless.”
His jaw clenched, letting the pain behind his eyes shine through.
“Careless,” he repeated.
An ache in my chest replaced the fire. I had just told the guy who historically cared too much that he was careless. I opened my mouth to try and soften my previous words, but he spoke first.
“I’ve had the book rights for a decade. I’ve been renewing them every eighteen months. Do you think it’s a coincidence it was announced before midnight on your birthday?” he asked.
The air left my lungs. The article about my favorite book was published before midnight on my thirty-fifth birthday. The very day we were supposed to find each other.
“Before midnight…You remembered…？” was all I could manage to say.
“Of course I did,” he stated, as if any other option was impossible.
Of course he did.
“Where’s my ring?” I asked, jokingly.
He twisted a cocktail napkin in his fingers, his cheeks reddening.
“I’ll get right on it,” he said.
Asher exhaled a little smile as his eyes brushed mine, and I felt my insides hum.
“You could have just…DMed me.”
He shook his head, playfully offended by the suggestion.
“There’s nothing romantic about that,” he scoffed, letting a half-grin splinter his jawline.
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.