Marrying Olivia

Lewis

“Hey, Ben. Got anything good for me tonight?” I shouted, the sound almost lost to the strum of a guitar and the chatter of the crowd in the next room.

Alex and Tom stopped behind me, waiting not-so-patiently while Alex continued whining over his ex-girlfriend playing hard to get.

“Couple new acts. One or two might have something.” He pursed his lips as he scanned the lineup for the showcase.

Whenever I visited LA, I always stopped at Rhymes. Not out of some need to be a mentor—I mean, I’d been in the music business for going on thirteen years now and let me tell you, I’d seen some shit. I’d make a fucking excellent mentor. But I digress.

No, the hours I spent at this tiny, no-frills venue located down an alley near Sunset and Vine were some of the most inspiring.

I’d walk in with a heavy weight on my shoulders, an ache in my bones that said the time to call it quits was fast approaching. Couple of beers and a few acts later and the ideas were coursing through me faster than I could track them. My fingers itched to pick up my guitar and join the acts on stage.

For a few fleeting hours, the joy returned.

Don’t ask me when it faded. I’d tried to trace it, to find the exact moment my brain checked out and the music became nothing more than a job. But I couldn’t find it. It all blurred into one messy, chaotic disaster.

Even with Alex’s moaning, I needed this.

In two weeks, we’d ship out for the longest tour of our careers. Two years, hundreds of stadiums, and five continents. Somehow I had to refill the well and keep it full.

The alternative if I failed didn’t bear thinking about.

I refused to let my friends and bandmates down.

“That one act you liked last time just finished twenty minutes ago.” Ben grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, man. If you’d let me know you were coming in, I would have sent over the schedule.”

“No need.” I waved his apology off. “I wasn’t planning to stop by. I’m sure there’ll be some great music anyway.”

“If you consider that off-key strumming great, you and I need to have a conversation,” Alex grumbled. He frowned at the doorway that led to the main bar and the stage. “Who the fuck taught this guy to play?”

Tom and I shared a look. When Alex wasn’t trying to win Ceri back, he treated us to this… grumpy man child act.

“Let’s get some drinks, yeah?” Tom slapped his hand down on Alex’s shoulder and shoved him towards the doorway. “Hopefully, it’ll mellow you the fuck out before one of us decides we don’t need another guitarist and glasses you.”

Alex laughed but Tom threw me a dark, raised-brow look. It screamed ‘Did I say I was joking?’

“There is this one chick,” Ben said before I followed them. “Singer-songwriter from South Carolina. The voice on her.” He shook his head, a look of pure peace in his eyes. I wanted it. “You’ll love her, I’m sure of it.”

I thanked him and followed Tom and Alex into the main room. It didn’t take me long to find them at the bar, and to Alex’s delight, the guy who couldn’t play guitar finished up his set to a cold audience.

“Do you remember what it was like for us getting on a stage in the beginning?”

Alex’s attention snapped to me and his brow furrowed. “Of course I do.”

“Oh really?” I drawled, unable to stop the smirk claiming my lips. “What was it like?”

“Nerve-wracking.” He cut a sly look to Tom. “Tom threw up like three times.”

“Like fuck I did. That was you, you dickhead.”

We’d been fourteen-year-old, cocky kids who thought they were destined to be rock gods. Turns out we weren’t half wrong, but that didn’t absolve us from the time-freezing moment when that first spotlight hits, and suddenly we’re blind, with too many expectant eyes on us to count.

I look back on those early days with a bittersweet nostalgia, but I wouldn’t wish to relive them.

Alex crossed his arms, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “What’s your point?”

“You don’t need to be an asshole to a stranger learning the ropes.” I stared at him, searching for a sign that the message got through. “This isn’t you, Al. We know you’re frustrated but taking it out on other people isn’t going to make Ceri like you any more.”

“If anything, you’re fucking up your only chance to win her back,” Tom added, his tone severe. “You’ve got three months to prove her wrong. Once you’re divorced, you probably won’t get another opportunity.”

I snorted. “She’ll move and change her number without a second thought.”

In Ceri’s situation, I would.

Alex glared at me, but for the first time in weeks, he looked like he was listening. His expression lost some of its fire and he nodded.

Rehearsals had started already, but there was only so much the band could do when our lead singer kept hopping across the pond.

All of that changed tomorrow. We were meeting our opening acts and Lily landed later tonight. Things were finally starting to heat up and as much as I dreaded spending two years on the road, anything would be better than this perpetual waiting.

Part of me also hoped it would give Alex something else to focus on, other than driving Ceri mad.

The lights dimmed before any of us could say more.

“Please welcome to the stage the incredible Olivia Monroe,” the announcer said, his voice amplified by the sound system.

The crowd clapped and screamed, a surprising contrast to the last act. People jostled for the best view of the small stage and the single stool and mic stand sat in the middle. String lights wove through Rhymes’ logo in the background, casting a warm glow in the darkness.

The spotlight turned on as she settled herself on the stool with a coy yet nervous smile. Everything about her captivated me instantly—from the loose strand of chestnut hair she tucked behind her ear to her ripped jeans, bohemian-style top, and beat-up Converse.

“Good evening Los Angeles! I’m Olivia, and we’re going to have some fun for the next twenty minutes,” she said, her voice lyrical. “I hope you enjoy the show.”

I was transfixed, and she hadn’t played a note yet. The guys chattered amongst themselves, about what I couldn’t say. I only had eyes and ears for her.

Her fingers strummed the guitar, setting an upbeat tone, building with percussive taps on the guitar’s body. She leaned towards the mic, her foot tapping gently on the stool rung, and then she started to sing.

The whole room stilled, all focus zeroed in on her as that voice flowed out like honey. Sweet yet complex, with an almost ethereal quality that left me enthralled.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Tom grabbed my arm, pulling me back. I tore my gaze from her–from Olivia–and blinked at him like I was coming out of a dream. I couldn’t remember taking a step. “Are we getting a table or what?”

“Sure.” I shrugged off his grip and turned back to the most captivating woman I’d ever seen. “I’ll find you.”

Their protests were swallowed as her voice rose and I kept moving forward, pushing through the mesmerised crowd until I found myself front and centre. I was helpless, pulled by some invisible force to be as near as possible to this siren on stage.

Her voice was incredible, but that wasn’t all that drew me. The way she seemed to glow under the soft stage lights, eyes closed as her fingers caressed the smooth neck of her guitar, stole my breath.

She had it. That joy I’d lost.

Utter happiness radiated from her, and it made me grin but also ache at the loss. I remembered it so clearly; the way it used to feel, the way I could close my eyes and be swept away into my own world despite knowing there were hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes on me and one badly timed twitch could ruin the song.

Her eyes fluttered open and green officially became my favourite colour. Our gazes locked for a moment and I felt a spark of connection so real it left me reeling. At that moment, I’d have done anything for her, gone anywhere with her.

How was it possible to feel so drawn to a stranger?

Her full lips curved into a smile made for much more than performing. It was made for lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, for stolen kisses in the back of a tour bus, for heated whispers in the dark of night.

I couldn’t remember wanting those things, but now, listening to her, watching her, they consumed my thoughts.

She held my gaze for I don’t know how long, seeming to sing directly to my soul. When she shot me a sly look, almost like we were sharing some secret, I couldn’t help but reciprocate. Then she glanced away, taking a piece of me with her.

Alex and Tom sidled up on either side, jostling me from my daze. I barely stopped myself from scowling at them.

Couldn’t these fuckers see I was having a moment?

“She’s incredible, mate!” Tom said.

“Of course she is, we only pick the best.” Alex took a swig of his beer.

Wait! What?

Unfortunately, his attention was still on me when the realisation struck and my eyes widened. A shit eating grin spread across his face. “You didn’t know she was our opening act, did you?”

I might have tuned out when all those decisions got made. What? I was a musician, not a businessman. Plus, Lily had found her, and if our lead singer said she was perfect for us, then she was perfect.

And had you been paying attention, you would have found her sooner.

Shit.

I stayed silent, still struggling to wrap my head around the strength of my reaction. Her voice had awoken something in me. It had energised me yet shepherded me to a peace I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Olivia

Do you think anyone would notice if I started fangirling on stage? Yeah, it probably wouldn’t go over too well. But Lewis Davies was staring at me like I’d fed him my grandmother’s county fair award-winning cobbler.

I’d adored The Brightside forever. I’d been in high school when they’d hit it big. I’d fallen in love with their music. Then my mother surprised me with tickets to their Savannah show. She had never told me how she got them, but I didn’t care. I nearly lost my mind with excitement.

Seeing them live changed everything for me.

I’d wanted to make music ever since I could remember thanks to my granddaddy. Nearly every memory I had of him involved a guitar. He’d made it look so easy and seeing my fascination, he’d made it his mission to teach me.

Only it wasn’t easy in the slightest.

My impulsive nature nearly outdid my drive to learn, but thankfully, my grandaddy was a stubborn man. Because of him, I spent the majority of my childhood and teenage years fiddling with guitar chords and filling notebooks with snippets of lyrics.

Then I’d seen The Brightside live and something had clicked.

Hope seeped beneath my skin and refused to let up.

They were only two years older than me, and they’d not only made incredible music, they’d broken out.

They were from a small Welsh town on the other side of the ocean. If they could make a real career out of music and hit it big in another country, then surely this small-town South Carolina girl had a reason to hope. That concert lit a fire in me, a burning determination to chase my own musical dreams no matter the odds.

It hadn’t been easy. I moved to Nashville, wrote every free moment, played every showcase, worked every shift I could as a waitress to support myself and keep myself flexible for the moment my big break came. I poured my heart and soul into every note, every lyric, hoping someone would hear the truth in my words.

And it would come. I knew it in my bones.

I just didn’t think it would take ten years, or come directly from Lily Tyler, The Brightside’s lead singer. When that unknown number flashed up on my phone, I almost didn’t answer. It was right in the middle of a busy shift, but I’d spent so long waiting for that call that I’d scrambled into the kitchen and answered while the cook shouted at me.

He shouted some more when I quit on the spot and walked out. I didn’t even bother taking off my apron.

She’d given me a month to prepare, but nothing was going to stop me from living this dream of mine as soon as possible.

To anyone else, the speed at which I’d packed up my Nashville apartment, found a replacement for my roommate, and moved all my stuff back to Jasmine Bay would be depressing. They’d think it meant I hadn’t lived, but I saw it differently.

To me, it meant I’d achieved my goals. I’d been ready to leave on a dime when the moment came, and I did. I’d been prepared.

But this? I wasn’t prepared for this.

To be playing my second open mic in Los Angeles within a week and find myself staring at my teenage crush. For that guy, a super successful musician, to be watching me like I’d blown his mind… how was I supposed to react to that? My teenage self was screaming inside.

I’d braced myself for meeting him tomorrow. I’d given myself the pep talks, reminded myself not to stare at him like a lovesick teenager. I’d practised my introduction in the mirror, trying to strike the right balance between professional and friendly.

With my heart racing and my mind spinning, I knew none of it had worked.

The crowd cheered and applauded when I finished the set. The melody still hummed through my bones as I stepped off the stage and packed up my acoustic guitar. Exhilaration buzzed inside of me. I was drunk on the euphoric rush that always came with playing to an engaged audience, but it didn’t have a chance in hell of drowning out the nerves. My belly did somersaults worthy of an Olympic gymnastics team.

Should I walk up to him? Or should I sneak out and pretend I haven’t seen him?

I winced at the last idea. If I wasn’t allowed to be a lovesick teenager, I definitely couldn’t pull any of that high school bullshit.

This was the start of my music career, and he was part of the reason I had it. The least I could do was say hello. I owed him that much, even if the thought made my palms sweat and my mouth go dry.

I weaved my way through knots of people, exchanging grateful smiles and the occasional high-five. All the while, those damn nerves twisted in my gut and threatened to choke me.

It was nothing. Just saying hi to a normal guy I’ve never had a crush on and whose band wasn’t responsible for my entire career.

I scanned the room, rising up on my tiptoes to try and see over the shoulders of people much taller than me. The longer I looked, the more disappointment pinched my insides. It settled like a lead weight in my belly, dragging down the corners of my hopeful smile.

Maybe he’d left.

He didn’t owe me anything. I was just another opening act, a blip on his radar. Nothing special.

The host announced the next act. I’d get a drink and enjoy the rest of the night. Or, you know, drown my sorrows in a whiskey or three and chalk it up to another crazy LA experience.

I glanced over my shoulder, giving the room one final scan. When I still couldn’t spot him, I bit my lip. Disappointment dug deeper and I silently chastised myself for being so ridiculous.

Sighing, I turned back to the bar and slammed into a hard surface. It grunted and hands gripped my shoulders as I stepped back, blinking at the Super Mario image filling my vision.

“Maybe you should work out less,” I muttered. I rubbed my head, expecting a bump, but that would be ridiculous. I’d run into a person, not a wall.

“You alright?”

I froze. I couldn’t tear my eyes from what I now realised was a band t-shirt with ‘Hey Mario’ on it. If there ever was a moment when the ground needed to swallow someone, now was it.

Slowly, I dragged my gaze up his buff chest, over his stubbled jaw until his hazel eyes captured mine. They were even more mesmerising in person, flecks of gold catching the dim bar light.

He smiled and it creased his eyes, somehow making him hotter. That smile could’ve powered a small country. It certainly made my heart rate skyrocket and my brain short-circuit.

Photos really didn’t do him justice.

The thought should have worried me, but all I could do was stare at him, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my mind running off down a road it had no business going. One where we weren’t in a crowded bar, neither of us wore a stitch of clothing and I didn’t need to feel guilty for getting lost in his eyes. Where I could trace the lines of his tattoos with my fingertips, explore the planes of his body with my hands and lips…

“I’m Lewis Davies.”

“I know.”

I stared at him, dawning horror burning up my neck.

Way to make a stellar first impression.

He smirked. “And I know who you are.” He ducked his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. “But I figured you’d appreciate me not being the big-headed asshole that assumes his reputation precedes him.”

Despite the flush of embarrassment, I laughed. “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

He glanced briefly at the stage and then those captivating eyes landed back on me, stealing my breath all over again.

“You were incredible up there.”

“Thank you.”

“That last song gave me goosebumps.”

I fought the urge to pinch myself to check if this whole thing was nothing more than a dream.

“That means the world coming from you.”

I just about swallowed my tongue as the words fell from my lips. What in the world was I thinking? Might as well have asked him to sign my bra while I was at it.

“From a member of The Brightside, I mean.”

He nodded. “I didn’t…” he blushed and my insides squealed at the sight of it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I come here whenever I’m in LA. I didn’t expect to find you, in case you thought—”

“That you were checking up on your investment?” My brows quirked and he laughed, the sound surprisingly nervous. It humanised him somehow.

“Yeah, that.” He turned, beckoning to the bartender at the nearby bar. “Would you fancy joining me for a drink?”

I opened my mouth to say yes—what else?—but then I spotted two of his bandmates at a table in the corner, watching us with amused grins.

“What about your bandmates?”

“Ignore them.” He shifted a step and blocked my view. “They’re big boys. They can look after themselves.”

“And I can’t?”

“No—I didn’t mean—ah fuck.” He dragged a hand through his hair and laughed. “Do-over?”

I couldn’t say a do-over would make me forget that even he wasn’t immune to making an ass of himself. But I wasn’t about to torture the poor man. Not when he looked so adorably flustered.

“A do-over sounds perfect,” I said with a smile and held out my hand. “I’m Olivia Monroe, but my friends call me Liv.”

His shoulders relaxed and his lips curled. “It’s nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m Lewis Davies, bassist for The Brightside. My friends call me Lewis, but I’m pretty sure I’d let you call me anything you want.” He bit his lip and eyed me with a question in his eyes.

Oh lord, is that a flirty look? It is, isn’t it? That little quirk of his lips, the mischief dancing in his eyes… yep, definitely flirting.

Holy shit, Lewis Davies was flirting with me.

It was surreal, exhilarating, and absolutely terrifying all at once. He was even more gorgeous in person, all tousled hair and scruffy jawline and eyes that could make a girl forget her own name. And those lips… I could write a whole album about those lips alone.

Say something. Anything. Before he thinks you’re having a stroke.

“Yes, you can call me Liv,” I managed to say, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.

“Thank you.” His warm hand engulfed mine, his slightly calloused fingertips dragging across my skin, sending a tingle up my arm. His eyes sparkled with mischief and something else I couldn’t quite place. Something that made my belly clench and my thighs press together.

“Well then, Liv,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “How about that drink?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again. He guided me towards the bar, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. The simple touch sent my heart racing and my barely-under-control thoughts spiralling to forbidden places. Him pressing me up against the bar, his body flush against mine as his lips claimed my neck. His hands, those talented musician’s hands, skimming under my shirt, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine. Me hooking a leg over his hip, drawing him closer, feeling the evidence of his desire hot and hard against me. I imagined his fingers dipping into the waistband of my jeans, teasing, exploring, making me gasp and arch and beg for more.

Heat burned my skin when I shook it off. Lewis stared at me, an amused but intrigued glint in his eyes. I ignored it and focused on the bar and the array of bottles that promised to cure me of these nerves.

As we approached, the bartender set two drinks down in front of us.

“To serendipitous meetings.” Lewis clinked his glass against mine.

I eyed the amber liquid, a silly part of me wondering if it was fate that he knew my drink of choice. I took a sip, the smooth whiskey warming my throat. It burned going down, but in the best way. Like the first touch of a lover’s hand.

“Do you make a habit of buying drinks for unsuspecting opening acts?”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Only the incredibly talented ones who nearly knock me on my ass.”

I ducked my head, my cheeks heating. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Davies.”

“Please, call me Lewis. Mr Davies makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

“Aren’t you? Are you supposed to be fraternising with the newbie?” I teased, emboldened by the whiskey and his easy charm.

“If this is trouble, I’ll gladly take the punishment.” His gaze raked over me appreciatively, setting my skin on fire. “How did you get from South Carolina to opening for us? Where did Lily find you?”

“That’s two questions.” I took a sip of my whiskey, the liquid courage warming my veins. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning,” he said without so much as a beat of hesitation. “I have this overwhelming desire to know everything about you.”

I blushed again. I had to get a grip on my reactions to him, and fast.

“It all started with a dream and a beat-up guitar.”

The same guitar my granddaddy taught me on, the one with the scratch on the body from when I’d dropped it trying to master my first G chord.

He chuckled, nodding in understanding. “The best things always do.”

I told him about my granddaddy and his stubborn-as-an-ass attitude, how he held me to my fleeting wish to learn and wouldn’t let me stop. Not even when my fingertips were raw and bleeding, when I wanted to throw that guitar out the window and never look at it again.

That is until he died not long after I turned fourteen. Grief nearly drove me to put the guitar down for good, but with my mother’s unwavering encouragement I pushed through. She’d sit with me for hours, listening to me stumble through chords, never once complaining about the noise.

I didn’t tell him about The Brightside’s part in my journey.

“I moved to Nashville as soon as I graduated high school.” The memories flooded back. My mother crying buckets as she helped me load my stuff into the beat up truck my granddaddy left me. The truck I sold as soon as I got to Nashville to help with rent. “Figured if I was going to make it, that was the place to be.”

“I’ve spent my share of time in Music City. Played some of my first U.S. gigs in those honky-tonks on Broadway. It’s a special place.” His expression softened, a look of understanding shining in his gaze. Those hazel eyes seemed to see straight through me, to the heart of my hopes and aspirations. Like he knew, bone-deep, the hunger that drove me, the need to pour my soul out in lyrics and melodies.

“It wasn’t easy, making a go of it.” I shrugged. “I worked at just about every bar and restaurant in town, trying to make ends meet while I chased my dream.”

“I know that grind all too well. The late nights, the endless hustle…” He groaned. “We did it while in school. Didn’t make us all that popular with our teachers, but I’m sure they’ve changed their tune by now.”

“I have a long list of ex-bosses.” My smile slipped and my voice quieted, the words almost getting lost beneath the new artist performing on stage. “I can’t tell you how many open mics I played, hoping for my big break. Sometimes to a packed house, sometimes to an audience of one very drunk, very uninterested patron.” I shuddered at the memory. The stale smell of spilled beer, the drunken heckles, the soul-crushing indifference. It was enough to make anyone question their life choices.

“But you kept at it,” he said, his tone laced with admiration.

I shrugged, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Giving up wasn’t an option. Music… it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. All I’ve ever needed to do.”

“I can relate.”

We stared at each other, silence stretching between us as we—or at least I—got lost in each other’s eyes. My fingers itched to touch him, to find out if his facial hair would tickle like I imagined or whether it would be soft.

I caught myself leaning forward and slammed back into my chair, my pulse racing. “So…” I glanced away and cleared my throat while that annoying burn of embarrassment coloured my skin.

Don’t do it. You’ll give yourself away.

But curiosity got the better of me.

“What about you? How did The Brightside go from playing small-town Welsh pubs to headlining world tours?”

A wistful smile danced on his lips, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Similar story, different accent. It wasn’t a straight shot to success, that’s for sure.” He tapped the bar, keeping time with the singer crooning a love song on the stage behind me. “I started playing in pubs when I was a kid, barely strong enough to lift a bass, let alone tall enough to reach the mic. But I knew, from that first rush of performing, that I’d found my calling.”

“And the rest is history?”

“Hardly. They say we were an overnight success.” He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “We played every dive bar, every festival, every birthday party that would have us. Slept in the van more nights than I can count, lived off petrol station sandwiches and the kindness of strangers.” He shot me an amused look, but the edges were frayed. He seemed to brace himself before continuing, “But every step, every struggle… it was all worth it, to be able to do what I love, to share my music with the world.”

I probably imagined it or it was nothing more than the play of the stage lights, but I could have sworn something haunted flashed in his eyes. “But you made it in the end. You broke through.”

He nodded. “That we did.” His hand found mine on the bar, his rough, guitar-string calloused fingers lacing with my own. Sparks danced across my skin and an ache bloomed low in my belly. I squeezed my knees together, a futile attempt to ease the growing throb of desire, but the intensity in his gaze stole my breath and made me forget why I needed to fight it. “But something tells me the best part of our journey is just beginning.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “I have a feeling this tour, meeting you… it’s the start of something special.” His thumb traced maddening circles on my wrist.

My heart thundered, my skin tingling with anticipation it had no right to feel. I let the way he looked at me sink in, the way his hand felt in mine… it was electric. Magnetic. Like standing on the edge of a cliff, exhilarated and terrified and so, so alive.

“I think you might be right,” I managed, my voice hushed.

His thumb continued its torturous dance on my wrist, sending shivers cascading down my spine. “It’s like… like we were meant to find each other.” His eyes widened and for a second horror flooded his expression. “That’s not a line. I don’t… I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

Butterflies took flight in my belly. “Why would I believe a good-looking Grammy winner with legions of adoring fans hasn’t hit on a woman before?”

For the second time tonight, I wished the hardwood floor would open up and swallow me whole. He stared at me, a slow smirk unfurling on his face.

He leaned forward, invading my personal space until I was drowning in the earthy, spicy scent of him mingled with a hint of whiskey, until I couldn’t mistake the naked hunger in his eyes. “You think I’m good-looking?”

My heart slammed against my ribs, my mouth going dry. How was I supposed to answer that? The truth was obvious—he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. But admitting that felt dangerous.

“I mean…” I stammered, my cheeks catching fire. “Doesn’t every woman?”

He didn’t let me off the hook. Instead, he leaned even closer, his nose almost brushing mine. I could count the flecks of gold in his mesmerising eyes, could feel the heat radiating off his body, and practically taste the whiskey on his breath.

“I’m not asking about every woman,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over my lips. “I’m asking about you, Liv. Do you find me attractive?”

There was no hiding from the intensity of his stare, from the raw, undeniable hunger simmering between us. With alcohol buzzing in my veins and his proximity clouding my judgement, I threw caution to the wind.

“Yes,” I breathed, the confession escaping on a sigh. “I find you incredibly attractive, Lewis.”

Something wild and reckless flared in his eyes.

“Good.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Now what are we going to do about it?”

My pulse kicked into overdrive, my skin suddenly too tight, too hot. This was dangerous territory. The rational part of my brain screamed at me to back off, to put some distance between us before I did something I couldn’t take back. But the part of me that had been drawn to him from the moment I saw him, the part that craved his touch, his attention… that part was rapidly winning out.

“Lewis…” I started, my voice shaky. “We’re going to be working together. Closely. For the next six months. Maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” he challenged, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the delicate shell, sending a shiver racing down my back. “Shouldn’t act on this connection between us? Shouldn’t explore whatever this is?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve crumbling under the heat of his gaze. “It’s risky. If things didn’t work out…” If I let myself fall and he didn’t catch me…

“Who says they won’t?” He cupped my cheek, his thumb caressing my cheekbone, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. “I know we just met. I know we’re about to go on this wild, intense journey together. But what I feel… it’s real. It’s powerful. And I don’t want to ignore it.”

His eyes bored into mine, dark with promise and sincerity. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to lean in, to close the distance and kiss him like I’d been dreaming of doing for half my life.

“I’m not suggesting we elope. I’m just asking for a chance. One night, to see where this leads.”

He leaned in closer, his lips a whisper from mine. “Here’s what I propose. We have one more drink. We talk, we laugh, we enjoy each other’s company. And then we walk out of here together, catch a cab to my hotel… and let the night take us where it will. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me, exploring this fire between us. What do you say?” His voice was rough, gravelly with restrained desire, his eyes molten pools I wanted to drown in.

My mouth went dry. It was a tempting offer, the promise of a night with him, no strings attached. A chance to indulge the fantasies I’d harboured for so long, without worrying about the consequences.

“What about the tour? What about tomorrow?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured me. “One day at a time. But I don’t want to look back and wonder ‘what if?’ I don’t want to regret not taking this chance, not seeing where this could go.” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, his touch searing, branding me with possibilities.

His words struck a chord. How many times had I held myself back, let fear dictate my choices? How many opportunities had I let slip by, too afraid of the risks to reach for what I wanted?

Not this time. Not with him.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice steady with newfound resolve. “Let’s do it. One more drink. And then… let’s see where the night takes us.”

Lewis

One more drink turned into two, then three, as the minutes stretched into hours at Rhymes. The bar grew quieter as the night wore on, but we hardly noticed, too caught up in each other.

The world beyond our little bubble faded into irrelevance. All that existed was Olivia—the sparkle in her green eyes as she talked, the musical lilt of her laughter, the way her knee brushed against mine under the table, sending sparks racing up my thigh.

We’d been talking for hours, the drinks before us long forgotten, our voices growing hoarse. But I couldn’t bear to let the night end.

“My sister hated me for a while when the buzz started growing around us.”

Liv laughed. “I doubt that.”

“No, she definitely did,” I said, my voice taking on a more sombre tone. “She was thirteen. It didn’t last long, but it wasn’t all that surprising.”

She leaned forward, an elbow resting on the bar, her eyes filled with genuine interest. “What happened?”

“Tegan was one of my biggest supporters from the start.” I sighed, the memory playing out in my mind as if no time had passed. “She was always there, cheering me on at every gig, telling anyone who would listen that her big brother was going to be a star.”

“That’s sweet.”

My sister’s excited face filled my mind, her eyes shining with pride as she watched me from the front row of those early shows.

“But then, almost overnight, it was like a switch flipped. She got moody, started snapping at me for no reason. It was so out of character for her, and I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong.”

Liv’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “That must have been tough, especially with everything else you were dealing with at the time.”

“It was.” I paused, swallowing around the lump that had formed in my throat. Even after all these years, my memories of that time were still a mixed bag of bittersweet and painful emotions. “Turns out, she was jealous.” I shook my head, forcing a laugh I could barely feel.

She smiled, but the edges were brittle as she watched me with shrewd eyes, no doubt seeing through me.

“I’d been invited to my first BAFTA show. I was going to meet all of her favourite celebrities, and she hated that she was being left out.” I twisted my glass on the bar top, my attention fixating on it, unable to look at her as I said, “On top of that, she was convinced I was going to forget about her once I became famous.”

The idea of it was laughable then and now. Even after her death, she was never far from my thoughts. To think I could ever forget my family.

“I couldn’t let her think that. Tee was my world, y’know?” I said, my voice hoarse. “So I did the only thing I could think of—I made her my plus-one.”

Liv laughed.

“You should’ve seen her face when I told her. It was like I’d handed her the moon on a silver platter.”

“I bet she was ecstatic.” She reached for my hand, prying it away from my empty glass and lacing her fingers through mine.

“She was. Spent weeks planning her outfit, practising her ‘I’m so excited to meet you’ speech in the mirror.” I shook my head, a fond grin tugging at my mouth despite the sadness creeping in at the edges. “The night of the show, she was practically vibrating with excitement. I thought she might actually combust when we got to the red carpet.”

Liv laughed, the sound melodic and soothing. “I can only imagine. Thirteen-year-old me would’ve been the same way.”

“It was a great night. We laughed, we danced, we tried to spot all the celebrities. She was in her element, charming everyone she met with her endless enthusiasm.” I paused, my throat tightening as the memory played out. Tegan’s smile, her laughter, the way she’d hugged me so tightly at the end of the night, whispering ‘thank you’ over and over.

“Lewis?” Liv’s gentle voice pulled me back to the present. “Where’d you go just now?”

I blinked, surprised to find my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Sorry, I just…” I cleared my throat, trying to find the words.

I could see the questions in her eyes, the curiosity warring with hesitation. But she didn’t push. I’m not sure what I would have said if she did. I didn’t want to go down that road, not tonight.

Instead, she smiled, a mischievous glint entering her gaze. “Y’know, all this talk of childhood memories has got me thinking about the summer I discovered my one true love.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And who might that be?”

“Not who, what.” A playful smile teased her lips. “I'm talking about the flakiest, most irresistible pastry to ever grace my taste buds—the incomparable baklava.”

“Can’t say I saw that one coming.”

“Nobody ever does.” She shifted in her seat, shaking her head like that was a great oversight. “It all started when I was about five years old. Our town librarian, Delphine Broussard, had just gotten back from visiting her sister who moved to Turkey.”

The gleam in her eyes as she spoke was captivating. I couldn’t help but imagine her as a child, all wide-eyed wonder and insatiable curiosity.

I’d give anything to see that look on her face every day for the rest of my life.

“Back then, I had no idea what baklava even was. All I knew was that Delphine walked into the library one morning with this big white box, and the smell...” She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as if she could still smell it. “It was like nothing I’d ever smelled before. Sweet, heavenly.”

The way she closed her eyes in bliss had me shifting in my seat, adjusting my suddenly hardening erection while trying to keep my mind out of the gutter. Not-so-helpful images of other things that might make her react like that filled my mind, her eyes closed, lost in pleasure.

“I was curious as a cat, of course. I pestered Delphine with questions—what was in the box? Where did it come from? Could I have some? She just laughed and told me to be patient, that she’d share her treasure with the whole town at storytime that afternoon.”

“Storytime?”

Liv nodded. “She was always travelling, always bringing back stories and souvenirs from her time away from town. She would gather everyone who cared to listen to her in the town gazebo the day she returned and basically hold court over us all.” She chuckled. “Not that it took much for her to captivate me and my big imagination. Waiting was nothing short of torture for me.”

My sister had been exactly the same. She wanted everything right then and there. If they’d have invented teleportation, she would have been the first person offering herself up as a test dummy.

“By the time three o’clock rolled around, half the town had squeezed into the gazebo, all of us eager for a taste of whatever was in that mysterious box.”

“And then she opened it?”

“And then she opened it,” Liv confirmed, her voice hushed with remembered awe. “And I swear, Lewis, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

She groaned and yet again I had to adjust myself.

“It tasted like a dream. The second that pastry touched my tongue, I knew I’d found my soulmate in pastry form. It was everything good in this world.” She sighed happily, lost in the memory. “From that day on, I was hooked. I begged my mama to learn how to make them, scoured every cookbook in the library for a recipe.”

“Did you find one?”

“Yes, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t recreate it.” She continued to smile, unfazed by her inability to master the pastry. “Mama, seeing how frustrated I got with my failure, talked Hattie, our local baker, into taking a whack at it.”

“And did she succeed?”

“Well, of course.” She looked almost affronted at the question and I covered my mouth to hide my amusement. “Hattie Mayfield fails at nothing.”

“I’m sure.”

“She doesn’t.” Liv’s eyes narrowed.

“I believe you.” I squeezed her hand and her smile returned.

“Anyway, from that day on, they were all I would order when I went into Mayfield’s bakery. Right up until the day I left town.”

“A creature of habit, I see,” I teased, enjoying the way her nose scrunched up.

“Hey, when you know what you like, you stick with it,” she defended, pointing a playful finger at me. “You know what’s funny? The whole town knows when I’m back home, just by my mama’s bakery order.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. My mama, she usually gets a croissant delivered every morning. But when I’m in town? She switches it up to baklava. Says it’s her way of letting Jasmine Bay know their songbird has returned to the nest.”

“That sounds…” I shook my head, unable to form words with the image of an entire town abuzz with excitement, all because of a pastry order.

“Laugh all you want, but in a small town, that’s big news,” she said, her eyes dancing with mirth. “I swear, it’s like a real-life Stars Hollow sometimes.”

“I’ll have to visit sometime, see this magical baklava for myself.”

Surprisingly, I meant it. I’d never been attracted to the small-town America image. Hell, I had run from my small-town Valley life as fast as I could.

“Is that so?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave, her gaze locking with mine.

“Mhmm. I mean, after all this build-up, I think I deserve a taste, don’t you?” I knew we weren’t just talking about pastries anymore, and from the way her breath hitched, she knew it too.

“I think that could be arranged,” she murmured, leaning in until our faces were inches apart. “I’d be more than happy to give you a personal tour of Mayfield’s… among other things.”

I swallowed hard, my eyes dropping to her lips, my mind conjuring all sorts of images of her ‘personal tours.’ “I’ll hold you to that, cariad.”

She smiled, slow and sultry, her fingers tightening around mine. “Oh, I’m counting on it, rock star.”

The air between us crackled with tension, the anticipation building with every shared breath, every brush of skin on skin. It would be so easy to close the distance, to taste those tempting lips, to see if she was as sweet as the baklava she praised.

“Last call!” the bartender announced, shattering the moment like a hammer to glass. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

I blinked, the spell momentarily broken.

“Wow, guess we closed the place down, huh?” Olivia glanced around, seeming as surprised as I was.

“Guess so,” I agreed, though every fibre of my being rebelled against the idea of letting her go. “Time flies when you’re in good company.”

She ducked her head, a pleased flush colouring her cheeks. “I’ll say. I can’t remember the last time I talked this much. My voice is going to hate me tomorrow.”

“Worth it though, right?” I raised a brow, hoping I wasn’t alone in feeling the undeniable pull between us.

Her gaze met mine, soft and warm with promise. “Definitely worth it.”

I settled the tab and we gathered our things, the air heavy with unspoken questions. What now? Where did we go from here?

She turned to me as we stepped out into the balmy Los Angeles night. The street was alive with energy, strains of music and laughter floating on the breeze.

“I’m not ready to say goodnight just yet.” Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Walk with me for a bit?”

“I’d love to.”

“I love this city at night,” she said, her head tipped back to take in the towering buildings, the palm trees swaying in the breeze. “It’s like anything is possible, you know? Like magic could be waiting around any corner.”

I watched her, mesmerised by the play of city lights across her face, the way her eyes sparkled with wonder. She was right—there was magic in the air tonight, a sense of possibility that crackled like electricity.

I’d never get enough of looking at her.

“I’ve lived here for a decade, and the city still finds ways to surprise me.”

She turned to me, her smile soft and knowing. “But it’s different, isn’t it? Seeing it through someone else’s eyes?”

“It is.” I nodded, my gaze locked with hers. Her fresh perspective was like a portal back to my eighteen-year-old self, still free of the scars and pressure that came with being at the top.

We walked on, the comfortable silence broken only by the occasional comment or observation. Liv was endlessly fascinated by everything, from the street art to the buskers serenading the passers-by.

“I can’t believe I’m really here.” Pure awe filled her voice. “In Los Angeles, about to go on tour with The Brightside. It’s like a dream come true.”

I chuckled, charmed by her enthusiasm. “Believe it, cariad. This is just the beginning.”

She grinned, bumping her shoulder against mine. “And what a beginning it is. I mean, teen me would be losing her mind if she could see me right now, strolling the streets of LA with Lewis Davies.”

I raised a brow, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Teen you, huh? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Oh, definitely flattered. You were plastered all over my bedroom walls back in the day. I used to dream about moments like this.”

Something warm and possessive unfurled in my chest. “And? How does reality measure up?”

She looked at me, her eyes dancing with mischief and something deeper, something that made my blood heat. “The reality, Lewis Davies, is blowing my teenage fantasies out of the water.”

I swallowed hard, my grip on her hand tightening. “Good to know.”

We came to a stop at a street corner, waiting for the light to change. Liv turned to face me, her free hand coming up to rest on my chest. The heat of her touch burned through the thin fabric of my shirt—as if I needed to be any more aware of this woman.

Her gaze dropped to my lips, her tongue darting out to wet her own. My breath caught, my heart pounding a furious rhythm beneath her hand.

I searched her face for any hint of hesitation or doubt but found none. Her eyes were bright with desire, her cheeks flushed. Every line of her body radiated want, need, an aching hunger that matched my own.

I knew I should be cautious, that kissing her here on a public street was a risk. Anyone could see us, snap a photo, start the rumour mill churning.

She rose up on her toes while I ducked my head, capturing her mouth with mine, pouring every ounce of the desire, the longing, the need that had been building between us all night into the kiss.

She responded with equal fervour, her arms winding around my neck, her body moulding to mine like it was made to fit there.

I lost myself in the taste of her, in the feel of her soft curves pressed against my body. She was intoxicating, addicting, and I knew I would never get enough. My tongue swept into her mouth, tangling with hers in a dance that left us both breathless.

When we finally broke apart, chests heaving and eyes glazed, I rested my forehead against hers, a smile playing at the corners of my kiss-swollen lips.

“Wow,” she breathed, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of my neck.

“Wow indeed.” I stole another quick, hard kiss, unable to help myself. “That was…”

“Even better than I imagined.” She grinned, nipping at my bottom lip.

I groaned, my hands flexing on her hips. “Keep talking like that and I might just have to take you home with me.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of my ear as she whispered, “Promise?”

Blood roared in my ears, my body tightening with need. “Oh, I promise. But only if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

She pulled back, her gaze locking with mine, clear and certain. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”