Page 122 of Every Shattered Note
He doesn’t say a word.
Just pulls me in.
His arms wrap around my waist with a familiarity that shatters whatever composure I thought I had left.
One breath.
That’s all it takes for my hands to fist in the back of his shirt.He lifts me off the ground.Then he spins me once—slow, like he’s afraid to let go too fast—and the world narrows down to this moment.I hear myself laugh, surprised by the sound of it.It escapes like something I hadn’t realized I was holding back.
When he lowers me back down, we don’t untangle.My hands stay where they are—clutching the fabric at his back—and his arms don’t drop either.His forehead rests lightly against mine, his breath warming the space between us.
“Hi,” he whispers, like it’s the only word he trusts himself to say.
My throat tightens.“Hi.”
“You weren’t kidding about the coral.”He smirks.“It’s like the sun and a fruit basket got married.”
“Don’t mock my suffering,” I say, though my voice barely holds.It trembles at the edges.“What are you doing here?You were supposed to land tomorrow.You said you’d call.”
“I was going to.”He moves closer.“But then I thought, why call when I could show up?”
There’s still noise around us—people calling out for candles, someone dragging in an ice sculpture—but none of it reaches me.Not really.Just him.Him and the ache in my lungs like I forgot how to breathe when he’s close.
“You’re supposed to be in Los Angeles,” I murmur.“Being mysterious.Writing songs.Hiding out.”
“I’ll do that later,” he says, leaning down.“Right now, I wanted to see you.”
Then he pulls me into him again.Arms around my waist, breath brushing against my cheek.
His lips find mine like they’ve been searching—like they’re simultaneously asking and answering the same question.It’s not a public kiss, not a safe one.It’s a private collision dressed in public space.It’s salt, and longing and everything we left unsaid across time zones and unread emails.
By the time he pulls back, I’m half leaning into him and half floating out of myself.
“I heard you needed a cellist,” he murmurs.
I blink at him.“You play cello now?”
“I could learn, but not that fast.”He grins.“But Kit does.She volunteered.Said she’d work for cake.”
“You bribed her with sugar?”
“She’s an honorary Wilder.Food is the love language.”
I glance around.“Do you have any idea what you just walked into?”
He studies the carnage around us—ribbons strewn like casualties, peonies shedding petals like tears, a bride’s scream echoing down the hall.
He grins.“Looks like your average war zone.”
“You’re lucky I missed you,” I mutter, pulling him into a side hug that’s more of a full-body sigh.“Otherwise, I’d kill you for surprising me.”
He leans down, mouth brushing my temple.“Missed you too, Aly.So fucking much.”
And for a second, the coral doesn’t seem so offensive.The disaster fades.And the fact that I’m surrounded by the unraveling of someone else’s love story doesn’t hurt so much—because mine just walked back in.
ChapterFifty-Four
Alyssa
