Page 27 of Love Unwritten
My mom and Burt fuss over me while they help me unload the car and carry my belongings into my childhood bedroom. I take the lead on unpacking everything. Once everything is put back in its place, I lay on my pink, ruffled comforter and stare up at the stars stuck to the ceiling.
Funny how a year ago I was sharing a small Los Angeles apartment with Ava and Willow, spending my days songwriting and my nights waitressing to cover the bills while I waited for my big break. Now, I’m back in my childhood bedroom like I never left.
Everything looks the same, with the walls covered by concert posters and fairy lights Burt hung when I was in middle school. Even my nightstand and the stacks of diaries in the bottom drawer remain untouched.
My mom checks out my newly organized closet full of hoodies, leggings, and T-shirts. “Must you wear so much black?”
“There’s some white clothes in there.”
“And navy.” Burt winks at me.
Mom frowns. “You dress like you’re in mourning.”
“Perfect, since I’ll be grieving my employment status for the foreseeable future.”
Burt cracks a smile, along with the tension, when he asks, “What do you say we play some music together while your mom does her thing?”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on. I even got a new guitar for you to test out.”
My lips press together.
“Did I mention how I found it while thrift shopping at Another Man’s Treasure? Turns out it was signed by Cole Griffin and Phoebe Montgomery.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. The shop owner confirmed that it’s real.”
I jump off my bed. “Oh my God! You have to show me!”
I have no idea how a guitar signed by Cole Griffin, legendary lyricist and folk musician, and his cowriter ended up at our town’s secondhand shop, but I need to see it.
Burt laughs to himself as I follow him out of my bedroom and into his makeshift music room, which doubles as my mom’s home office. The space brings back many fond memories of us spending hours together while he taught me how to play the same instruments I’m teaching Nico.
Taught Nico.
My throat constricts, along with my heart.
Deep breaths, Ellie.
“What are you thinking about that’s got you looking like you sucked on a lemon?” Burt asks.
“Nothing.” I check out the acoustic guitar with Cole and Phoebe’s signatures before remembering. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I forgot my guitar at the Lopez house.”
Burt’s face pales. “Do you want me to get it for you?”
“No,” I say in a rush.
“I don’t mind the drive. It might be nice to see how the other half lives.”
“They’re not the other half. They’re the .0001 percenters.”
“Why use math when you can just say filthy rich?”