Page 16 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“Paintings, sketches I didn’t finish, stuff like that. I’ll show you my work if you show me yours.”

He doesn’t seem sold, so I throw in a little something to sweeten the deal. “If you want, we could share the shed, too. You would get it the first half of the week, and I’d use it the other half. Think about it. You could work on your songs. Get some quiet when it’s too noisy in the house.”

My pulse speeds up when he stops to think.

He’s actually considering it.

“We could even meet up here once a week and show each other the progress we’ve made. Getting an outside perspective never hurts.”

I’m aware that I probably sound desperate, but this is the longest conversation we’ve had since he moved in, and I’d like it very much if we could keep having conversations.

“Once a week, huh?” he asks.

I give a small nod.

“And I’d get the shed to myself the rest of the time?”

“Yes. Well, except for when I’m using it.”

“And all I have to do is show you what I’m working on?”

“That’s the idea. We can meet whenever you want. As long as it’s after school.”

“My mom’s going to be wondering where I am. I can’t have her looking for me. I don’t want her to know about this.”

It makes no sense to me. Why doesn’t he want her to know he loves music? I have to bite my tongue not to ask him about it.

“I heard my mom say Evie would only be working afternoons and evenings if she gets the job at the bank. That way, we can meet, and she doesn’t have to know. So, what do you say?”

He pauses for a moment.

“Okay. But I’m not singing my songs for you. You can read the lyrics. That’s it.”

Did he just agree?

Be cool, Hadley.

Be. Cool.

I gesture to the paper in the trash. “You want to tell me what that was about? Maybe I can help.”

He hesitates.

“Come on, what’s the point of meeting every week if we’re not going to help each other?”

He drops onto the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know what to do with the bridge of this song. I’ve been stuck for days. Everything I come up with sounds like shit.”

I sit cross-legged on the couch and gesture to hand over his notebook. “Let me see.”

Kane chews on the inside of his cheek, his reluctance a wall I’m determined to knock down.

“You’ve probably been staring at it for too long. Even the best can use a pair of fresh eyes sometimes, you know?”

He caves a moment later. “One condition.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t ask questions.”