Page 25 of P.S. I'm Still Yours
His heartbeat is a dull thud echoing in my ear.
I wish we could stay like this forever, but Kane peels his body off mine the next second, backing away and clearing his throat as though the decision to hug me wasn’t his own.
Our gazes meet, and the reflection in his eyes has me in a chokehold.
He’s getting teary-eyed.
He blinks a few times to chase the tears away, and his voice cracks. “I just… Thank you.”
I want to tell him that I’d do it a thousand times over just to see that look on his face, but I settle for a simpler, less embarrassing reply. “Don’t mention it.”
Neither of us knows what to do after that hug, so I take it upon myself to break the silence. “Want to try it?”
His face lights up. “Are you kidding? Yes. Fuck yes.”
I’m smiling so big my cheeks hurt when he drops onto the couch with his new guitar.
I snatch the spot next to him, and he begins alternating between chords.
Problem is, the guitar hasn’t been played in a while, and it needs a good tuning. Kane proceeds to tune the guitar by ear like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and my chest is so full of joy and admiration it’s uncomfortably tight.
“Not one broken string,” I point out, referring to the old, lousy guitar he was playing at the beach house, and he laughs under his breath.
The piece of crap was missing two strings, and Kane still managed to create magic with it. I can’t imagine what he’ll do now with a proper guitar.
“Shit, Hadley, I don’t know how to repay you.” He improvises melodies, strumming several strings at once.
I know exactly how to answer that. “You could sing a song for me.”
I brace myself for the rejection ahead.
Kane shocks me by saying, “One. That’s it.”
I blink at him, convinced I imagined that.
Did he just say yes?
“That works for me.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket. “One more thing.”
He knows immediately. “Not a chance.”
“Come onnnn.” I join my hands together and beg like a five-year-old who doesn’t want to get sent to her room without dessert. “I won’t show anyone. It’ll be just for me, I promise.”
“I said no.”
I scoot closer to him on the couch, batting my eyelashes and pouting, which lures a small smile out of him. “It’s just one video. I won’t share it, I swear. Please, please, please.”
He’s quiet for a while.
Then he shoves his hand through his brown hair, exhaling a deep “Jesus Christ, fine.”
I squeal. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
His grin deepens, and he shakes his head like he knows better but he doesn’t have the willpower to turn me down.
I point the camera at him like a total fangirl recording her favorite artist. He pins me with a look that’s thick with disapproval, but his smile is unwavering. “Any requests?”