When he shows you who he is, believe him.
Regaining my composure, I flip through the clear pockets that hold dozens of ticket stubs, each one with my name—some in bold print for my headliner shows, others in smaller italics as the opening act. One thing is the same in each: the city and state.
Nashville, Tennessee.
My fingertips trail over the last page, and a faded ticket stub from an open mic night. This one doesn’t have my name, but I know I was there—it was my very first show in Nashville a decade ago.
Before the spotlights and nicknames.
Before the stadiums and world tours.
This was Ruby before anybody even knew who she was.
Except Liam.
Liam has always seen me.If that wasn’t clear before, I don’t know how it could be made any plainer.
A soft rap on the doorframe startles me out of my thoughts. “Ruby? Dinner’s ready.”
“Liam…”
He takes a tentative step into the room, pausing when I turn to face him with the book in my hands. I swallow against the lump in my throat. “How many?” I ask, my voice soft and unsteady.
“All of them.”
“W-What does that mean?”
“I went to every Nashville show you ever played.”
“I don’t understand. How?”
He squats at my feet and picks up the book, placing it behind me beside the Victrola, then he lays a gentle hand on my cheek. “I’m your biggest fan, Ruby Lynn Hayes.”
With my brows drawn together, I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out, only a long, stuttered exhale. Seeming to sense my bewilderment, he stands and offers me a hand up. I take it and stumble into his chest with a grunt.
He steadies me with one hand on my lower back and the other on my waist. Those eyes I know so well hold nothing but tenderness as he gazes at me.
“All of them?” I whisper.
“All of them,” he echoes back. His fingers trace the contours of my face like he’s reading something in braille. If hecouldread my face, I’m sure it would tell him just how much I love him, even if my lips haven’t yet formed those exact words.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I murmur.
“Is that a promise, or a warning?”
“Both.” And with that, I crush my mouth against his.
He guides me over to the sofa, and I sink onto his lap, savoring his lips on mine. With this newfound knowledge, everything about this kiss is different. It holds much more complexity now, a depth of feeling I’ve never known before. Every brush of his lips, each nip and suck and smile against mine, is more meaningful.
He brushes the hair off my forehead and slowly pulls away,his green eyes boring into my blue ones like he’s trying to combine the colors until the forest meets the sea, and our hearts entwine into something like permanence.
“What are you thinking, Goldie?” He murmurs the question against the shell of my ear, and a shiver travels up my spine.
“I think you might have a crush on me, Grumpy.”
He chuckles and, oh, that sound, and the things it still does to me after all this time. “I think you might be right. What should we do about it?”
“It’s tragically incurable. You’ll just have to kiss me again.”
