Now That I've Found You
Page 23
There isn’t a line anymore. Two security guards stand outside, smoking cigarettes. When they turn to face me, a bit of the tension in my stomach eases.
“Adrian?” I say, looking at him in surprise. “They brought you all the way from New York?”
“Of course they did,” he says. “I’m officially on their security team.” His expression softens as he looks at me. “It’s good to see you again. Your hair is different.”
I run a finger through my curls, which are a bit longer now. “It’s growing back.”
“I meant you’re not wearing a wig.”
“Oh yeah. That too.” I take a breath. “Look, Adrian, I don’t have a ticket, but I really want to see him—”
“Go ahead,” he says, interrupting me. “It’s packed, but I have a feeling you’ll find a way to get to the stage.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand, trying to show just how grateful I am, and he waves me on.
The venue is at least three times the size of The Goose’s Egg, and it’s three times as packed as any of their previous shows. And it’s dark. The only things I can see are a mob of people and the stage in the distance.
There they are, playing like they’ve been doing it forever. Raf crooning into the microphone. Ben and Vinny playing the drums and saxophone as if their lives depend on it.
And Milo staring down at his fingers, strumming his guitar. He’s biting his lip, in the zone. The sight of him, here in front of me all these months later, makes my heart beat so hard and fast it’s a wonder I don’t pass out.
“All right, this is the last song of the night,” Raf says, smiling widely. They start to play “Leather Pants,” and the crowd cheers.
The stage is so far from here. It’s insane for me to think I can somehow push my way past all these people so that Milo will see me. What if he doesn’t even care anymore and I’m too late? What if I’m not even ready to trust him yet and I’m just being ridiculously impulsive?
But I didn’t come all the way here just to chicken out at the door. I made a promise to myself back in New York, and I’ll stick to it. No more running.
Well, except for the literal running that I’m doing right now.
As I force my way through the crowd, I feel like Diane in the final scene of Every Time We Meet, when she ran through Penn Station for Henry. It looks so fun and romantic in the movie, but in reality, it’s nothing short of madness trying to get through all these people.
Raf is on the second verse now. I continue to squeeze my way through and accidentally knock into a boy, causing his drink to splash down the front of his shirt.
“I’m so sorry!” I shout as I keep moving.
“Watch it!” he yells, glaring at me. Then his eyes widen. “Hey, wait, you’re Evie Jones!”
That gets others to turn and look. Suddenly, more and more people are noticing me, stepping aside to get a better view. I already see them angling their phones to take my picture. But I don’t care where these photos end up. And I don’t care what they think about me. I’m not here for them; I’m here for Milo. So I smile at everyone as I keep pushing through, finally reaching the front.
The song begins to wrap up, and I see an opening right in front of Milo. He’s looking at Raf as he plays the last few chords. And then his gaze fans out over the crowd. He looks down and sees me.
He blinks, and his eyes widen, not leaving my face. He strums the last chord, and then the song is over. The crowd is shouting all around us. Raf is speaking into the mic, thanking everyone for coming out. But it might as well be silent. I don’t hear any of it. There’s just Milo and me, in this moment right here.
We stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime. Then he takes a step forward and crouches down. I step forward too, swallowing thickly. My stomach is doing flips like an acrobat.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. What do I want to say? Anything, everything.
I’m sorry for the way I left things. I want to trust you if you’ll give me the chance.
I’m afraid to say it. Gone is his friendly and easy smile. He’s watching me with an unreadable expression, waiting. I want to turn and run. This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. But I have to be brave. No more running.
“Milo…,” I manage to get out. I take a deep breath, searching for the right words. Helplessly, I dig into my pocket and hold up his lucky pick. Like it will speak for me.
He stares at the pick and inches closer. Slowly, his hand closes around mine, pulling the pick from my fingers. The corner of his mouth twitches as his eyes find mine again. Then his easy smile appears on his face. He sighs.
“Well, darling,” he says in a slow drawl, “I’m sure glad you showed up.”
I laugh, surprised and relieved, and his smile grows even bigger.
He says, “I think, according to the movie, this is the part where we kiss.”
I nod, heart completely full. “It is.”
I stand up on tiptoe. He leans forward, meeting me halfway. When we kiss, it’s better than any scene in any movie. Maybe that’s because it’s real.
Acknowledgments
I love this story with all of my heart, but writing it was a struggle. They say that’s the nature of second books. I’m lucky that I’ve been surrounded by the best people along the way.
To Mekisha Telfer, my brilliant editor. This book literally would not exist without you.
To my agent, Sara Crowe, the best partner to have in this business and who always has my back.
Thank you to Cassie Gonzales and Avia Perez and Allene Cassagnol. Also, a special shout-out to my publicist, Brittany Pearlman, for partially inspiring Kerri.
To Alison Doherty, my critique partner and friend, for reading every draft and sharing a love of all things romance. To Charlotte Davis and Maya Motayne for the book-two moral support.
To Dana Carey, my work wife, who spent yet another year making me laugh and listening to my tales of woe.
To all of my best friends for inspiring the bond between the members of Doves Have Pride.
To my mom, dad, and brothers, Steven, Matthew, and Mikey. Thank you for your support and love.
To Jason, yes, this time you did inspire Milo. Maybe you should learn to play the guitar?
To Grandma Naomi, the most stylish person I know. Thank you for all the clothes and inherited fashion sense. And to Grandma Peggy, for all of your love, wisdom, and guidance. And thank you for letting me borrow your and grandpa’s names for this story.
And to Kitty, my sweet girl, who passed before I could finish writing this book. You are and will always be my favorite.
Also by Kristina Forest
I Wanna Be Where You Are
About the Author
Kristina Forest was born and raised in Lawnside, New Jersey, a teeny tiny town that was also the first self-governing African American community north of the Mason-Dixon line. She started dancing when she was seven and her dream job was to be a backup dancer for Michael Jackson. By the time she was seventeen, she’d realized she loved writing more than dancing, so she enrolled at Rowan University and majored in Writing Arts, and then earned an MFA in Creative Writing at the New School. Kristina work in children’s book publishing, and lives in Brooklyn, New York with two huge bookshelves. I Wanna Be Where You Are is her first novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapt
er Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
Also by Kristina Forest
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Kristina Forest
Published by Roaring Brook Press
Roaring Brook Press is a division of Holtzbrinck Publishing Holdings Limited Partnership
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019948762
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eISBN 9781250295033
First hardcover edition, 2020
eBook edition, 2020