She takes off running back toward the sand, and I hurry after her. “Come back here!” I shout between laughs.

“Never!”

I manage to grab the bottom of her shirt, but before I can tug her into my arms, she trips on something and goes flying forward, taking me with her. We land on the sand with a thud, Vaughn on her back and me nearly on top of her.

We’re both still laughing as we try to catch our breath. I rise up on one elbow and peer down at her, and almost immediately, the humor is replaced with something serious. Something hotter.

Her cheeks are flushed pink.

My breathing goes shallow.

Her lips part.

My head dips, just slightly.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than—

Sand sprays into our faces, and we break apart abruptly. I look over in confusion and notice the soccer ball lying on the beach. Great. Perfect timing.

“Hey! Kick it back!” one of the soccer players calls from the playing area.

I hop to my feet, walk over and boot the soccer ball across the beach to the waiting children. Then I turn to Vaughn and reach out my hand.

After a beat, she takes it and lets me pull her to her feet.

“We should go back,” she says without meeting my eyes.

“Yeah.” My voice sounds hoarser than usual.

We return to the party to find that a music circle has formed. A dark-haired woman is playing the guitar, while a group of kids and parents gather around. She’s singing Katy Perry’s “Firework.” Some people are singing along, but most of them are just listening.

“That’s the twins’ music teacher,” Vaughn whispers to me. “Mrs. Greenspoon. She had the school band play that song.”

I try to envision a bunch of French horns, flutes and clarinets tooting out the melody and move a bit closer. Mrs. G is a decent guitar player, and although her voice doesn’t hit all the right notes, she’s having fun and it shows.

Vaughn and I sit on a nearby beach chair and listen to the “show.” I absently thread my fingers through Vaughn’s hair, but I don’t even realize I’m doing it until she turns with a sharp look.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“No. It’s okay. It’s…nice.” Her tone is grudging and confused and a tad upset.

Eventually the music stops. Mrs. Greenspoon sets the acoustic guitar on a chair and goes to talk to a few parents. Everyone else just wanders off, none of them even glancing in my direction. They all saw me sitting there…and nobody asked me to sing something.

For once in my life, I feel…normal. It’s nice, hanging out with people who don’t want a damn thing from me.

“We can leave after the game,” Vaughn says, gesturing to the soccer match still in process.

“I’m in no rush.” My gaze strays to the abandoned guitar. “Do you think they’ll care if I mess around on the guitar?”

Vaughn looks at the chair, then at the deserted area around us. Most of the crowd has moved toward the soccer game. “I don’t think they’ll even notice.”

I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that.

With an odd jolt of excitement, I get up to grab the instrument then return to our chair. Vaughn moves to the opposite chair, sitting cross-legged, her braid hanging over one shoulder, as she watches me play a few random chords.

“Any requests?” I joke.

She considers it seriously, though. “Do you know any Lumineers?”

I lift my eyebrows. “Seriously? You don’t want an Oakley Ford song?” I can’t believe she wants me to do a cover.

Her lips twitch. “I thought you were tired of your own songs.”

“Fair enough.” I grin at her then rack my brain for the chords to “Ho Hey,” the folk band’s most popular single.

I mess up the intro, but once I start singing, the melody takes over and the chords just play themselves. Vaughn is totally engrossed, her eyes never leaving mine. When I get to the chorus, I switch it up a bit—gotta give the song some sort of original spin—and her eyes widen in delight. The faster, slightly more rock version of this ballad is sounding kind of awesome. I’m enjoying the hell out of myself.

When I finish singing, a huge burst of applause breaks out. Startled, I almost fall out of my chair. I was so into the music that I didn’t realize anyone but Vaughn was listening. A few cameras go off, and…so much for feeling normal. This is normal, me being unable to sing a song to a girl without someone documenting it.

Vaughn’s still staring at me, the confusion back in her eyes. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but people are suddenly coming up to me to say how much they enjoyed the song. Several ask for an encore, but I politely decline. Instead, I take Vaughn’s hand and the two of us quickly move away from the crowd.

The game has wrapped up, and the twins, sweaty and disheveled, run over to us. We join Paisley and Ty, and all of us make a unanimous decision that it’s time to take off.

“That was really beautiful,” Vaughn whispers as we trudge down the sand.

“Ah. Thanks.”

She stops when we reach the stairs that lead to the parking lot, letting the others go on ahead.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Half the time when you open your mouth, you say something that makes me want to punch you.” Vaughn gives a rueful smile. “But when you sing…you make it really hard to hate you.”

I take that praise with me all the way up to the parking lot. The twins pile into the back seat of Paisley’s Nissan, while Paisley slides behind the wheel.

Before Vaughn can get in the passenger seat, I tug on her hand. “Hey. Wait. Can I see your phone?”

Her forehead furrows. “Ah, sure. Why?”

I don’t answer. I just take the phone from her outstretched hand and pull up her contact list. I key in ten digits then hand it back.

“My number’s in there now,” I say gruffly. “Call me if you ever need to talk, okay?”

Vaughn looks stunned.

Before she can question me, I lean in, plant a kiss on her cheek and then stride off toward my Escalade.

Ty and I get in, and he glances over as he starts the engine. “Fun time, huh?” he says.

“The best.” And I actually mean it.

* * *

A short clip of me singing “Ho Hey” pops up on Instagram before I even open my eyes the next morning. I only know about it because Jim wakes me up to tell me. He doesn’t sound mad, but pleased.

“The video has more than a million views already!” he crows. “And the comments. Go read the comments. I just sent you the link.”

Groggy, I sit up and put the phone on speaker so I can click on the link he texted. It takes me to the Instagram video, but I don’t press Play. I just scroll down to the comments.

OMG So beautiful!

He’s back, bitches! SEE! Told you he’s not washed up!

SO GOOD TO HEAR OAKLEY SINGING AGAIN!

Is that his girlfriend there? The Vaughn girl? Ugh. I want someone, anyone to look at me like he looks at her.

*ShiversSHIVERS

Oh. Em. Gee. I have shivers right now.

I find myself smiling. Shivers is a musician’s favorite word. I stop scrolling, because there are more than five thousand comments and it’ll take me the rest of my life and then most of the afterlife to get through all of them.

“Your fans miss you,” Jim says frankly. “This just proves it. You need to put out a new album, Oak.”

“I’m trying.” As usual, my joy is short-lived. He just has to remind me how much I’m sucking, doesn’t he?

“Try harder.”

I clench my teeth.

“You’re at the studio today, right?”

“Yeah, I’m leaving in an hour.” I pause. “I was thinking of asking Vaughn to come along.”

“That’s a good idea. You were with her last night and ended up recording something genius—maybe she’s your muse.”

“I sang a cover,” I mutter.

“Doesn’t matter that it wasn’t an original,” Jim argues. “You changed up that song and made it your own. Better yet, you sang it with emotion. People respond to all that emotion bullshit.”