grass about twenty yards from the stage, Troy stopped. “Does this work?”
Elle nodded and removed the blanket from her tote. Together, they spread the blanket over the warm grass. Elle was dressed in the most 1960s-chic outfit she could assemble. Cropped pants with a sweater set the color of pink lemonade. Large sunglasses à la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s rested on the bridge of her nose. Her hair was pulled up into a modern beehive as she embraced the time period and music she adored.
“You know, you’re looking pretty hip this evening. I forgot you like to dress the part for these things.” Troy’s smile appeared genuine, as if he was reminiscing over Elle’s small quirk. She loved that she could evoke pleasant memories for Troy, not just painful ones.
They finished their pizza as the band took the stage. Elle sipped her wine as she sat cross-legged on the blanket. Troy was seated with his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows. They drank and chatted through the show. When the unique chords were struck for “I’ll Follow the Sun,” they were quiet. Troy narrowed his eyes at her; he opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. Elle looked down at the blanket, recognizing that look in his eyes. He was holding something back. Troy didn’t know why she had selected this song as the basis for the books and the show, since he was unaware of his role in the creation of the plot. Or that he had been her muse for ten years. But still, tension lingered between them, and Elle wondered what Troy was thinking.
When the song ended, the band took a short intermission, and the two sat in silence on the blanket. Mothers escorted their children to the bathroom; some couples were packing up their belongings to avoid the traffic after the show. But Elle and Troy said nothing to one another. They simply stared ahead in silence.
“So,” Troy began, clearing his throat. “Why that song?”
“What do you mean?”
“The title of the show . . . and your first book.”
Elle removed her sunglasses and raised an eyebrow. A nervous chuckle escaped Troy’s lips. “You got me. I looked it up on Amazon.”
“Do you really want to know?” Elle’s brow was knitted. She hated that every evening spent with Troy seemed to go back to their heartbreak. Would they ever be able to move forward?
“Yeah, tell me.” Troy was trying to appear nonchalant about the entire thing, but Elle knew better. He wanted to know.
“It’s what I imagined you would say to me . . . after Vegas.”
“Oh.”
Troy knew the lyrics, of that Elle was certain, but she was nervous and felt the need to elaborate. “It’s about this guy, right? And he’s angry, he’s really pissed at this girl who wouldn’t commit to him. So he leaves and he’s not coming back. And he wants her to know it.”
“I know the song, Elle.” Troy’s voice was deep, strained.
“Sorry. Of course you do. It’s just . . . of all the songs we both love, that one is how I imagined you felt about me.”
“Like I wanted nothing to do with you?”
“Yes.”
Troy pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “We should go. Are you ready?”
“But it’s only intermission.”
“I think we should go somewhere private.” Troy paused. “To talk.”
And there it was. She knew what was coming next. They’d go back to his place, where he’d officially break things off between them. He’d cite the lyrics, and thank her for reminding him of the pain he’d felt for years. He’d tell her he never wanted to see her again—that being near her was just too much. He was too angry, and always would be.
The drive back to his house was maddening for Elle. She wanted to scream, to beg, to cry, to do anything to slice the tension in two. But she was too afraid. And deep down, she knew Troy had something to say to her. She needed to give him the opportunity to be heard.
When they entered his apartment, Troy offered her another glass of wine. She walked around his home, wondering if this would be the first and last time she was welcome there. It was the epitome of a bachelor pad. The walls were bare, save for an eight-by-ten school portrait of Payton. Elle walked to the photograph and studied it. She was a beautiful girl with a smile that was the mirror image of her father’s. Her