Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,64
back in my seat, perplexed. “How do you even know what that is?”
“I watch TV. I know a lot of things. Are you famous?”
“No.”
“But you want to be?” The microwave timer goes off. Willow grabs her plate and walks over to the table.
“Layla is hoping my music career takes off, so I humor her. Gives her something to focus on.”
“What if she’s right? What if you become famous?” Willow says.
“That’s my fear.”
She waves her fork in the air after taking a bite. “Is that how you can afford to stay here? Money from social media?”
“No. I only have three songs out. But I have money. An inheritance.”
I expect her to make a comment about that, but Willow just eyes me curiously for a moment. “Are you just playing aloof, or do you really not want the music career to work out?”
“I’m undecided. I love writing music and I want people to hear it, but I don’t know that I’m cut out for all that comes with it.”
“You have the look.”
“I definitely don’t want to get famous because of how I look.”
“What if you aren’t as talented as you think you are, though? What if the only reason you have followers is because you’re hot?”
I laugh at her bluntness. “You think I’m hot?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve seen a mirror before.” She gestures toward my phone. “I want to hear one of your songs. Play the one you played for Layla at the piano the night you met her. I think it’s called ‘I Stopped.’”
“I thought you didn’t look at her memories.”
“I try not to. That one’s hard to avoid, though. It’s front and center in her head.”
I like that Layla prefers that memory. It’s one of my favorites too.
I open the music app and hit play on the song for Willow. But then I open my laptop and focus on it in an attempt to ignore the fact that she’s listening to my music.
I hate listening to my own music. I try to busy myself with emails while she listens to each of the three songs intently. When they all finish playing, she scoots my phone back to me across the table.
“Your voice is haunting,” she says.
“Is haunting good or bad coming from a ghost?”
She grins. “I guess it could be either.” She’s in a good mood. She’s almost always in a good mood, even when she’s upset with me for almost drugging my girlfriend or for continuously insisting she should find out why she’s here. It’s like whiplash, going from Layla, who feels so heavy, to Willow, who’s like a gust of wind.
“Can you feel Layla’s anxiety when you’re inside of her?” I ask her.
“I don’t feel it right now. That’s probably because she isn’t alert—nothing to be anxious about.”
“But you can feel her love. And her sadness. You’ve said that before.”
Willow nods. “Maybe her feelings for you are stronger than her anxiety. She does feel a lot for you.”
That’s good to know. “Does she think I’m going to propose to her?”
“Are you?”
“Probably.”
Willow takes a sip of water. Swallows. She stares down at her plate for a moment in thought, and I can tell she’s trying to sift through Layla’s feelings. “She hopes you’re going to propose, but I don’t think she’s expecting it this soon.”
“What kind of ring does she want?”
“Does it matter? You already bought it. You keep it upstairs in your shoe like an idiot.” She knows about the engagement ring? “Girls can sniff those things out like a bloodhound. She’ll find it if you don’t hide it better.”
“So you’ve seen the ring? Do you think she’ll like it?”
Willow smiles. “I have a feeling she’ll like any ring you give her, even if it’s plastic. She loves you more than . . .” Her voice fades before she finishes her sentence.
“More than what?”
Willow shakes her head, her eyes suddenly growing more serious. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be sharing her thoughts with you. It feels wrong.”
Willow finishes her food, but I can’t help but wonder what the sudden change in her demeanor was about. What was she about to say?
She clears off the table and walks to the kitchen entry. She looks over her shoulder at me. “Come play me a song, Leeds.”
I hesitate, because I don’t know that I want to. I like the memory of playing a song for Layla in the Grand Room. I’m not sure I want to create that memory with anyone else. It feels like a betrayal.
Willow has already gone into