He Gave Away Our Wedding Song, So I Ended His Signing Day novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: A Smooth Morning

Beau tells her she always gets over things; Marlo agrees to run his livestream sound and tells Tilly she will sign the waiver at the ceremony. The house closing is a lie.

Beau was making eggs when I came downstairs, humming the song.

He had slept well, and he was wearing the grey T-shirt I bought him in Austin.

"There she is," he said. "Coffee's hot."

I sat at the kitchen island and let him pour me a cup.

He set the mug in front of me and kissed the top of my head.

"Last night was big, Mar," he said. "Did you see Tilly's face?"

"I saw it."

"I know it stung a little." He leaned on the counter and gave me the grin that sold three albums. "But you always get over things. It's one of the best things about you."

I wrapped both hands around the mug and looked at his hands, not his face.

His knuckles were fine. His wedding ring was on. He had signed away three hundred thousand dollars of mine with the same hand.

"I'm not upset," I said.

The grin got wider, and the relief in it was so plain that I almost felt sorry for him.

"You're not?"

"I've been thinking about the signing," I said. "You'll want the stream mixed right. Nobody else knows your voice in a room like that."

"You'd still do it?"

"I run your sound, Beau. I always have."

He came around the island and held my face in both hands.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he said.

"I know," I said.

The doorbell rang before he could say more.

It was Tilly, in a yellow sweater and no makeup, holding a white pastry box against her chest.

"I brought the good croissants," she said. "Don't be mad at me, Marlo. Please. I almost said no on the stage."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because Beau looked so happy." She came in and put the box down and hugged me. She smelled like vanilla and the lotion I'd given her at Christmas. "And I didn't want to disappoint you. I know how much that song means."

"It's okay," I said.

"Is it?"

"Sit. Eat."

She sat. Beau sat across from her and the two of them took croissants, and for a minute it was a normal Sunday in our kitchen.

Then Tilly slid a folded paper out of her purse and put it on the island between the butter and my coffee.

"It's a formality," Beau said, before I had finished reading the heading. "Lantern's lawyers want it so there's no confusion about the song."

The heading said: Release and Waiver of Co-Writer Claim, "Porch Light."

Under it was a line for my signature and a line for his.

"Is it a license for the album?" I asked. "Or the whole thing?"

"It's just paperwork, babe."

"Marlo, you can read it later," Tilly said quickly. "I told Beau you'd want to."

"I do," I said.

I turned the page over. The back was blank.

Beau watched my face and stopped chewing.

"I want to sign it at the ceremony," I said.

"What?"

"On camera. At the table, next to you, with five hundred people watching." I smiled at him. "If I'm going to back you, I want everyone to see it."

For a second nobody in the kitchen moved.

Then Beau laughed, a big, happy sound, and kissed me on the mouth with his lips still sticky from the croissant.

"God, I love you," he said. "Tilly, you hear that? She's a legend."

"She really is," Tilly said, and she was crying a little again.

She put her hand over mine on the island.

Her hand was warm and a little damp, and her thumb pressed the knuckle of my ring finger twice, quickly, the way she did when she was nine and wanted me to keep a secret.

I wasn't sure what the secret was.

Beau looked at his phone. "I've got to run to rehearsal. You two stay and eat."

He grabbed his keys off the hook and then turned in the doorway.

"Oh, and the closing on the house got pushed," he said. "The sellers wanted more time. I'll tell you when I hear."

"Okay," I said.

"Love you."

The front door closed. His truck started in the drive.

Tilly said she was going to wash her hands and went upstairs, and I heard the guest bathroom door shut.

I took out my phone and called the number on the realtor's card, which was still in the drawer under the toaster.

She picked up on the third ring and sounded surprised to hear my voice.

"Mrs. Bledsoe," she said. "I'm glad you called. I've been meaning to reach out about your husband's message."

"What message?"

"He cancelled your house search in September. I figured the two of you had changed your minds."

"There's no closing," I said.

"There's no offer, Mrs. Bledsoe. There never was one."

Upstairs, the bathroom faucet shut off.

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