Lane crawled out of my bed at seven this morning to make it home in time to get ready for work. It had been hard to let each other go—we’d spent all day and night wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets and each other. She’d promised to return with me after choir practice.
In the meantime, I’ve ached for her all day, my thoughts a mix of the orchestral score and her. I’m making serious headway with the music—it’s bigger and grander than even I could have imagined. And in a few excruciatingly long hours, Lane and I will be alone again, in the safety of each other’s embrace. But for now, I’m here, in contact with the outside world for the first time since Lane became mine. James is reading my score, and I’m certain he can look at the notes and know that I’ve spent the past day loving Lane.
But,
