"You’re good at making music,” I correct him.

He takes the spoon from me and stirs the teas, then sets them on the table. “No one writes lyrics like you do, Laney. Give yourself some credit.”

“Did.”

“Huh?”

“Writes lyrics like I did. I don’t anymore.”

His grin slips for a fraction of a second before he secures its spot again and tilts his head to the side. “Whatchu talking about?”

This is not a complicated concept to grasp. “I don’t write anymore. I can’t.”

"Can’t or are unwilling?”

I march over to a wicker basket that I keep near the fireplace in my apartment, pick it up from the floor and hand it to him. Crumpled papers, shredded loose leaf, cocktail napkins and post-it notes--all of which contain my recent failures in songwriting-- spill over the top. I take my notebook from my purse, tear the page from tonight out and add it to the top of the pile.

Finn looks crushed when he realizes what he’s holding.

I laugh a little then try to reason with him. “It was more of a hobby anyway.”

 His eyebrows furrow, he doesn’t try to mask his disappointment. I'd forgotten that one of the things I found most beautiful about Finn, he wore his emotions like a flashing sign around his neck. “For some people.”

Ugh. I’ve offended him. He thinks there’s a real shot at making it in the music industry. For a long while, I indulged his dreams, I shared them, together, we lived them.

I brush my fingertips across the top of his arm. “Finn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

His gaze turns tender as he looks down at my hand. “Try again. Write again,” he says. “For me. For Stay Tuned.”

I grin at the mention of his band, happy he never changed the name. “I can’t.”

He sets the basket down and pulls out a chair out for me. “Listen, I’m begging you to at least try. Starlight Records wants to sign us.”

I almost spew the tea I just sipped. Starlight records is an industry giant...maybe he really was still living his dreams. "Finn, that’s fantastic!”

“Yes and no. There’s a catch.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

I extend a finger and point it backward at myself as if I have to confirm. “Me?”

“You.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 “That they know a good thing when they see it.”

“Look,” I say. “I’m all for the cryptic and mysterious bad boy but make with your words. What are you trying to say? It's your band, not mine."

“You think I’m cryptic and mysterious?” he asks, amused.

 “I think you’re avoiding the subject.”

“Like the plague," he acknowledges, "I just want to tell you something else first."

"I'm all ears."

He runs his eyes over my body so intensely, that I actually squirm in my chair. "I beg to differ. In fact, I think you're mostly curves."

I put on my stern face, otherwise he'll never get around to the real reason he came here. "What do you want to say?"

He sighs. "I want you to know I didn't suddenly track you down 'cause I need something from you. I was trying to find you anyway. Starlight just expedited the process."

"Fine. You were trying to find me. Obviously you need something from me, so just spit it out already."

“The condition of our contract is to have the same songwriter who worked on our demo for our debut."

Holy crap. This is serious.

I blink. “They want me?”

"They want you," he says. "I want you. Come with me. Come back with me to California. We can take a road trip."

Now it's my turn to wear my heart on my sleeve. "What? Are you crazy?"

He smirks, "Only for you, pretty girl."

 A butterfly takes flight in my stomach. "Knock it off, Finn. You can't charm your way out of this." I'm lying... and badly. That voice, those eyes. I'd probably do anything for him, including but not limited to abandoning my common sense. "I can't come with you."

"Can't or are unwilling?"

"Unwilling," I say. "And can't. As in, I'm unwilling to come but can't anyway. My writing is crap."

In a risky move, his slides his chair across the linoleum so he's close to me. "Maybe you lost your passion somewhere along the way."

I glare at him. "You don't lose passion, Finn. It's not like you misplace it with your car keys."

"You need someone to bring it out in you again."

 "And I suppose next thing you're going to say is that you're up for the job."

"I am. No one knows you like me."

"How would you know?"

 "I inexplicably do. It doesn't matter how hard I tried to get over you, I never did. I can tell you didn't get over me either. It was written all over your face when you saw me--wait, you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?"

"It's none of your business."

 "Since I just asked you to pack up and come with me, not to mention a little bit of a confession about still being mad about you, I think it is a fair question."

Valid. "No," I say. "No boyfriend."

How can he do this to me after all this time? I loved him for so long, I'm pretty sure I love him still. In fact, I've spent the last few years lying to myself and to every one else. The reason I never found someone is because my heart belonged to him. 

"So," he continues. "What's stopping you? Are you scared?”

His question is innocent enough but it makes me angry. Ears-Steaming-Mind-Screaming-Blood-Boiling, angry. I slide my chair away from his and extend my pointer finger like it can inflict damage. I press it to his chest. "What's stopping me? Are you serious? You're stopping me, Finn! It doesn't work like that," I say through clenched teeth. "You don't get to walk back in here after all this time and ask me for help."

"I know it seems kind of presumptuous," he starts, but I cut him off.

"Kind of, huh? You know what is presumptuous? Presuming that I would drop my life to go with you. You're so jaded, Finn. Oblivious." My brain begs me to stop making such a big deal but my heart, my heart which was shattered by Finn, whether intentional or not, wants revenge. I rise to my feet, adrenaline fuelling my momentum. Something possesses me to grab my mug and pitch it across the room. On contact with the wall, it shatters and the dark, fragrant tea seeps down.

He swears. "I take back what I said about you losing your passion, because there it is." He stands and tosses his mug next to the spot on the wall where my tea is dripping down, and screams loudly, "Opa!"

Opa? I can't help it. I crack up. I start to laugh. The kind of chuckle that starts in your lower belly and travels upward and erupts with more force than you intend. Finn's features soften, both sides of his lips curl upward and he starts to laugh too. We are this way for what feels like a long time, just laughing and every time I think I've got a grip, the giggles start again.

This entire situation reminds me of the day we met. The way we met and how insane that all seemed. When we laugh so long my sides hurt, I look at Finn, who has tears in his eyes.

"This is certifiable."

"Life is certifiable. A crazy ride. C'mon Laney, quit running full speed ahead and getting nowhere. Come with me. If at any point you want to call the whole thing off, I'll buy you a first class ticket home. I swear." He holds his hand up palm forward; a pledge.

I don't say anything but I know I want to go with him. I want to follow him anywhere and try to capture the feeling that my memories are made of.

Finn shifts on his feet, "Whaddya say, pretty girl?"

"When do we leave?"

The grin that stretches across his face is undeniable.

Finn sits on the edge of my bed, flicking a guitar pick with his fingernail and watching me pack. As we talk, I slip into a much more comfortable version of myself that I haven't seen in a while. I missed this version of myself-- almost as much as I missed Finn. He was always so easy to talk to. We didn’t have to work at loving each other, supporting each other. We didn’t have to work at anything which is maybe why we worked.