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EmmabeautifulEmmaI’velovedyouforeverIwasbornto —”
    â€œWhoa.” I put up a hand. “Hold your horses.”
    His eyes go wide. “What’s wrong?”
    I look at the others, and the two I don’t know—one man, one woman—whisper to each other. But about Grey or about me, I don’t know.
    â€œI mean, it was a little fast, don’t you think?”
    â€œDo it again, Grey,” Brooks says. “Give the girl something to work with.”
    â€œI thought you said it doesn’t matter.”
    â€œWell, it matters to me,” I tell him. “Kind of a lot.”
    He gets a chastened look, like a little kid, and goes from hard-edged to sweet in the blink of an eye. Then his expression reforms, and he shrugs. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m not feeling great.”
    â€œNo problem.” But it feels like I’m losing control over everything here. This moment. My life.
    A vision forms in my mind: me, hauling my lone cello onto a bus, bound for Lexington. Me in my little attic bedroom, listening to my parents argue as my brother’s three kids run screaming around the house. My sister-in-law, Jordan, is military—deployed to Afghanistan for a fifteen-month tour.
    They all need me. If I go home, I know I’ll never leave again.
    But if I stay, I can figure out a way to help and have a life. My own.
    I look over at Mia, sending “help me” vibes her way.
    â€œI’ve got an idea,” she says, brightly, and gets up from behind the table. “Why don’t you guys stand up for this?”
    She looks at Brooks. “I just think it might change up the energy a bit. What do you think?”
    â€œGood idea, Mia,” he says. “Up you go, Grey.”
    He sighs and gets up, planting his boots like he’s about to take a punch. Stuffing the script into his pocket, he tells me, “Go again.”
    Part of a tattoo peeks out of the neck of his t-shirt, a wing of some kind, along with a tendril that traces along the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple. It looks like a vine or a branch. I can’t tell, but I have an irrational desire to see the rest of it. It’s like when I was a kid and took cello lessons. It used to drive me crazy to wait for the teacher to turn the page on my music. I wanted it all there in front of me. All the notes.
    â€œSky?” Mia prompts.
    â€œSorry. Okay.” I’m blowing this so majorly, but at least let me get out the lines.
    I take a step toward him, look into his eyes, and just let everything else go. “What did you come to tell me, George?” This time, it comes out the way I’d imagined saying it. World-weary and skittish about what I’m going to hear.
    â€œEmma. Beautiful Emma. I’ve loved you forever. I was born to love you. I’ve been here all along. I was just waiting for you to see me.”
    He’s not an actor, but he puts something into it this time. There’s depth there and a rich timbre in his voice that weaves its way into me.
    I glance at the sides and then back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t love me. You told me yourself. I’m a phony. I meddle too much—”
    He laughs, the perfect note. “You do meddle too much. And you get it all wrong, most of the time.”
    â€œ Most of the time?” I smile at him, allowing myself—allowing Emma —to soften just a bit, to allow in the first stirrings of hope.
    â€œOkay, I’m sorry.” Grey comes closer. He reaches for me, a little tentatively, and the warm strength of his hands on my shoulders surprises me. It’s like being anchored by a tree with roots that spread to the center of the earth. “You get it all wrong all the time. Because you’re in the wrong line of work.”
    â€œBut, I love what I do.”
    â€œI mean setting people up. Trying to fix people who don’t need fixing.”
    â€œI don’t do