Colleen Hoover: Maybe Someday

And he hasn’t been outside at his usual time in almost a week. I’ve wanted to text him about it so many times, but if I do, then it’ll seem as if I care what he thinks of the lyrics. I don’t want to care. But I can tell by how disappointed I feel that I do care. I hate that I want him to like my lyrics. But the thought of actually having a hand in a song is a little bit exciting.

“Food should be here in a little while. I’m going to get the clothes out of the dryer,” Tori says. She opens the front door, and I perk up on the couch when I hear the familiar sound of the guitar from outside. She closes the door behind her, and as much as I want to ignore it, I rush to my room and quietly slide out onto the balcony, books in hand. If I sink far enough into my chair, he might not notice I’m out here.

But he’s looking straight at my balcony when I step outside. He doesn’t acknowledge me with a smile or even a nod of his head when I take my seat. He just continues playing, and it makes me curious to see if he’s just going to pretend our conversation last week never happened. I sort of hope so, because I’d like to pretend it never happened.

He plays the familiar songs, and it doesn’t take me long to let go of my embarrassment over the fact that he thought my lyrics were stupid. I tried to warn him.

I finish up my homework while he’s still playing, close my books and lean back, and close my eyes. It’s quiet for a minute, and then he begins playing the song I sent him lyrics for. In the middle of the song, the guitar pauses for several seconds, but I refuse to open my eyes. He continues playing just as my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Ridge: You’re not singing.

I glance at him, and he’s staring at me with a grin. He looks back down at his guitar and watches his hands as he finishes the song. Then he picks up his phone and sends another text.

Ridge: Do you want to know what I thought of the lyrics?

Me: No, I’m pretty positive I know what you thought. It’s been a week since I sent them to you. No worries. I told you they were stupid.

Ridge: Yeah, sorry about the silence. I had to leave town for a few days. Family emergency.

I don’t know if he’s telling the truth, but the fact that he claims he’s been out of town eases my fear that he hasn’t been out on his balcony because of me.

Me: Everything okay?

Ridge: Yep.

Me: Good.

Ridge: I’m only going to say this once, Sydney. Are you ready?

Me: Oh, God. No. I’m turning off my phone.

Ridge: I know where you live.

Me: Fine.

Ridge: You’re incredible. Those lyrics. I can’t even describe to you how perfect they are for the song. How in the hell does that come out of you? And why can’t you see that you need to LET it come out of you? Don’t hold it in. You’re doing the world a huge disservice with your modesty. I know I agreed not to ask you for more, but that was because I really didn’t expect to get what I got from you. I need more. Give me, give me, give me.

I let out a huge breath. Until this moment, I didn’t realize exactly how much his opinion mattered. I can’t look up at him yet. I continue to stare at my phone for much longer than it takes me to read the text. I don’t even text him back, because I’m still relishing the compliment. If he said he loved it, I would have accepted his opinion with relief, and I would have moved on. But the words he just texted were like stairs stacked one on top of the other, and each compliment was like me running up each step until I reached the top of the damn world.

Holy crap. I think this one text just gave me enough confidence to send him another song. I never would have predicted this. I never imagined I would be excited.

“Food’s here,” Tori says. “You want to eat out here?”

I tear my gaze away from the phone and look at her. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

Tori brings the food out to the balcony. “I’ve never really looked at that guy before, but damn ,” she says, staring hard at Ridge while he plays his guitar. “He’s really hot, and I don’t even like blonds.”

“His hair isn’t blond. It’s brown.”

“No, that’s blond,” she says. “But it’s dark blond, so that’s okay, I guess. Almost brown, maybe. I like the messy shag, and that body makes up for the fact that his hair isn’t black.” Tori takes a drink and leans back in her chair, still staring at him. “Maybe I’m being too picky. What do I care what color his hair is? It’ll be dark when I have my hands in it, anyway.”

I shake my head. “He’s really talented,” I say. I still haven’t responded to his text, but he doesn’t seem to be waiting around. He’s watching his hands as he plays, not paying a bit of attention to us.

“I wonder if he’s single,” Tori says. “I’d like to see what other talents he has.”

I have no idea if he’s single, but the way Tori is thinking about him makes my stomach turn. Tori is incredibly cute, and I know she could find out if he had other talents if she really wanted to. She tends to get whomever she wants in the guy department. I’ve never really minded until now.

“You don’t want to be involved with a musician,” I say, as if I have any experience that would qualify me to give her advice. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Ridge does have a girlfriend. I saw a girl on his patio with him a few weeks ago.” That’s technically not a lie. I did see one once.

Tori glances at me. “You know his name? How do you know his name?”

I shrug as if it’s no big deal. Because, honestly, it is no big deal. “He needed help with lyrics last week, so I texted him some.”

She sits up in her chair. “You know his phone number?”

I suddenly become defensive, not liking the accusatory tone in her voice. “Calm down, Tori. I don’t even know him. All I did was text him a few lyrics.”

She laughs. “I’m not judging, Syd,” she says, holding up her hands in defense. “I don’t care how much you love Hunter, if you have an opening with that ”—she flicks her hand in Ridge’s direction—“I’d be livid if you didn’t take advantage of it.”

I roll my eyes. “You know I’d never do that to Hunter.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Yeah. I know.”

We’re both looking at Ridge when he finishes the song. He picks up his phone and types something, then picks up his guitar just as my phone vibrates and he begins to play another song.

Tori reaches for my phone, but I grab it first and hold it out of her reach. “That’s from him, isn’t it?” she says. I read the text.

Ridge: When Barbie goes away, I want more.

I cringe, because there’s no way I’m letting Tori read this text. For one thing, he insulted her. Also, the second part of his text would have an entirely different meaning if she read it. I hit delete and press the power button down to lock my phone in case she snatches it away from me.

“You’re flirting,” she says teasingly. She picks up her empty plate and stands up. “Have fun with your sexting.”

Ugh. I hate that she thinks I’d ever do that to Hunter. I’ll worry about setting her straight later, though. In the meantime, I take out my notebook and find the page with the lyrics I wrote to the song he’s currently playing. I transfer them to a text, hit send, and hurry back inside.

“That was so good,” I say as I place my plate in the sink. “That’s probably my favorite Italian restaurant in all of Austin.” I walk to the couch and fall down next to Tori, trying to appear casual about the fact that she thinks I’m cheating on Hunter. The more defensive I get about it, the less likely she’ll be to believe me when I try to deny it.