Smitten

My roommate, McKenna, bursts into the living room from her bedroom, apparently lured by the sound of Reed, Georgina, and me entering the apartment. Almost certainly, McKenna is intending to ask me how my performance at the coffeehouse went earlier, and the minute she finds the head of River Records standing in the middle of our apartment, she gasps like she’s seeing a ghost.

I bound over to McKenna and pull her over to Reed and Georgina. “McKenna, this is my beloved sister, Georgina, and her boyfriend, Reed Rivers—the founder and CEO of River Records—which, as of tonight . . . is my new record label!”

McKenna’s jaw practically clanks to the floor.

“Yep,” Reed says. “Ally is now officially a River Records artist. Well, we’ve come to a verbal agreement, anyway. Paperwork will be signed this week.”

McKenna looks shocked. She chokes out, “Are you messing with me?”

And when I swear I’m not, when I swear Reed signed me to a one-song deal, she throws her arms around me and squeals.

“It’s only for one song,” I murmur into McKenna’s hair, not wanting to make this sound like a bigger deal than it is. I mean, it is a big deal. The biggest deal of my life, besides getting into Berklee. But I’m not a fool. I know Reed only signed me because he’s trying to win favor with Georgina. At dinner, Reed denied that was the case. He said, “I’d never compromise my business judgment for anyone or anything, even Georgie. My name and reputation are far too valuable for that.” And, of course, I appreciated his assurances. But I’m young, not stupid. So much so, halfway through dinner, I actually contemplated turning Reed down.

But then, I thought, Are you crazy, Alessandra? I realized, while I probably got this chance through nepotism, what matters now is what I do with that chance. It’s not the same thing, but I thought about Fish saying he didn’t have to audition for 22 Goats because he’s known Dax since second grade. And I thought to myself, “Regardless of how Fish got into his band, look how much he’s learned and blossomed through the years! Well, Alessandra, you can learn and blossom, too, just like Fish, under Reed’s expert guidance!”

And it won’t only be Reed’s guidance, either. At dinner, Reed said he wants to hire freaking Zeke Emmanuel, the hottest producer in the music biz—the architect of Laila’s blockbuster sophomore album—to produce my single! And how could I say no to that, even if Reed is only signing me as a gift to Georgina? Plus, it’s not like I totally sucked tonight. On the contrary, I sang all my songs better than ever. Especially “Blindsided.” When I sang that one, I felt like I’d cracked open my very soul for the audience!

“Should we open this up, ladies?” Reed says, holding up the bottle of fancy champagne he brought with him from the restaurant.

“Does a bear poop in the woods, Reed Rivers?” I shout, and both Reed and Georgie look at each other and guffaw.

“She’s hilarious when she drinks,” Reed says.

Georgina giggles. “She does it so rarely, I always feel like I’m watching a shooting star streaking across the sky, when she does.”

“I’ll get cups!” I sing out happily, and then jeté joyfully across the room into my small kitchen.

Flowers.

I stop short when I see them on the kitchen counter—a spectacular bouquet of stargazer lilies and purple lilacs. I rush over to the vase and inhale deeply, and then snatch up the small envelope on the counter with my name on it.

“Break a leg tonight, Little Lioness. I know you’re gonna SLAY. Sending lots and lots of kisses. TGCFWHLB.BNR.”

I laugh out loud when I decode the sender’s initials: The Goat Called Fish Who’s Hung Like a Bull. But Not Really. Obviously, my darling Fish intended me to get this gift before my gig tonight, but I wasn’t here all day to receive them. “Oh, Matthew,” I whisper to myself, holding the card to my breasts. I lean down and smell the fragrant flowers again, and feel my skin erupt with goose bumps at the coded messages embedded in these special blooms.

Almost certainly, Fish didn’t personally choose the flowers in this bouquet. Surely, the florist did, after consultation with Fish. I’m sure Fish told the florist his recipient was hoping to impress a big record label guy, so the florist smartly suggested stargazers as the perfect bloom.

As for the purple lilacs . . . Yes, they’re making my heart burst with excitement. But that’s because I’m a weirdo who knows exactly what they meant in Victorian times. Surely, though, Fish has no idea what purple lilacs mean! The florist probably asked Fish my favorite color, and he correctly guessed purple, thanks to the bikini I was wearing when he met me.