Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet 2)

“Happy birthday,” Savage says, entering the living room, and I quickly stop playing the song I was working on—the passionate love song about Savage that came to me in my sleep.

When Savage reaches me, he kisses me in greeting and then makes me scootch over on the piano bench so he can join me. “The big two-five,” he says, settling himself next to me. “I should have gotten you a walker for your birthday.”

“You didn’t? Darn.”

Savage tickles the ivories playfully. “Nope. Unfortunately, all I got you was a baby grand, just like this one, that’ll be delivered to your place when we’re booted out of here in a few weeks.”

I gasp. “No.”

Savage grins. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Squealing, I hug him and thank him profusely, and we talk about my exciting gift for several minutes. “So, hey,” I say, “speaking of us being booted out of here in a few weeks.” I take a deep breath. I’ve been wanting to broach this topic with Savage for a few weeks now. He’s told me in the past he hates feeling “tied down” or “locked in,” but we’ve been so happy together, I can’t stand the thought of not waking up to his face every morning after we leave here. Savage couldn’t possibly want to live apart when our contractual relationship is over, could he? I walk my fingers up the piano keys, mustering my courage. “When we leave this house, where are you planning to live?”

When he’s silent, I gather the courage to peek at Savage’s face and find him red and flustered.

“A hotel?” I ask, returning to the piano keys.

“Uh . . . yeah. A hotel.”

“I figured. I’ve been thinking, though . . . maybe it would be fun if you came to live with me at my condo.” Savage says nothing, so I peek at him again. This time, he looks like his mind is racing. Like he’s been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Uh oh, did I scare you away?” I’ve tried to make my tone sound light and bright. Like this is no biggie. Ha, ha. Just a wild idea. But, truthfully, I feel disappointed he hasn’t replied with a quick and simple yes. But oh well, at least he hasn’t given me an immediate no. So, that’s something.

Savage’s features soften when he sees whatever look of anxiety has crept onto my face. “Of course, you didn’t scare me away, Fitzy,” he says. “Nothing you could say or do could possibly scare me away. I just don’t want to be a mooch, that’s all.”

I sigh with relief. “Don’t think of it like that, babe. I have a place and you don’t. This makes sense. One plus one equals two.”

Savage bites his lower lip. “You know what? You’re right. Of course, we should live together after the show, since I don’t have a place of my own.”

“Exactly.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Savage snickers.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just excited. Thanks for asking me to live with you.”

“Thanks for saying yes.” I shudder with excitement. “This is going to be so fun!”

Savage smiles broadly. “Yes, it is. ‘A grand adventure,’ as Mimi always used to say.”

“Indeed.”

We seal the deal with a kiss, after which I squeal again and say, “I can’t wait to play my new piano in my condo! It’ll be a tight fit, but I can get rid of a couple chairs and make it work.”

“What were you working on when I came in? I heard a snippet. It sounded amazing.”

I shake my head.

As Savage knows, I don’t reveal my works in progress until I’m certain the song is worthy of being born. And that’s especially true of the song I was just working on about Savage. It’s the most honest, passionate song I’ve ever written in my life. A song I’m nervous might freak Savage out a bit, to be honest, if I play it before its time, since it contains some lyrics that will express things to Savage we haven’t yet said to each other. I’ve told Savage I love him many times. But telling him I’m going to love him forever, that my love is “infinite and everlasting,” as this song does, repeatedly, feels like taking our relationship to the next level, and I’m not sure he’s ready for that yet.

“Okay, then, if you won’t play me whatever you were working on when I came in,” Savage says, “then play me something. You can’t whet my appetite like that and then leave me hanging.”

“Sure. Any requests?”

“How about one of your cool Laila Fitzgerald covers?”

I can’t help smiling. Savage loves it when I transform one of my favorite songs by another artist into a slowed-down, piano cover. I pause, considering my options, and then start playing the intro to “Fireflies” by our friends, 22 Goats—one of my all-time favorite songs to sing. But since I’m playing the song much slower than the recorded original, and also on nothing but piano, Savage only recognizes the song when I start singing the famous first line: “Fireflies, you’ve got me feeling ‘em/never before or since.”