Chapter 31

Ten Months Later

Charlotte Donovan used to think she was cursed. And maybe, in some small way, she had been. Cursed by her own hyperawareness on the streets of New York. Cursed with an indifferent mother. Cursed with a heartbreak the size of the Grand Canyon.

But as she stood in her small kitchen, an apron covered in rainbow candy canes around her waist as Bonnie Fairbrook taught her how to make a flourless chocolate torte for Christmas Eve dinner, she felt anything but cursed.

"And then we pour it into the molds and we're done!" Bonnie announced. "Why don't you do that, dear?"

Charlotte nodded, taking control of the ceramic bowl and eyeing a rubber muffin pan full of half circles. As she scooped her first spoonful of batter, her eye caught on her girlfriend.

No.

Her fiancée.

As of last night, in fact.

Brighton stood by the Christmas tree in their living room—the same tree Charlotte had knelt beside when she'd asked Brighton to marry her, while their labradoodle puppy, Pistachio, had watched with curiosity—and adjusted some ornaments with her dad with one hand, sipping on a glass of wine with the other. The aquamarine ring Charlotte had given her glinted in the sparkling lights.

Charlotte smiled.

Not cursed at all.

Lucky.

The luckiest.

Back in February, after a few days of barely leaving her hotel room, after several discussions about how they'd manage long-distance, after a lot of teary snuggles in bed, Charlotte had gone back to New York. She'd found a therapist she didn't hate. She'd taught her classes, wrote and arranged her music. Things were very much the same, and they were completely different.

For one, Elle had left the quartet. Mimi, Elle's grandmother, had decided to sell her apartment at the Elora and wasn't doing all that well by herself in LA. Elle wanted to go out West to be with her. No one blamed them—the quartet knew Mimi was everything to Elle, though Manish took the break especially hard.

Charlotte kept waiting for panic to overcome her—finding another cellist of Elle's caliber was going to be tricky, and Charlotte was, of course, famously picky—but it never happened. She didn't even really feel an urgency to search for a fourth. Manish was officially dating Dorian and was in Colorado half the time anyway. And Sloane…well, Sloane and Wes had been reunited for all of three months before they got engaged. Wes was moving to New York to open a restaurant in Brooklyn, and musically, Sloane had been doing more and more solo work lately.

The fate of the Rosalind Quartet was uncertain.

And Charlotte was okay with that.

She was shocked by this development, having built the group herself and poured her entire soul into it for the last two and a half years. She sat with her therapist, Talia, and discussed it over several sessions.

"I don't know what's happening to me," Charlotte had said. "The Rosalind Quartet is all I've ever wanted."

"Is it?" Talia had asked, resting her iPad stylus against her orange-framed glasses. She loved turning one of Charlotte's statements into a question. "Or do you want a musical career?"

"Of course I do."

"Does it have to be a quartet? Or even this quartet?"

Charlotte had sighed. Slumped back in Talia's leather armchair. She'd thought back to playing with Brighton on Ampersand's stage in Nashville. She'd felt electric. Wild in a way she'd never felt with the quartet. She loved the quartet, of course. Loved symphony halls, the quiet and awed audience.

But she loved the singer-songwriter stage too.

And she loved directing the small ensemble she'd been asked to conduct this last semester at the Manhattan School of Music. She loved arranging and writing, performing Rachmaninoff and Charlotte Donovan originals. Brighton Fairbrook originals. She loved so many things about music, about violin.

Talia was right—her career didn't have to be Rosalind. It could be anything she wanted.

And as winter shifted into spring, more and more she wanted Brighton.

Of course she wanted her career—that would never change—but the distance between her and Brighton felt like it was tugging at her more and more every day. Brighton never pressured her, and Charlotte never considered asking Brighton to move to New York. Sure, compromise was a part of any relationship, and she knew Brighton would try it if she asked. Which, honestly, was all the more reason for Charlotte to keep New York off the table. She loved New York, but she loved Brighton Fairbrook more.

When she started looking into possible openings in the music faculty at Vanderbilt University—she knew one of the viola professors there from Berklee—she didn't tell Brighton at first. Moving to Nashville was something she realized she really wanted—not only for Brighton but also for herself. But she knew she had to have her own life in place before she made it a reality.

She wanted to do it right this time.

So when the director of the Blair School of Music at Vanderbilt offered her a violin professorship off a phone interview alone, based on Charlotte's already impressive accomplishments and reputation in the classical-music community, she took it as a sign.

It was time to say goodbye to New York.

Brighton was thrilled—though a bit adorably pouty that Charlotte had kept her plans a secret—and Charlotte moved to Nashville during a blistering July. They rented a small house in East Nashville, and Charlotte started at Vanderbilt in August. Since then, the two of them had played at least fifteen shows at Ampersand, to a growing crowd each time.

They'd named their duo Beach Glass.

And Charlotte…Charlotte was happy.

"I think that one's full, dear," Bonnie said.

"What?" Charlotte said, pulling her eyes away from Brighton and looking down at a half circle overflowing with cake batter. "Oh, shoot, sorry."

Bonnie laughed, then glanced at her daughter as she slipped an arm around Charlotte's waist, squeezing her tight. "No harm done."

Charlotte laughed too, cleaned up the mess. She'd just slipped the rubber pan into the fridge to set when the doorbell rang. Pistachio erupted into a series of adorable barks, and Brighton quieted her firmly, just like the dog trainer had shown them.

"They're here!" Brighton yelled once Pistachio was calm and settled with Hank. She flew to the front door, but she paused before opening it and turned to Charlotte in the kitchen. She held out her hand. "Babe?"

Charlotte nodded, then took off her apron and hurried to join her fiancée so they could open the door to their home together. It was a small thing, even a cheesy thing, and it made Charlotte's heart feel as big as a snowy Colorado mountain.

She laced her fingers with Brighton's, kissed her knuckles, then her mouth. Brighton beamed, took a deep breath, and opened the door, letting in a burst of cold December air and a chorus of greetings as Adele, Sloane, Wes, Dorian, and Manish spilled into the house.

For a few minutes, it was a flurry of noise and hugs and introductions to Brighton's parents, but Charlotte and Brighton finally found their way to a quieter moment with Sloane and Adele by the tree.

"Okay, let me see this rock," Adele said, grabbing Brighton's left hand, where a pale aquamarine stone sat on a thick silver band, filigreed gold branches and leaves curling over the surface.

Charlotte smiled every time she saw it. So did Brighton, which was the whole point. When Charlotte had decided she wanted to ask Brighton to marry her—well, she'd always wanted to ask Brighton to marry her, from the second she decided in that hotel bar in Paris that she wanted Brighton for herself—she knew she didn't want to use their rings from their first engagement.

This was a different time.

A different Charlotte and a different Brighton.

She'd started looking for rings pretty soon after she moved to Nashville, hunting the corners of the internet for something unique and handmade. Finally, she found a queer metalworker in Seattle with an Etsy shop whose style felt exactly right for Brighton Fairbrook. After several emails, the ring on Brighton's finger was born, as one of a kind as Brighton herself.

"Wow, gorgeous," Sloane said, peering closer, her own ring glinting on her finger.

"It's perfect, baby girl," Adele said, her eyes shining as she pulled Brighton in for a hug.

"Yeah, Lola did good," Brighton said, holding her friend close and winking at Charlotte over her shoulder. "We're thinking summer."

"Not December?" Sloane asked, nudging Charlotte's shoulder.

Charlotte laughed. "Going to try something a little different."

"Good plan," Adele said. "Plus, I want to swim in Lake Michigan. I've never even seen it."

"Summer for sure, then," Charlotte said.

"You'll be my best mate?" Brighton asked Adele.

Adele tilted her head. "Like…?"

"Like maid of honor," Brighton said. "But Adele, my darling, you are anything but a maiden."

Adele roared at that, then pulled Brighton into her arms again. "Hell yes. To all of that."

Charlotte and Sloane smiled at each other. Charlotte had already asked Sloane to be her own best mate last night, when she'd texted Sloane with the engagement news. The Berry sisters were the only people they planned to have in the wedding party, and Charlotte wanted Manish to officiate. She couldn't think of anyone more perfect for the job, and she hoped Elle would be able to come east to play their cello as Brighton and Charlotte walked down the aisle.

To a new song.

One they planned to write together.

"Okay, okay, enough of that," Adele said, but she wiped under her eyes a bit as she pulled back from Brighton. "I need a drink."

"Hear, hear!" Manish said as Wes handed Sloane a glass of wine and Dorian did the same for Adele. Manish lifted his own glass. "A toast!"

Bonnie slipped glasses into Charlotte's and Brighton's hands, and they all waited while Manish grinned.

Charlotte felt like she might burst—the soft lights of their Christmas decorations, Brighton at her side, the Fairbrooks, her friends.

Her family.

She'd invited Anna…who had declined.

And while it hurt—her mother's indifference would never stop hurting, as Talia had helped her realize and accept—Charlotte also knew, believed , that Anna was the one missing out. Anna's lack of care for her daughter was just that— Anna's .

"To the newly engaged Charlotte and Brighton," Manish said, eyes glinting. "I never thought I'd live to see Charlotte Donovan so decidedly ungrumpy."

"Easy," Charlotte said, but she was smiling.

Manish laughed, but then he grew more serious. "And to friends. To family. To love." He winked at Dorian, who grinned back.

"To love," everyone echoed, then drank.

"All right, enough sappy sh—" Manish cut himself off, smiling wide-eyed at the Fairbrooks.

Bonnie laughed. "You can say shit , Manish."

"Okay, then, enough sappy shit!" Manish said. "What we all really want is a live performance by Beach Glass."

Charlotte feigned confusion. "Who are they? Sounds made-up."

But Brighton clapped and squealed, then hurried down the hall to their guest–slash–music room while everyone else settled on the turquoise sectional—a gift from Elle upon their move—and the squashy cream-colored armchairs Charlotte had brought from her own New York apartment. Wes pulled over two mismatched dining chairs from their small table and set them up in front of the tree.

"Et tu?" Charlotte asked him.

He laughed, then side-hugged her.

"How's the restaurant?" she asked.

"Great. Not quite breaking even yet, but we will. Soon. Dorian's holding down Elements in Winter River."

Charlotte smiled. "Good. And hey"—she squeezed his arm—"I never said thank you."

He frowned. "For what?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, pausing to get the words right. "For listening to me last Christmas. For being a good friend. You didn't judge me. Didn't think less of me. You just let me spill my guts, and I think it made a big difference. In getting me to where I am now."

His expression softened. "Charlotte. You did the same for me, you know."

"Yeah, but I didn't do it on purpose."

He laughed. "Fair enough."

"But you did," she said. "You're the best guy, Wes."

He grinned. "I'm glad you think so."

She full-on hugged him then. "Take care of the best girl," she said into his shoulder, his wool sweater tickling her cheek.

"We'll take care of each other," he said.

"I know you will."

They pulled apart as Brighton came back down the hall with her guitar already strapped on, Charlotte's violin case in hand. Wes settled next to Sloane on the couch, his arm around her while she held a sleepy Pistachio in her lap, and everyone chatted while Charlotte sat down and tuned her instrument. When she finished, she didn't call everyone back together immediately. Not just yet.

"Hey," she said to Brighton, who was sitting next to her and lightly strumming her guitar.

"Hey yourself," Brighton said, tilting her head at her.

"Come here," Charlotte said, tilting her chin, an invitation for a kiss.

Their lips met, and Charlotte breathed in her love, her best friend.

"I'm gonna marry you," she said against Brighton's mouth.

"Bet your ass you are," Brighton said back.

They kissed a few more times, enough that Manish finally yelled at them to stop being so fucking cute. They pulled apart, laughing. Charlotte set her violin on her shoulder. Brighton nodded at her, fingers ready on her guitar.

And then they played.