He brings his foot up on his knee and shakes his head. “Baby, you’re too nice sometimes. You need to be more assertive.”

We both freeze a few seconds later when we realize that he called me baby. I’m not sure if I like the nickname or not, but at the same time I like that he’s given it to me.

“Sorry about the baby,” he says, his fingers caressing the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean for that to come out like that… in fact, I’ve always thought it was a silly pet name or whatever you want to call it.”

My phone is buzzing in my hand, but I don’t look down at it. “It’s okay,” I say. “You can give me a pet name, but maybe just not baby.”

He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Then what do you want me to call you? Sweetie?”

I shake my head. “Too sugary. And I’m not sugary.”

“I beg to differ,” he says musingly. “But if you don’t want me to call you that, I won’t.”

“I’ve always liked when you call me Nova like the car,” I admit, wanting to throw my phone against the ground as it buzzes again. I should be more worried that my band is upset, but being here, and why I came here, have got me distracted.

The corners of his lips quirk. “That’s a really long nickname.”

“Well, how about this,” I say. “How about you just call me Nova, except for special occasions, like my birthday and yours, and then you’ll call me Nova like the car.”

He wets his lips with his tongue and it makes me want to kiss him again… never stop kissing him. “Sounds good to me,” he says, and then he leans in, brushing his lips across mine as if he’s read my mind or something.

It’s a quick kiss, though, and we end up breaking apart as my phone buzzes for the fourth time.

Jaxon: I told him u were sorry, but he’s still pissed.

Jaxon: Nova, I think we might really have to kick u out, at least for a while.

Jaxon: Nova, what the hell. Please respond.

Nikko: I can’t believe u played for another band.

I stare at the screen forever, wondering what to type. The more I think about it, the more anxious I get, which isn’t what I need at the moment. So in the end I put my phone away and rest my head on Quinton’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah, or at least I will be. I just need to relax and breathe for a while.”

He doesn’t argue, resting his head on mine, and we sit that way for the next hour. It’s probably one of the best hours I’ve had in my entire life, and if I could, I’d just stay this way, frozen in time, but I know I can’t. It’s part of my problem. Never wanting to let go. Fearing big changes. Fearing what will happen if I alter my life. Take risks.

Finally the sun starts to set and we get up from the bench and make our way home. But we stop at a construction site for Quinton to show me the house he’s working on. It’s not much at the moment, but I can see why he’s so proud. Putting a home together for a family that needs it.

“It’s amazing,” I say as I make a circle around the first floor, which doesn’t have walls. The floor is plywood. There are spotlights set up on the ground to light up the area as people work hard in the dark to get the house finished. “It’s like a real house and everything.”

He watches me as he grips a beam above our head. “As opposed to a fake one?”

I laugh and then playfully swat his arm. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs and the sound is so breathtaking that I have to take out my camera and record it. “Smile for the camera, please,” I tell him, lifting my phone up and aiming it at him.

“Are you going to record everything?” he wonders as I zoom in on his face.

I lower the camera, frowning. “Sorry. Is it bothering you?”

He shakes his head, seeming genuine. “No, I just want to know. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I raise the camera back up and he appears on the screen again. “I’ll stop in a little while. I just want to remember all this… and recording makes me feel better.”

“Well, then record away while I give you the grand tour,” he says, releasing the beam, then proceeds to lead me around the home, introducing me to people here and there. He smiles so much as he points out everything, telling me which pieces he’s put together. He’s proud of his accomplishment and he should be. It makes me want to accomplish more myself.

“You look so happy,” I dare to say as we head up the stairs to the second floor.

His forehead creases. “I do?”

I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It makes me want to do stuff like this,” I say. “Well, not like this, since I can’t build, but help people in some way.”

“You help people more than you think,” he says, trailing off as we arrive on the top floor.

There’s a thirtysomething guy with a scruffy jaw, wearing a plaid coat, banging a hammer against a piece of wood. Country music plays on a stereo in the corner and a small light is perched in the center of things, illuminating the darkness night has brought on.

“And this is Wilson,” Quinton says as he approaches the guy with a sort of uneasy look on his face.

Wilson glances up at Quinton, seeming startled. “Holy shit, I didn’t see you even come in here.” His eyes drift to me and he lowers the hammer to his side. “Who’s this?” He asks it, but it sounds like he already knows who I am.

“This is Nova,” Quinton tells him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Recognition crosses Wilson’s face as he sets the hammer down on the floor, then brushes his hands off on the sides of his pants. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, approaching me with his hand extended.

I grasp it and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Wilson glances over at Quinton with a cocky look on his face and Quinton rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Well, I hope good things,” Wilson says, returning his attention to me.

I nod, letting go of his hand. “Yes, always good things.”

Smiling, Wilson leans over to pick a bottle of water up off the floor. “Okay, so I just have to say that I love your name.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, glancing over at Quinton, wondering if he told Wilson the story behind it. “I was named after my father’s car.”

“I know,” Wilson says, taking a drink before setting the bottle back down on the ground beside a blue lunchbox. “Quinton told me, and I have to say that your dad had excellent taste in cars.”

He said had, which means he knows my father has passed away, which means Quinton’s been telling him stuff about me. I like the idea for some reason, that he would take the time to talk about me with Wilson, someone I know he looks up to, even though he hasn’t flat-out said it.

After we chat a little bit, Wilson asks if we want to help him for a while. Quinton starts to shake his head, but I say yes, loving the idea of doing something that helps others. Although I don’t really help out that much, since I have no idea how to build a house or anything, but I get tools for them when they need them. I start to notice a lot of things as I observe the two of them putting a house together, like how happy Quinton seems to be here. He keeps making jokes and every once in a while he comes over and gives me a kiss on the forehead or cheek, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t he’ll miss his chance. It feels like we really might be boyfriend and girlfriend or at least close. The last time I was at this place was with Landon and I never thought I’d have that again, but I think I was wrong. I think I want what I had with Landon with Quinton, only better. I want us to be able to talk about stuff no matter what, even if it’s difficult.

“What?” Quinton asks at one point, his face masked with curiosity, and I realize that I’m staring at him with a big grin on my face.

I shake my head, unable to erase my smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling better. That’s all.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He smiles back and starts hammering a nail while I return to watching him move, because I’m finding it fascinating. After he gets the board nailed into place he glances around confusedly. “Where’s Wilson go?” he asks.

I point at the stairway. “He muttered something about going to check up on the guys below and then wandered in that direction.”

“Shit, I didn’t even see him walk away.”

“That’s because you’re in the zone.”

He smiles at me, then turns to go back to hammering as the song on the radio switches to a slower one.

“It’s really pretty up here,” I say, looking up at the sky through a small section of the home where the roof isn’t up yet. “You can see so many stars.”

“You know, I remember the last time you and I looked up at the stars,” Quinton says, walking up to me. “In Vegas… we played twenty questions and then we danced.”

I look up at him. “Yeah, and you promised me a redo. You know, I’ve really been dying to see your stellar dancing skills again. The ones your grandma taught you.”

“Yeah, I would never have told you that if I hadn’t been high,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed. “But anyway.” He extends his hand. “You want to dance?”

I glance around at the home with no walls, the sound of power tools filling the air. “Right here?”

He nods as I slip my hand into his and he pulls me toward him. Then he backs to the stereo in the corner and turns up the music so loudly that I can barely hear anything but the beat and lyrics.

“You know, I’ve never been a fan of country music,” I admit as he walks back to me.

“Ha, well, now I know something about music that you don’t,” he says, placing his hands on my hips. “Because I listen to it all the time.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Are you a fan?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I know the lyrics to this song.”

“I wouldn’t be too proud of that,” I joke.

“No way,” he says as he starts to rock us to the rhythm of the song. “You are so music-superior, but this time I got you.”

“Yeah, you totally got me,” I say with an underlying meaning that I think he picks up on. But I don’t care. He has me right now, in this moment. I’m completely caught up in him and all the bad that was nipping at my heels has dissipated. And it continues to be nonexistent as we dance, laughing when he pushes me away and makes me do a silly little spin. And when he draws me back to him, I can’t help but smile as I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Quinton, thank you,” I say softly as I hold on to him.

“For what?” he wonders.

“For making me feel better today,” I say, his muscles going rigid. “I really needed it.”

He pauses and then he pulls me closer, resting his chin on top of my head. “You’re welcome, Nova like the car.”

We dance for one more song, and then Wilson walks up and catches us. He starts cracking jokes about always knowing Quinton was a softy, something Quinton pretends to be annoyed about, but I don’t think it really bothers him.

About an hour later, we leave to go back to Quinton’s house. I feel strangely content on the inside, walking under the stars with him. I’m really glad I decided to be impulsive and come out here. It’s late, though, and I know that in a few hours I’ll have to go to sleep and then when I wake up the magic of this day will be over as I head back home. But I try not to think about it and focus on spending time with him.

When we get back to Quinton’s house, his dad is still at work, so he fixes us dinner—grilled cheese and soup. After we’re finished, I help him clean up the dishes.

“So what do you want to do?” Quinton asks as he places the last dish into the dishwasher. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a bit of dirt on his forehead, which I reach up and wipe away.

I glance down at the dirt on my arms and then sniff myself. “I feel really gross,” I say, scrunching my nose. “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure.” He shuts the dishwasher door. “Let me show you where it is.”

He takes me to the upstairs bathroom, then briefly lingers in the doorway, seeming like he wants to say something, before clearing his throat and leaving me to take a shower. After I pull my shirt off and slip out of my jeans, I turn on the water, then sit down on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to warm up, ready to dive in and wash up. It’s been a long day—that’s for sure. But it’s made me feel better and made me feel like, no matter what happens with Tristan, Delilah, and my band, I can handle it. I hope I’m right. I hope I don’t fall apart. I hope I’m strong enough to make it through whatever lies ahead.

I’m about to take my bra off when I hear a knock at the door. “Um, yeah,” I say timidly.

“It’s me,” Quinton utters from the other side of the door. “I brought you some towels.”

“Oh.” I glance down at my clothes on the floor, wondering if I should put them back on. Then, deciding I don’t want to be shy Nova with him anymore, I walk over to the door and crack it open. I stick my head out, ignoring the rush of heat that travels over me just from the sight of him. “Thanks.” I take the towels from him and our knuckles graze, causing blinding heat to throb through my veins, and I resist the impulse to shiver.

“No problem.” His voice is off pitch and I catch his gaze drifting downward to my exposed leg.