Love Unwritten (Lakefront Billionaires, 2)

I volunteer to put Nico to bed. When I step outside of his bedroom after two bedtime stories, I find Rafael sitting in front of the piano. He hesitantly hits one of the keys before pulling his hand back, acting like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Damn. It’s kind of cute to see him so out of his element.

“If you’re worried about waking Nico up, don’t be. He sleeps like the dead,” I say, startling him.

He smiles to himself. “I know.”

“Are you interested in learning how to play?” I ask without thinking much of it.

He stares at the keys. “I’m not sure yet.”

I walk toward the piano bench and motion for him to scoot over. Our sides brush as I take a seat beside him, and his thigh remains permanently pressed against mine as I run my hands across the keys. “The piano was the first instrument I learned to play.”

He turns slightly to get a better look at me. “It was?”

“Yup. My mom taught me herself.”

“I thought your stepdad taught you.”

“Not at first. He did later, once my mom and I moved to Lake Wisteria.”

Rafael’s head tilts with interest. “You weren’t born there?”

“No. I’m from Lake Windermere. Once my mom filed for divorce, she wanted a change of scenery, but she couldn’t go far because of custody reasons, so Lake Wisteria was the obvious choice.”

“Hm. Close, but not too close.”

“Exactly.” I begin playing a simple melody to fill the quiet, and my body softly sways to the music. Rafael bristles whenever I brush against him, but eventually he loosens up as one song blends into the next.

“I wanted to join the band. Back in high school.”

I’m so surprised by his statement that I accidentally hit the wrong key. “You did?”

He nods.

“What stopped you?”

He clams up again, but I refuse to let this bit of information go until he shares more. “Don’t tell me you were worried about ruining your reputation or something silly like that,” I tease. Being part of the Wisteria High band wasn’t the most coveted elective, but people liked our performances enough to stick around for the halftime show and attend our seasonal showcases, so I never felt embarrassed to be part of the drumline. If anything, I was proud, especially after we won the state championship.

He glares at me out of the corner of his eye. “And if I was?”

“I’d say that’s incredibly cliché.” And disappointing.

Rafael and I were never part of the same circles, not only because of our age difference but also because he was the popular jock who lived in the spotlight while I was the nameless girl playing the drums on the sidelines. He had no clue who I was, and honestly, I’m starting to think it was better that way because he kind of sucked.

“I was a shallow teenager who was obsessed with everyone’s opinion of me, so yeah, cliché doesn’t begin to cover it.”

I continue playing, using the song to process his confession. “Maybe it was best you never joined the band after all.”

His forehead creases with confusion. “Why?”C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

“Because I would’ve ended up hating you if you had.”

“No one hated me.” A sly smirk tugs at his lips.

My eyes roll. “That attitude right there would have earned you a drumstick to the eye.”

“Having confidence isn’t a bad thing.”

“No, but too much of it makes you annoying. Especially at that age.”

“No one seemed to mind.”

“Only because no one recognized your confidence for what it was.”

Overcompensation.

I don’t realize how my statement comes off until he stares at me with a pinched expression.

Shit.

Him learning about my crush would be embarrassing to say the least, so I need to do a better job at hiding how much I knew about him back then.

It is easy to forget sometimes, at least until my heart starts acting up in his presence like I’m a teenager again. I’m pretty sure fifteen-year-old me would have had a heart attack at the mere idea of sitting this close to him. Of playing music for him.

But now, I just feel comfort in his presence. Sure, there is this undercurrent of energy whenever our sides brush, but I’m no longer overwhelmed by being next to him.

I play off my statement with a shrug.

“Did we ever meet? Back then?” he asks before I have a chance to start a new song.

“No,” I answer. Our paths never really had a chance to cross until now, after our lives were fundamentally changed by our choices and circumstances.

I might have seen him countless times—might have had a ridiculous crush on him when he didn’t know I existed—but we never met. Not formally at least.

I might have known how he looked when he cried and how he liked to hide out in the computer lab during lunch to get away from everyone, but that was as deep as our one-sided connection went.

I channel the ache in my chest into my music. Rafael starts slightly swaying to the melody, looking at peace with his eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed.

“Now you got me thinking too,” Rafael says without opening his eyes.

“About what?” I’m hardly breathing as he continues.

“If we had met back then, I would have done everything possible to make you like me instead of hate me.”

He wouldn’t have had to try too hard.

Just like he doesn’t have to try too hard now.