He kissed me instead of answering, then pulled back. “You’re tired. Go back to sleep.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Of course I am.” He forced my head back to his shoulder.
“You do realize that this music video is something that I—and everyone in the country—will see, right?”
He made a noise of disgust. “Maybe I’ll just refuse to do them altogether.”
“No,” I whined. “The kids love watching your videos. Joanie is going to go into kindergarten knowing the words to all your songs because of those things. And when Liam misses you, I turn them on for him.”
“Fine. You’ve convinced me.” He tried to sound put out, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Besides, now that you’ve taken a break from touring, it’s the only way your salivating fans can get their Sean fix. You have to give the people what they want. You know, at least a tiny bit.”
“All right.” He was starting to sound tired. “The people can have my music videos.”
“And I get the rest of you.”
“Exactly.” He kissed my head. “Now, go to sleep. You know Liam will be in here at six thirty wanting to watch a show.”
I groaned a little. “Don’t remind me.”
“Love you,” he murmured as sleepiness took over his voice.
I ran a hand through his hair and reached up to kiss his chin. “Love you back,” I whispered, then closed my eyes as contentment washed over me.
I never planned to marry my best friend. I never wanted to marry a rockstar. Yet I’d done both, and my life was beautiful because of it. Over the years, I’d run into people who lamented over the time Sean and I missed out on because of our mistakes and our choices, but I couldn’t agree. The road we’d traveled was the one we were meant to travel. It was the road that gifted me a few beautiful years with Jonas and gave me Joanie. It was the road that allowed Sean and me to build a relationship that could weather any storm. The path of our lives was never a straight line. How boring that would be. Instead it was filled with twists and dips, maybe a loop or two, sometimes a U-turn or a simple dead end.
Life is messy. But beautiful music can’t be made with one pristine piece of paper. In order to get it right, we have to have the cross-outs, the redos, the frantic scribbling and the misspelled words. Creating music is a beautiful thing. But creating a life with someone? That is a masterpiece.
The End
To My Readers
Thank you for reading! I’m so glad you took the time to dive into Sean and Libby’s story. Writing their book was wonderful and gratifying and hard, but these characters taught me a lot.
Since I’m an indie author, your support and feedback makes all the difference in the success of my books. Please take just a minute to leave a review (a sentence or two is great) for other potential readers on Amazon, Goodreads, or anywhere else. Word of mouth is essential for me to get the word out, so if you enjoyed reading Songs for Libby, tell a friend!
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Happy reading!
Annette K. Larsen
Acknowledgements
It always surprises me which story ideas take hold and won’t let go. I dove into this story knowing it was going to be different, knowing that I wanted this book to be more. More heart, more depth, more trial, more struggle, more redemption. I’m so grateful for everyone who read the early drafts and gave me the courage to keep going. To delve deeper, to ask my characters to struggle harder.
Thank you to Jana, forever and always, for making me kill my darlings. I love it when you call me out on my mediocre work and insist that I do better. Thank you to Kimi for reading along as I wrote it and helping me polish. Thank you to my other beta readers for catching those last few things that needed to be fixed. And of course thank you to my critique group for giving me feedback and ideas every step of the way. Having such talented friends who are willing to brainstorm with me is invaluable.
Thank you to my daughters for asking about my progress, whether they are interested in reading it or not. Thank you to my sons who regularly ask if I’ve “written another book yet.” A big thank you to my husband, Cameron, for always giving me time and space to write when I need it, and for telling me it’s okay when I’ve had a month-long hiatus with no progress.
You all make me better. You all make me love this process.
Also by Annette K. Larsen
Books of Dalthia* series:
Just Ella
Missing Lily
Saving Marilee
Painting Rain
Keeping Kinley
Contemporary:
If I Could Stay
All Our Broken Pieces
All That Stands Between Us
Songs for Libby
*Each book in the Dalthia series focuses on a different character. There are no cliffhangers.
You can find the series here:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B071948SVN/
And you can read a sample of my Romantic Suspense novel, If I Could Stay, at the end of this book.
About the Author
I was born in Utah, but I migrated to Arizona, Missouri, and Virginia before settling in Idaho.
I love words. I always have. And though I dabbled in writing throughout school, becoming an author was never a goal of mine because I never imagined it would be possible. It took me seven years to write my first book, Just Ella. During that time, I taught myself how to write a novel through a whole lot of trial and error. Not the most time-effective method, but it gave me an education I wouldn’t have received from a class or a how-to book. Something about the struggle of writing without a formula or rules worked for me.
I write clean romance because I love it. Jane Eyre is the hero of my youth and taught me that clinging to your convictions will be hard, but it will bring you more genuine happiness than giving in ever can.
I love chocolate, Into the Woods, ocean waves, my husband, and my five littles. And I love books that leave me with a sigh of contentment.
IF I COULD STAY
Chapter One
FEBRUARY
Left. Right. One foot after the other. Keep moving. Ignore the cold. This was a road, and despite it being the middle of the night, that meant that at some point someone would drive by. Please, let someone drive by.
The large tree on the horizon was my focus. I was determined to at least make it to that tree. It was starting to snow, and I knew that the lack of feeling in my feet was a bad thing. My ballet flats were insufficient for this weather. Everything I wore was insufficient. But when Silas had shown up this morning at the salon where I ran the reception desk, I hadn’t bothered going home to gather my things. I’d seen him in the parking lot before he could walk in and spot me. I had felt the blood drain from my face and for a moment I was rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe. Twice in my teenage years, I’d seen the people that Silas had dragged back to my father. They were always bloody, and I never knew if they made it out of my father’s house alive after spilling their secrets.