“What do you mean?” he asks. My father has a terrible poker face.
“What are you all keeping from me?”
Millicent grabs my arm. “Nothing. Come on. Bye, Mr. Northwood. We’ll be back by eight.”
“Take your time.”
“I’ll be back for the 8pm feed,” I promise.
He waves us off, and Millicent practically drags me to her car.
“What’s the hurry?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just want to make the most of the time we have together.”
I know she’s lying, but I pretend to go along with her for now. “Okay. So, where are we going first?”
“I thought maybe we’d head over to Newstead for a drink.”
“Newstead? Has a new pub opened up over there or something?”
“Yeah, I heard about this cool little place with personalised service.”
“I’m intrigued.”
We drive through the city, which isn’t particularly relaxing since it’s peak hour, but I’m still excited to be out of the house without a child glued to my chest.
It would be even more perfect if Lincoln was around, but I know his tour will be over soon. I just have to be patient.
We slow down out the front of the Triffid, and Millicent looks around as if confused.
“Are we lost?” I ask.
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s around here somewhere. We’ll park and walk the rest of the way.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
She points at a nearby alley. “Hey, I think I see somewhere to park, but it looks like a narrow space. Why don’t you get out now and wait here for a moment?”
“All right.”
I climb out of the car and go stand near the entrance to the Triffid. It’s all closed up today, but I smile as I remember the night I watched Lincoln play here. I still feel those same butterflies I experienced before we’d even kissed.
My phone beeps. Millicent has sent me a text. Weird.
Go knock on the door.
I furrow my brow. Which door? The one to the Triffid? I look around, wondering what on earth is going on. Where has Millicent gone?
I write back. Do you mean the door to the Triffid? Where are you?
Millicent: Yes, the Triffid! I’ll be there soon.
I look at the set of double doors behind me and hesitantly tap on one.
When nothing happens at first, I feel a bit silly. Is Millicent playing a prank?
But then suddenly, one of the doors swings open and a guy dressed in black is standing there.
“Come with me, please.”
“Uh, who are you?” I ask, not moving.
“I’m from security. I have orders to bring you through.”
“Bring me through to where?”
He points into the darkness. “Through there.”
At this point, I start to feel more excited than nervous. Could this mean…?
I follow the man into the venue and make my way through to the main hall. It’s pitch-black, and I stand in the doorway, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
The stage lights up and someone is standing there, alone in front of the microphone, a guitar over his shoulder.
Lincoln.
My heart starts pounding, and I run down to the edge of the stage. He sees me and his eyes light up, that swoon-worthy smile taking up half his face.
He doesn’t say anything, and instead positions his guitar ready to play.
He strums a chord and opens his mouth.
I was lost in the darkness
With nowhere to turn
I never thought I’d be happy again
But then you appeared
Like a star in the night
Leading me to a place so bright
Being with you is better than heaven.
I try to pay attention to all the lyrics, but I’m so overcome with happiness that tears start rolling down my face. How did I get so lucky to have this perfect man in my life? And how is he even here right now?
The song ends, and he puts the guitar down before reaching out and helping me onto the stage beside him.
“Hi,” he whispers, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Hi,” I whisper back. “I thought you were overseas.”
“I snuck back for a couple of days. It may mean I miss out on a little sleep, but that’s a very small price to pay for the chance to see you again. And the kids. It was killing me being so far away for so long.”
“I’m glad you’re here. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
“If not for you, then who?” he says, his gaze earnest.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
He steps back for a moment and digs a small box out of his pocket. “And to show you just how much I mean it, I want you to have this.”
My eyes widen as I realise what he’s holding. I stare at him and then back at the box. “Is this…?”
“Open it.”
I shakily push the lid up, revealing a white gold band with a round-cut diamond in the middle.
He removes the ring from the box and holds my left hand. “Natasha Northwood, we’ve gone through a lot in a short amount of time. And even though we’ve faced some pretty crazy challenges, I feel that it has only made us stronger. You are calm and kind and beautiful, and I would be honoured if you agreed to be my wife.”
A lump in my throat threatens to prevent me from answering. I quickly swallow. “Yes. Oh my God. Yes!”
He laughs and gently slides the ring onto my finger. I hold it up to my face so I can admire this beautiful symbol of our commitment and then wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close.
“Thank you,” he says before pressing his lips to mine.
I breathe in his now familiar scent and can’t believe I am now connected to Lincoln Page in every way possible.
We will be together forever, a beautiful and slightly unconventional family.
And it’s perfect.
Thank you for reading My Own Personal Rockstar. I really hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to get in touch, I can be found on most social media and book-related websites. You can also sign up for my newsletter at https://kirstymcmanus.com.au
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Read on for a sample of Welcome to Coco Bay, and a list of my other books.
Kirsty.
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WELCOME TO COCO BAY
ONE
Emily
Damn you, Ryan Franco.
This was supposed to be my year. You made me think I was about to score a promotion that would elevate me from a regular international tourism director to a member of the management team, only to then frame me and make it look like I sold trade secrets.
You took away my life in Vancouver, including my gorgeous apartment in West End. And I blame you for ruining my relationship with Emmet. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have brought up the subject of my fragile residential status, and Emmet wouldn’t have offered to marry me mere weeks after we met. That’s way too much pressure for anyone.