The day had been long, and she was ready for bed. The usual high from performing had been short-lived tonight, gone when she stepped off the stage. Emptiness was the only thing left in the aftermath of adrenaline. Her new song had gone over well, but that didn’t excite her either—and she knew why. The song had been about Marc. The man who was no longer in her life. “Candlelight Conspiracy” had made its first and last appearance tonight. No way would she be able to sing that song again. The hurt was too great. She was searching for her keys when Marc’s apartment door swung open. She whirled around—half because he’d startled her and half to see him. Had she subconsciously not readied her keys in the hope Marc would hear her and appear? If so, she was seriously pissed at herself now, because she didn’t know what to do beyond stand there. “Hi,” he said and gently closed the door behind him. He wore his jacket. He wasn’t seeking her out in the hallway; he was going somewhere.
