Waking up in my new bed, in a new room, in a new house made my stomach flutter. It's been a few weeks of me staying with Morgan, and I don't think I've ever felt this serene before. It was a calm that I didn't fully recognize. I've even taken up journaling in the window seat- there's something therapeutic about spilling everything onto paper in different colored inks in swooping, cursive letters. 

It was an early morning for me- the sun was peaking over the tree line, and the birds were singing their songs of the morning. I stretched under the warm, cotton sheets, my limbs heavy from a night of deep, uninterrupted sleep. The alarm clock on my nightstand read 7:12 in red. Too early to start the day, but too late to stay in bed. 

I slip out the sheets, my bare feet meeting the cold hardwood. I quickly make the bed, eager to get some coffee in me. I make sure to put on my foot brace before leaving my room. I barely cared to smooth my hair down as I climbed down the stairs as quietly as I could with the boot- it should be off in two or three weeks, and I was ecstatic. I didn't want to wake Morgan, but it was hard when the plastic thumped against each step of the staircase. 

I was surprised when I see Morgan standing at the kitchen counter, his back to me. He was already dressed- jeans, boots, a warn flannel rolled up to his elbows, and damp hair. The only sound in the kitchen was a spoon clinking against the ceramic mug as he stirred. 

It was such a normal, domestic sight that almost took me by surprise. I was frozen, too aware of how creepy I probably looked. So, I stepped into the kitchen as casually as I could, "Morning."

Morgan startled, glancing at me over his shoulder. His eyes raked over me once, lingering a little too long at my exposed midriff. I followed his eyes, where I saw my monitor poking out from the bottom of my tank top. I clear my throat as I adjust my shirt, tugging it downward. Morgan's eyes snap up to mine, "I just... was makin' you coffee. I was gonna bring it up to you."

He holds out the mug, the spoon handle sticking out. "Oh," is all I can say, taking the warm mug from his grasp. It felt oddly intimate- he'd made it for me, not out of obligation, but because he wanted to. 

He gives a small shrug, like he is embarrassed, as he explains, "I had just passed by your door and heard you singing. Figured I'd bring it up to you, so you didn't have to come down with that." He nods to the boot on my ankle. I smile softly, flicking some hair over my shoulder. "Thank you, Morgan." My voice is soft as I speak, and he shrugs again. A thick silence settles over the kitchen as we stand there. His eyes flick between the mug, and then back to me, like he was deciding on what to say. 

Before he could, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glances at the screen, his face relaxing as he reads the message. "I'm headin' out," he says, shoving the device in his pocket and grabbing his keys from the table. He slips past me, his shoulder brushing against mine. "Don't forget to eat. I'll see you later." The door closes behind him and I'm left alone.

The house felt quieter without him. I stood in the kitchen, staring at the counter, where papers were scattered across the surface. I sip the coffee he made me- not bad, but too much milk. 

I wander through the house, just looking. I unfortunately start to notice the small things- a fine layer of dust across the shelves, faint smudges of dirt tracked in near the back door. Streaks across windows and a too many disorganized cabinets. 

My family's house would never look like this- it was pristine, sterile, even. A single speck of dirt would send my mom into a frenzy, barking orders at the staff, pretending like she'd done the work herself. But this wasn't my family's house.

I found an old mop bucket under the sink. In no time, the floors were scrubbed, the shelves were dusted, the pillows were fluffed. By the time I was finished, the entire house smelt of citrus cleaning spray and the random candles I found and lit. Sweat clung to my skin and my tank top stuck to my back.

I was organizing the papers on the counter when a piece of mail, covered in Morgan's messy handwriting, caught my eye. There were scratches through sentences, scribbles, and messy corrections. I know I shouldn't have looked. It wasn't any of my business. But I just couldn't stop myself.

In uneven lines, the words "You need a little more black smoke/Down an old back road than what you had/Yeah, and I might be wrong/But a boy like me might be your type/And my country song/Goes hand in hand with your angel eyes" in thick, blue ink. I frown, reading them over once again. I felt wrong reading them, so I tucked them into the pile of mail and dashed back up the stairs to shower. He'll never know, right?

---

Later that afternoon, I was filming a YouTube video, carefully explaining my move and showing off the parts of the house that couldn't be identified as Morgan's. I was halfway through my explanation of how different it feels to live somewhere so different when the front door slammed, making me freeze. 

I was sitting at the kitchen island when he stormed in, his jaw tight and his expression fuming. "The hell are you doin'?" he snaps, looking at my camera. 

"Filming," I answer, dumbfounded. 

"You better not've said anythin' about me," he practically growls, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he would implode at any given moment.

"I- I didn't-"

"Get in the truck. Now."

I stared at him, stunned. He wasn't asking, wasn't just saying. He was demanding. I was frozen, a little scared at his demeanor- I'd never seen him like this, and I was unsure if I did anything to cause it. 

"Now, Blake," he says, raising his voice just slightly. It snaps me out of my daze; I reach out, taking my camera off the tripod and turning it off. I push past Morgan, slipping my good foot into my sneaker and rushing off the porch. 

I didn't want to irritate him further and didn't feel like arguing, regardless of how upset and angry I was at him for taking such a tone with me. 

He climbs in behind me, slamming his door. The sound makes me flinch- Morgan doesn't seem to be bothered, though. He drives us into the city without saying anything, or even so much as glancing at me. I sit awkwardly the entire drive until we reach a high-rise in downtown. It was polished and sleek, much like all the other buildings down Music Row. 

Morgan didn't wait for me- he gets out, slamming the door behind him and stomping toward the entrance. I followed, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I know it wasn't going to be a calm, easy conversation. 

We took the elevator to the top floor (after jogging to catch up with Morgan, who practically flew through the lobby), where Seth's office was. I couldn't help but look around- this office was shiny and metal with neutral tones. It was such a contrast to Taylor's office, all white and textured. 

The moment the elevator doors opened, I could feel the thickness radiating into the atmosphere. I had no idea what I was stepping into- I had done nothing wrong, right?

I stepped in before Morgan, squeezing the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Seth turned from the window, his eyes darkening when he saw me. "The hell is she doin' here?"

Morgan shuts the door a little too hard behind him, ushering me to take a seat. He sits beside me, leaning his on his knees as we both prepare for whatever Seth wanted to reprimand us about. I glance to the man beside me, confusion clouded my expression. He doesn't meet my gaze- instead, he clenches his jaw with a subtle nod. Seth groans, taking a seat at his desk and pulling his phone out. "Well, let me ring Taylor."

My heart drops as I look back to Morgan. The horror must be evident on my face because Morgan sucks his teeth when he glances at me. "Why are you calling Taylor?" I ask, gripping the armrests as Seth ignores my question. He holds up a finger, signaling for silence as he taps away at the screen. 

I turn to Morgan, desperation dripping from my words. "Morgan, why is he calling Taylor?"

But he doesn't answer either. 

"Seth," I repeat, begging at this point. "Because Juliette," he begins, not looking up from the phone, "Morgan here decided to let himself get photographed with some mystery woman, and now it's a PR nightmare. Taylor's got'a right to know if her client's wrapped up in somethin' like this."

Morgan leans back in his chair, his eyes flickering between the two of us as my eyes widen. I gasp, whipping my head to him. "Morgan! Is he talking about-"

Morgans leans over quickly, covering my mouth with his hand. "Ah, ah," Seth tuts, pointing at Morgan, "What is she talkin' about, Morgan?"

I glare at Morgan, reaching up to tug his hand away. He doesn't budge, though. He just hands his head, waiting for Seth to put the pieces together. 

Seth clicks his tongue, waiting. The silence is deafening as my pulse thunders in my ears. When neither of us moves, it hits Seth, and it hits him hard. 

"Morgan, don't you dare tell me."

My skin is hot with shame as Seth stares back at us in horror, like he can't believe it. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze as Morgan drops his hand, leaning back into his chair slowly. Seth points a finger at me, glaring at Morgan. "Say it ain't so, and say it right now." 

His gaze shoots back to me, "Juliette, tell me, please. Tell me you aren't the girl in the photo." I open my mouth to speak, but there's nothing to say. 

Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks as he rubs a hand over his face. "Well I'll be damned," he curses, picking his phone back up. "There isn't anything going on between us," I rush, hoping it'll change his mind about calling Taylor. The last thing I want is to feel her wrath right now- when Taylor is angry, the entire city wants to hide until she calms down. 

"Don't matter," Seth replies. "The optics are what matter, and right now the optics are lookin' like Morgan's got himself a secret girlfriend."

Morgan shoots to his feet, towering over Seth's sitting frame. "Nobody even knows it's her!"

"Yet," Seth snaps, rising to his feet. "It's only a matter of time 'till someone realizes. Do you even realize what this could do to her image? Or yours?"

The words hang heavy, and I sink into my chair. Morgan's frustration only makes me more anxious.  I mean, I don't see the huge issue- isn't that how relationships happen organically? In the real world, with real people? 

Seth turns his attention to me as he sits down, his expression softening. "Juliette, this ain't about you, okay? But you have to see why this is a problem."

I nod even though I don't. I'm too scared to do anything else. 

"Which is why Taylor needs to know."

Morgan steps forward, slamming his palm on Seth's desk. "Don't drag her into this, man."

Seth's fingers fly over the screen, not bothering to spare Morgan a glance. "She's her manager. She needs to be involved, you know that, Morgan." The sound of a trilling line fills the room, and I hang my head, defeated.