“It’s you,” I admitted. Bonnie stilled. “You were right. I’d lost my way. My music . . . it didn’t have purpose. There was no story. They were just the colors that made me feel the least.” I wanted to tell her why. But even now, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I rubbed a strand of her hair between my fingers. “Since you . . . it’s felt different. Music. It’s you, Farraday. You’ve made it different.” I laughed to myself. What I was going to say was cheesy as hell. But it was true. “I’m inspired.” She sucked in a breath. “You inspire me.”
