Strings Of Hope is the first novel in Stacey Lee Powell’s Sapphic Hearts In Music City series published by Tello Books
On the night before her wedding, Evie finds Hope alone at a hotel piano, playing the way she did when they were best friends in high school. Hope has come home to sing at Evie’s wedding, but old feelings are resurfacing, making it harder and harder for them to pretend they’re just friends.
Hope.
She was sitting at the glossy black baby grand in the corner, back straight, head slightly bowed, playing something soft and unrecognizable — but still her. Still honest and aching and beautiful.
She had on a royal blue crop top and a pair of white jeans that looked better on her than jeans should be legally allowed to. Her blonde hair pulled back in a loose knot, a single tendril falling across her cheek as she played.
A pang hit me hard. Not just because she looked beautiful. But because she looked free.
Then she glanced up. Saw me. And smiled. It wasn’t cocky or cool. Just Hope. My Hope.
I swallowed and stepped closer.
“Didn’t know this place came with its own concert,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice.
She patted the bench beside her. “Come sit for a second?”
I hesitated. My first instinct was to make an excuse — say I needed to get to the rehearsal earlier than expected. But I didn’t. I sat.
The bench was still warm from where she’d been sitting. The room was quiet, just a few hotel guests scattered around with drinks and laptops, none of them paying us any attention. Still, I felt like I was under a spotlight.
“I, um… thank you for coming back to Lafayette,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I know your big Opry night is next week. So… it means a lot to me.”
Hope nodded, that familiar half-smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re welcome.”
“I wasn’t sure you would come.” I added.
“Me neither,” she admitted. “But that’s what friends do for each other, right? You needed someone.”
I glanced at her hands, resting on her thighs. I used to know those hands better than my own—the way they curled around a pencil during tests, how they tapped out rhythms on the dashboard while we drove. I tried to picture Luke’s hands instead. What did they even look like? Why couldn’t I remember? Why had I spent so much time memorizing Hope?
“I didn’t expect to find you at a piano.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Neither did I. It was just there, and I needed a minute. But it’s like riding a bike, I guess.”
A beat passed.
“So…” she said gently, “you’re really doing it tomorrow.”
There was no bitterness in her voice. No judgment. Just the truth, hanging there between us.
“Yeah.” I looked down at my own hands. “I am.”
She nodded slowly. “And you really want me to sing.”
“I do.” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I meant what I said.”
The air between us shifted—charged, electric, like it always was when we got too close. Something unspoken crackled there, alive and humming under the surface.
Hope smiled, a little surprised. “You’re glowing, Evie.”
“Thanks,” I said softly, barely above a whisper. But the word caught in my throat like it didn’t belong to me. I didn’t feel like I was glowing. I felt like I was trying not to come undone.
We sat there, two inches apart and a thousand miles from the girls we used to be.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded. Then I shook my head. Then nodded again. “I’m just… feeling a lot of things.”
A sharp wave of nausea rolled through me, but I swallowed it down.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Me too.”
I studied her face—every freckle, every flicker of hesitation. She was trying to be calm, trying to be professional. I could tell. But there was a tension in her shoulders, the way her hand gripped the glass on the bar a little too tightly.
“You don’t have to stay long tonight,” I said gently. “Just the one song, then dinner. No speeches, no pressure.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, guarded.
“I know it’s… weird,” I added, trying to keep my voice steady. “Having you there. But it means something to me. More than you probably realize.”
Hope looked down at her drink. “It’s not the being there that’s hard.”
I swallowed. “It’s me. Being around me.”
She didn’t say anything. But her silence said enough.
My chest ached. “I didn’t ask you to sing just to torture you.”
“I know,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t.”
The words hung there between us—too honest to take back, too real to pretend they didn’t hurt.
I wanted to say something else, something that would make this easier, but there wasn’t anything left to say that wouldn’t set fire to the whole room.
So I stood.
“I should head out.”
She nodded without looking at me.
I hesitated, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek before I could stop myself. Her skin was warm, familiar. My lips barely brushed her before I pulled away.
Hope blinked up at me, stunned, like she hadn’t expected that version of me to still exist.
“See you tonight,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
But I felt her watching me as I walked away.
And it took everything I had not to turn back.
Want to read more? Strings Of Hope is now available through Tello Books here.
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