Excerpt of Heartstrings by Ali Novak

Excerpt from Heartstrings:

“Um, are you okay down there?”

At the sound of someone’s voice, I jerked in surprise, slamming my head against the underside of the coffee table.

“Crap, I’m sorry! I thought you knew I was here.”

I looked up to see who was talking, but the pain at the back of my skull was blinding. All I could make out was the blurry frame of someone tall. “Ow,” I groaned, rubbing the tender spot that I hoped wouldn’t become a baseball-size lump by tomorrow.

Once the sharp throbbing faded to a dull ache, I blinked the tears from my eyes and focused on the culprit responsible for scaring me to death. Standing above me was a lanky guy with messy, strawberry-blond hair in desperate need of a cut.

“Where the hell did you come from?” I asked, still grimacing.

Mystery guy pointed at the opposite couch. “I was napping.”

“And I knew you were here how?” I muttered, more to myself than him. From the door, it was impossible to see anyone lying across the cushions. He arched a brow at me, and I sighed. “Sorry, I’m having a craptastic day.”

“Here,” he said, squatting down beside me. “Let me help.” He swept a pile of spare change together and pushed it in my direction. With our new proximity, I was able to get a better look at him. He wasn’t handsome in the standard context of the word—his nose was a bit too long, and his jaw was slightly crooked—but there was something endearing about his boyish looks and freckles. His eyes, however, were breathtaking: a soft green that reminded me of new growth in spring surrounded by thick, blond lashes.

I know this guy, I realized. How do I know him?

As I shoved the last of my belongings into my bag, mystery guy rose to his feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked, offering me a hand up. I blinked but placed mine in his, and he hauled me off the ground. “You sounded upset before.”

Great, he’d heard me bitching. What a wonderful first impression. “Oh, that? I’m fine. I was just venting. Nothing to worry about.”

“But you mentioned someone named Violet. You weren’t talking about Violet James, were you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He grimaced. “She your boss or something?”

“I’d rather taste test dog food for the rest of my life than work for Violet. I’m Indie, her sister.”

“Dog food, huh,” he said, his face relaxing. “Even the wet kind? That stuff makes me think of chemically processed barf.”

“Especially the wet kind,” I told him.

The corner of his mouth twitched in an almost smile, and he held out his hand in greeting. “I’m Xander. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I said, and as we shook hands, realization plowed into me with the weight of a three-hundred-pound lineman: this was Xander Jones, lead guitarist for the Heartbreakers. Without his usual square frames, he was surprisingly unrecognizable. My mouth went dry, and I took what I hoped was an inconspicuous moment to collect myself.

(C) Ali Novak, Sourcebooks Fire, 2025. Shared with permission from the publisher.