I flicked through the channels again, looking at the clock for the millionth time and listening to the New York City traffic as the noises drifted in through the open window… a siren and car horns, followed immediately by screeching tires. This was nothing like the Keys. I'd gotten used to silence - water hitting the beach near my house and crickets chirping in the distance.

As much as the Point was home for Rachel, so was this. I knew she was really a city girl at heart. But now she was a city girl with a really amazing Florida tan. No, I couldn't go there. Adjusting myself in my jeans, I tried not to think about Rachel in her little swimsuit. It was starting to get chilly here, and she'd thrown on her leather jacket before going out to meet her band. All her little swimsuits and sundresses were packed away in the bottom of her suitcase.

I frowned over at the clock again. 8:14. She'd promised she'd be back by 7:30. I'd been back since 7. I should have eaten something then, but I'd waited for her and now I was starving.

I hated this. I knew I shouldn't be mad, but I was. She was supposed to be here by now. I wanted to go out to dinner and tell her everything about my day, and she wasn't here. We'd spent every minute together for a couple of weeks, and now we'd been apart for a few hours and it was driving me crazy. I had a million things to tell her. Not just about my plans for a solo album, but about what I'd had for lunch and the ads I'd seen for Christmas stuff already on the streets. For weeks, we'd known every detail of each other's lives, and we needed to catch up. I wanted to hear the new songs she'd written today. When I'd talked to her this afternoon, they'd had three rough tracks already, and she'd promised to bring me a CD.

But maybe she'd forgotten that, just like she'd forgotten I was waiting for her. Jeremy had probably…

Rolling off the couch, I went into the little kitchen in our hotel suite. I needed something to eat before I got all weird and jealous about Jeremy.

It was my hotel suite, really. Jive was putting me up. Darien kept telling me it was all recoupable - his new favorite word- and I should just stay with him. But I didn't care. Even after paying back the record company advances, I'd always managed to take home some cash from record sales.

What if no one bought my solo album? What if I ended up owing Jive money? Would they take that out of my Backstreet royalties? I needed to talk to my lawyer, didn't I?

After I had a snack. The mini bar stuff was probably recoupable, too, wasn't it? How many albums would I have to sell to pay for the jar of cashews? Probably a lot. Then again, this time I wasn't splitting the artist's cut with four other guys. That was pretty sweet. I could afford the cashews. And a Coke, even.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" Rachel called out as the door opened, and I put down my snack to go over to her. She stumbled in with a ton of stuff, piling it next to the door as it closed, and she smiled when she saw where I was. "I knew you'd be starving. Our pizza should be here in a few minutes. Don't ruin your appetite."

I popped the top on the cashews. "It's just some cashews. You ordered pizza?"

She screamed in horror, running over to me. "No! Not the cashews! That's like… a dozen CDs to recoup those!"

Laughing, I pulled her into my arms. "You sound just like Darien."

She pouted up at me. "I could have gotten you cashews at the drug store. I was just there! I would have gotten twice as many for half the price."

"And not recoupable, I know, I know," I giggled, nuzzling her neck. "But I'm going to be a big solo star now. I can afford the cashews, now that I'm not splitting royalties."

She laughed, letting me kiss her. "I bet our pizza is still cheaper."

"Yes, dear. I could have waited for that, if you hadn't left me alone here for hours."

"Sorry," she apologized. "I was shopping."

I looked over at the pile of stuff next to the door. "You left here with only one guitar," I said accusingly. "Did you buy yourself a new guitar?"

"No!" she protested, wiggling away from me and going over to her things. "I bought you a guitar!"

Me? I barely knew how to play. She bought me a guitar?

Picking up one of the guitars and a bag, she came over to the couch. I sat next to her as she opened the case, displaying an acoustic guitar made of warm golden wood. It was beautiful.

"You need a guitar, now that you're going to be a songwriter."

"I can't even play, Rache," I admitted, afraid to even touch it.

"Sure you can. You know the basics. I've heard you play. You need a guitar to write songs. You might have words and a melody in your head, but a guitar helps give it structure. And you need these, too." Reaching into the bag, she pulled out some books. "Basic guitar instruction," she told me, showing me the top one.

"I'd rather have you teach me," I teased, and she smiled, kissing me.

"For when I'm back on tour next month, then. And this one is a good guide to songwriting. I don't think I've ever read it all the way through, but sometimes I just pick up my copy and read a couple of pages for inspiration."

I thumbed through it as she laid something else out on the coffee table in front of us. "All the ones I could find at the music store where I bought the guitar," she explained, and I looked up from the book to find sheet music for most of Backstreet's singles.

"I could probably get these," I said, laughing.

"But then you don't get the pretty pictures!"

"I can just look in the mirror for the pictures, Rache."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "You look better airbrushed."

"Hey!" I pouted at her, but she ignored me, pulling something else out of the bag.

"I got you music paper, blank paper and lined. And a bunch of pens and pencils. Because sometimes you want music paper, and sometimes you just want to write down that line or phrase in your head, and sometimes you really only want it in pencil." She laid out three notebooks, all with fun, bright covers, and about 20 pens and pencils, in every color and shape. One of the pens had feathers, and I picked it up, tickling her nose with it.

"Pink feathers?"

"Okay, that one's for me," she agreed, taking it out of my hand. "Oh, the plain notebook has a pocket, see?" She picked it up, showing me the pocket inside the back cover. "For those times you end up writing a song on a cocktail napkin. Very important."

"Have you done that?"

She nodded. "A million times. I have one of those little notebooks that you're supposed to take everywhere, but I always forget it. Jeremy and I have written many songs on napkins."

I remembered that… they wrote '3 Small Words' on a napkin. And I'd ended up fighting with her about it. I couldn't remember why now. I couldn't remember why I'd ever been jealous of Jeremy, when she was sitting here in front of me, giving me presents to help me write songs. She was so excited and proud of me. I could see it when she smiled at me. She'd bought me a guitar, and I felt like I could do anything. If I could figure out how to express half of what I was feeling in a song, it would be amazing.

I wanted to tell her all that, but she moved away, finding her bag and bringing it back to the couch. "See? I have a bunch of them." She pulled out one of her notebooks, the one that closed with a band around it. Slipping off the band, it fell open, exposing bits of paper and napkins stuffed inside. "I write on all sorts of things. That might be because I keep the little notebook in this bag with the other ones, huh?"

She reached into the bag and produced a tiny notebook that looked like it had never been touched. "Here, you can have this one, too. You should keep it in your pocket. You always have lots of room in your baggy pants," she teased, and I kissed her, taking the little notebook.

"But then I will never have a pen."

"Always have a pen. That's a rule."

"Are there lots of rules? Am I part of the secret songwriting society now?"

She giggled, pulling out her other notebooks. "No. Everyone has their own rules. I kinda gave you what my rules are, but you don't have to do what I do."

"I wouldn't mind. You write really good songs in those secret notebooks."

"They're not secret. Well… not much. Not from you. You can look at them if you want."

"Really?" I'd seen her writing in them before, but she'd never offered to let me see what she'd been doing. Whenever she saw that I was watching her, she'd shut the book, leaning over to kiss me and it would immediately be forgotten.

"Sure, bunny. Most of the stuff in these books are about you, anyway."

"Do you have other notebooks about Jeremy?"

"And Damon, and a couple that are full of stuff about my dad. Those are all at home. I might drag them out when we start recording another album. If we start recording a new album. What about you? I totally took over the conversation with my presents. I need to hear all about your day!"

Now I needed to hear all about her day. What had Jeff wanted? Had to be pretty important for him to come all the way out here so close to the holidays. And I wanted to talk to her about Christmas, and make sure she was going to be okay without her dad. I wanted to know what she'd bought for everyone in her family.

I love to watch you
You're the candy to my eye
Like a movie that you've seen
But gotta watch one more time

You're a heart without a home
Rebel without a cause
If you feel as though you're always
Stranded on the shore
Like a thief in the night
Let me steal your heart away