Chapter 1

My name is Stella Gordon, and I'm a time traveler. My "System," a weird, unexplained hum in my head, lets me do it. I used it to come here, to 1972, for one reason: to save Nathaniel Hughes.

He's a folk singer, a genius, and the man I' ve loved from across fifty years of history. Back in my time, he' s a legend, a tragic figure who died young, haunted by his unrequited love for his childhood friend, Jennifer Clarkson.

I was going to fix that. I was going to save him, and he was going to love me instead.

That was the plan.

For five years, I lived that plan. I became his shadow, his friend, his most devoted follower in the sun-drenched, drug-laced world of Laurel Canyon. I used my knowledge of the future to help him. I found him rare guitar strings from a shop that wouldn't exist for another decade in my history books. I transcribed his complex, swirling melodies that no one else could follow. I was indispensable.

And it worked. I think it worked. He was a recluse, a monk dedicated to his art, but he let me in.

Then came the party at the record label executive' s mansion. Jennifer, now married to that powerful man, was there. Someone slipped something into her drink, but in the chaos, Nathaniel drank it instead. It was a tumultuous night. He broke his strict, self-imposed rules. He slept with me.

The next morning, he was filled with guilt. He saw it as a stain on his artistic soul, a penance he had to pay.

"Stella," he said, his voice quiet, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "We should get married."

My heart stopped, then exploded with a joy so fierce it hurt. It wasn't the proposal I dreamed of, but it was a proposal. It was a start. It was enough.

The night before our simple wedding, we went to another party, this one hosted by Jennifer's husband, the head of the label. A rival band, drunk and aggressive, started a fight. It was a blur of shouting and shoving.

A man lunged toward Jennifer with a broken bottle.

Before I could even process it, Nathaniel moved. He shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, hitting the ground with a thud. He didn't even look at me. He threw himself in front of Jennifer, his arm raised to protect her.

The glass sliced deep into his hand.

Blood bloomed on his simple white shirt.

Someone rushed over. "Nathaniel, are you okay?"

I heard his voice, clear and steady despite the pain. "Jennifer's safety is more important."

The words hit me harder than the floor did. I looked down at my shoulder, a searing pain I hadn't noticed before. A deep, ugly gash was bleeding through my dress. He hadn't seen. He hadn't looked.

In that moment, I knew. I had failed. His heart was never mine. It was always hers, his white moonlight.

It was time to go home.