“Well, you’ve got Old Faithful, then I figured you wouldn’t mind playing my Martin acoustic…unless you want to keep renting someone else’s guitar.”
She huffs out a disagreeable sound. “Like I’d bypass the opportunity to play a Martin.”
“Cool, cool. Then there’s my Strat, my Les Paul, and I went ahead and had Al pull my Fender bass. Figured I could teach you a simple bass line in case it’s helpful.”
With one brow cocked all the way up, she walks to the case marked Fender, opens it, attaches the strap, pulls it against her body, and plays the bass line to “Higher Ground.”
I blink at her and consider hitting my knee again.
I’m going to marry this girl.
I roll my eyes at my dramatic inner dialogue but grab the back of her neck and pull her in for an even dirtier, deeper kiss. Al clears his throat, and I pull away, wanting to drag her to bed and not let her out until she has to run an IV.
Holy fuck.
“That was so fucking sexy. I might actually be pregnant,” I whisper in her ear. “I can tell you’re as turned on as I am.”
“I hate you so much right now,” she whispers back.
“No, you don’t.”
She scrunches her nose before shoving the bass at me and stalking off to the kitchen.
“Seriously. You need to marry that girl,” Al says in that rumbly way of his.
“You might be right, Al. You might be right.”
* * *
I holdthe last note a little longer this time and add some reverb. This second song might be a bigger hit than the first. I don’t want to jinx it, but I’ve had this feeling three other times, and I’ve been right each time. It’s amazing when something comes together so naturally.
I just have to figure out how I can bottle the magic of this place—or, more reasonably, find out how to keep coming back here. I mean, it’s not like there aren’t a ton of flights from Denver to Nashville. Hell, I’m technically homeless.
As my thoughts get away from me, footsteps from behind grab my attention. I turn to find Kinley, still in her scrubs, leaning against the doorframe. Her hair is in a loose, messy knot at the nape of her neck, her mascara’s a little smeared, and she’s aiming a proud smile right at me.
I could bask in her brand of sunshine forever.
Setting the guitar on its stand, I walk over to her, pulling her into my arms.
“Hey,” I whisper in her hair.
We haven’t seen much of each other this past week, and I miss her, even though I sleep next to her each night. I know she’d never take money from me outright, but I can see the toll her job is taking on her, and I’m rushing to get these songs ready so she has options.
I think she’s been trying to hide how burnt out and ambivalent she is, but I see it. Hell, if this whole health scare taught me anything, it’s that I’m the queen of burnout, and you can only ignore that shit for so long before your health takes a hit. I find I want Kinley healthy and happy for the foreseeable future.
She melts into my hold, smelling of her apple shampoo, a drugstore musk that smells like heaven on her, and hanitizer.
By the way, she sayshanitizerinstead of hand sanitizer, and every time she does, I want to declare my everlasting love and devotion to her.
God, she’s everything.
“You’ve been working so hard, baby.”
“Mm. I like it when you call me baby,” she murmurs. “Thankfully, I’ve got the weekend off.”
“Good. Maybe you can play a little with me tomorrow?” I ask, hoping not to sound too needy. Something about playing around on the instruments with her reminds me how much fun creating can actually be.
“But only if you want to,” I tack on, knowing I’d never want her to see it as an obligation or a chore.
