“You don’t have to say it in that tone,” I say. “I’ve written half a song since Monday. I was really cranking last night.”
“Which is progress, but you have to have it done in less than three weeks.”
“Don’t tell Annie, but I think she might’ve been right about Wild Bluffs,” I say, running my hand up the back of my neck. “It might be just what I need to break my writer’s block. Which reminds me, ten days isn’t going to cut it. I need to stay here to convince Izzy to forgive me. Can you set up my return flight for the day after the sale?”
I pause.
“Oh, and send me a guitar. I’m going to need that old Taylor I like to use for composing.”
With that taken care of, I race out of the house, making sure to grab the four packs of sticky notes I spent the last few hours writing on.
Nash raises his eyebrow as I climb into the passenger seat of the vehicle I make him sit in while he’s on duty. I know I’m being a dick by not letting the team come into the house, but I can’t stand the idea of anyone else being in that place with me.
“What’s going on with the sticky notes?” he asks as he puts the car in drive.
“I think the coffee is warming her up. Pun certainly intended,” I say, flipping through the top stack of notes. “These are apology bomb notes.”
I read the top one again: “I’m sorry I was a dick.”
“Yeah,” Nash says after a minute. “I don’t know what apology bomb notes are, so I’m going to need some more information.”
“Izzy told me this morning that she has a lunch meeting today. So, I spent the last few hours writing how sorry I am on all these sticky notes. Now, I’m going to stick them all over her desk.”
“Isn’t that going to be…annoying? To have to work at a desk covered in sticky notes?” Nash asks, his eyebrows drawn down in a questioning look.
Shit. Is it?
“I was going for dedicated,” I say, biting my lip as I question my life choices yet again.
The melody showed up where the dirt meets the sky. Maybe peace is louder, when you stop asking why.
“Yes!” I say loudly, causing Nash to swerve as he looks at me.
I pull the pen out of my pocket, grabbing the notebook I stashed in the back seat before writing down the lyrics.
“That better be a million-dollar song,” Nash grumbles as he pulls into the space in front of Izzy’s office.
I click my pen once before shoving it back in my pocket. “I’ll take any song at this point. Really just shooting for mediocre but finished.”
Glancing at my watch, I realize just how much sticking I’m going to have to do before Izzy shows up. “Want to help?” I ask Nash.
Nash shakes his head. “Nah. Still Team Izzy over here. And, while it seems like she might be warming up to you, I’m staying firmly on the sideline until I know for sure.”
I climb out of the vehicle. “Can’t blame you for that.”
“Hey, Becca,” I say casually as I stroll into the office. Maybe if I act normal, she won’t realize it’s weird that I’m here right now.
“Jaxon,” Becca says, her tone the cool, though not cold, one I’ve come to expect. I’m pretty sure it’s how she tries to make it clear she’s Team Izzy. “What are you doing here?”
“Just here on a little forgiveness task,” I say, sitting at Izzy’s desk, and sticking the first note to her computer screen.
Becca takes one look at the sticky note now attached to Izzy’s monitor and promptly stands. “Yeah, I don’t want any part of this. I’m out.”
I don’t respond, too focused on peeling and sticking as fast as I possibly can.
It can’t even be three minutes later when the door opens again.
“Jaxon Reid, what the hell are you doing to my desk?” Izzy asks, but I don’t fail to notice the smile that darts across her face before she wrestles it back into neutrality.
