But what if this didn’t have an end?
What if you decided to let me in?
I know you can be that man
This could be where we begin.
Setting my notebook to the side, I race to my room and grab my guitar so I can try to find a melody to go with the words. The last thing I should be doing is writing a song about my feelings for my boss, but I strum a few chords until I find one that I like and attempt to sing the words softly so as not to disturb Remy’s bedtime routine.
I know that you’re scared
Because I’m scared too.
You have the power to destroy me
And I can do the same to you.
But we can be scared together
Just put your hand in mine.
Or are these feelings fleeting
Because we’re on borrowed time?
I’m so lost in the melody and words that I don’t realize how much time has passed until Henley is standing right next to me, fresh from the shower, his eyebrows pinched together. “You’re working on a song,” he observes.
I have to crane my neck back to look up at him. “I am.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that since you moved in.”
I set my guitar to the side and close my notebook, resting it on my lap as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “That’s because I haven’t. I’ve been playing music for Remy, but I haven’t been able to write since I left LA.”
“Why did you?” he asks, resting his head in his hand propped up on the back of the couch.
“Why did I what?”
“Leave Los Angeles,” he clarifies.
Avoiding his gaze, I say, “I told you. I’m trying to figure out if a career in music is what I really want.”
“No, I think there’s more to it than that.”
My head snaps to him again. “What makes you say that?”
“Maybe that’s why you haven’t been able to write.”
“Well, struggling with this decision is probably part of it.”
“But I think there’s another reason too, the one that’s tied to your panic attack.” My throat grows tight and tension builds in my shoulders. “Dilynne mentioned it when she was worried that you hadn’t texted her back. And it wasn’t before you performed, it was after, correct?” I don’t say anything because my pulse is fluttering rapidly in my neck, so he takes it as permission to keep pushing. “So it wasn’t performance anxiety. Something else triggered it.”
Diverting my gaze, I grate out, “I really don’t want to talk about it, Henley.”
“Yeah, well there’s a lot of shit that I don’t like talking about either, but I’m realizing how much it’s affecting me.”
I turn back to face him, shaking my head. “Wow. That’s great. I’m happy for you. But I don’t think this conversation is appropriate between a boss and his employee.” Standing from the couch, I attempt to walk away, but Henley reaches out and gently grasps my arm, stopping me. His touch singes my skin and my breathing picks up.
“There are a lot of things that are happening between us that aren’t appropriate, El.” The gravel of his voice travels down my spine as he slowly stands, putting his chest against my back and still holding my arm in his hand as his thumb passes back and forth over my skin. “Like me kissing you the other night. That was highlyinappropriate, don’tyou think?” His breath skates across my neck, making a shiver run across my skin and hope surges through me.
