“Hey, the people who truly matter, the ones who care about you? They’ll love you for exactly who you are.”
He huffs and I wonder where all the insecurities come from. Is it just shyness, or his inexperience? I take a step closer, fighting the urge to wrap him in my arms and shield him from the world. Instead, I want to understand, to help him.
“Why don’t we head out to the balcony?” I suggest. “We can get some fresh air. It might help put things in perspective.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, just searches my face as if looking for something. Then, slowly, he nods.
“I’ll make us a drink, huh?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, his shoulders sagging.
I hold his gaze. He’s amazing, inside and out. We only met a week or so ago, but in that short time, I feel as if I’ve come to know him. I’m aware I’ve hardly touched the surface, but I know enough. He’s down to earth, and genuine, and cares for other people. He’s not superficial, he’sreal. I wish he could see himself through my eyes, see how incredible he is.
“So tea or coffee?” I ask, aiming for upbeat trying to change the mood.
“I think we’re best sticking to tea,” he says. “There’s only instant coffee in the cabin and it’s terrible.”
“Sure. Tea it is.”
I spot a kettle on the desk. It’s empty so I take it to the tiny bathroom and, after a struggle, manage to slot it under the spout in the sink and fill it with water. In the meantime, Kyle’s found two white ceramic cups and dangled a tea bag into each. I plug in the kettle and turn it on.
As we wait for the water to boil we sit on the edge of Kyle’s bed, as the slim couch is piled with clothes, books, and a bag containing souvenirs Kyle bought for his family. There’s the small backpack that he took on the shore excursion, a bottle of sunscreen peeking out. It’s so different to my suite where most of my personal items are in the walk-in dressing room. If we want to watch TV in Kyle’s cabin, we need to sit on the bed. If we want to eat, the only spot is a tiny space on the desk or I guess there’s the balcony.
The kettle whistles so I pour the water, then rummage in the tiny fridge for a miniscule carton of milk. Looking around, it hits home just how different things are from my suite, that Kyle really is out of his element and I’ve thrust him into my world without any preparation. No wonder he panicked.
I pass him a cup of tea and extend my hand. After a moment of hesitation, he takes it with his free one, his calloused palm warm against mine, as I lead him to the doors. Unfortunately I have to let his hand go to open it. We step out onto the balcony, where a gentle sea breeze lifts my hair reminding me it’s still down around my shoulders. I wish I’d tied it back after the show, and taken the time to take off the eyeliner, but too late now. I tuck my hair behind my ears as we sit in the chairs that surround a small teak table.
“Sorry for freaking out back there,” Kyle says.
“Hey, I understand. Hell, I’m not exactly in my element either.”
He glances at me and I can tell he’s surprised. “Really? I know large crowds make you anxious, but you’re used to the spotlight, much better at talking to people in general.”
I huff a laugh. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But the truth is I’m much more comfortable in the studio or on stage, where I have a purpose, a role to play. Off stage, I’m muddling my way through like everyone else.”
“But you’re popular—”
“Zelman is popular. I’m just riding on his coattails.”
Kyle’s brow furrows. “You say that like you’re two separate people.”
I shrug and take a sip of the hot tea. “I guess that’s the way I think about it. It’s the real me performing on stage, but the fans expect me to live up to the rock star persona twenty-four-seven. Deep down I’m just a boy from the ’burbs with my own hangups and insecurities.”
“I had no idea,” Kyle says. “I guess I just assumed…”
“That I have it all figured out?” I quirk a brow. “Far from it. But that’s the beauty of life, isn’t it?”
“Stumbling along, trying to find our way?”
“Exactly.”
He offers me a small smile and I relax a little, raising my cup to my lips.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Kyle says, “but so different to home. Back home we’d be listening to a chorus of frogs and cicadas.”
I chuckle. “At home, I’d be listening to a symphony of car horns.” I take another sip of the English Breakfast before putting the cup down and angling my chair so I can reach him. “I don’t think I fully realised just how new all this is to you, but, Kyle, you don’t need to change who you are to fit in.” I cup his cheek. “Your shyness, your authenticity… they’re part of what makes you so special.”
He meets my gaze and leans into my touch. “Even if I’m an inexperienced country boy?”
