“If?”
Nash rocked back on his heels. “When I do, I’ll record three to five songs by others or co-write them.”
She inhaled sharply. “You might be interested in one of my songs?”
“If they’re anything like what you sang on Friday, yes.”
So this was an audition, but unlike the reality TV show, she had more control here.
“Fine, let me change clothes and I’ll sing one, but then you can go.” She assumed a singer didn’t decide they wanted to cut a song without running it by their producer and likely label. Probably more people had input, too.
After grabbing clean clothes, Ivy dashed into the bathroom to change. She quickly went through her morning routine that included brushing her hair and teeth. All told she finished in less than five minutes.
She went to the small dining table where she found him standing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a lot of songs.”
“I like writing music.” As she picked up her guitar, he sat where she’d been sitting on the bed.
A good thing Ivy couldn’t tell anyone about Nash Bennett being in Quinn Valley because no one would believe he was in her apartment and asking her to sing.
Maybe she was dreaming.
Or would this count as a nightmare?
Ivy didn’t know, but she strummed her guitar anyway. As she sang the first verse, she didn’t glance at Nash. One wrong look from him or shake of his head, and she wasn’t sure how she would react. So Ivy pretended she was singing for herself and Pearl, her usual audience, even though the cat was asleep, dead to the world, because of waking up each time Ivy had.
Her fingers pressed on the strings, each chord change memorized after countless times of practicing. The words were engraved on her heart, which made singing for Nash feel almost intimate. More than once she wanted to stop, but if she made it to the end, he would leave.
She held the final note of the song. When she finished, he sat silent, an astonished expression on his face.
She was afraid to ask what he thought so she placed her guitar into its case without saying anything. Silence seemed to be her MO around him.
“That was incredible.” Awe filled his voice. “Even better than Friday’s song.”
It was, but hearing him say that lit a fire inside her. “Thank you.”
He leaned forward. “Have you performed this one?”
“No, unless I count right now.”
That made him laugh. “How often do you perform the songs you write?”
“Rarely. Most of the songs haven’t been played outside this apartment or heard by anyone except Pearl.” Ivy had approached some music publishers, but no one had been interested at the time. Since then, she’d stockpiled her songs. Though she had copyrighted them because of an article she’d read online. One day, she would muster her courage to approach publishers again. “Customers prefer to hear covers at the pub.”
“Have you considered making this a duet?”
“No, because I perform alone.” She thought about the different stanzas and imagined a two-part chorus. “Though I can see how a duet might work.”
“It will.” He stood. “Let’s try it.”
Wait, what?Her stomach clenched. “You said you’d leave.”
“You said I’d leave. Initially, I said I’d leave if that’s what you want.” His blue-eyed gaze challenged her. “Is it, Ivy? Or would you rather help me see if this song is something I should cut?”
Cut as in record the song.
Her muscles bunched. “You don’t play fair.”
