Oh, right. There was that, too. If I took Dr. Freeman up on her generous offer, it would mean saying goodbye to Cass early, too. I knew that the summer wasn’t going to last forever and that he’d go back to his life in Nashville after and probably settle down with some beautiful woman. Already, I had recruited Audrey to help me keep my head on straight and remind me every now and then about the reality of what I was doing with Cass.
Playing and experimenting weren’t exactly lifelong commitments.
But being together, even just like we were? That felt amazing, like nothing I’d ever had before. I had to constantly remind myself that more wasn’t possible, no matter how much my heart was starting to want it. Giving up even one single minute of it seemed painful.
“Be right down!” I hollered. I stopped at the mirror to check myself out and bare my teeth, then jogged down the stairs.
Cass was waiting in the living room, sitting back on the top of the couch. His hair was damp and pushed back, and he wore a tight pair of jeans and a black tank top. Fresh and clean, he was obviously right out of the shower.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I finished those benches on the porch. Do you want to check it out? I thought we could take some leftovers out there and watch the sunset.”
“Sure,” I said. “I wasn’t really getting any writing done anyway.”
“Slow day?”
We walked into the kitchen. Without saying a thing about it, we each took a different task, mixing together a couple nights’ worth of leftovers into a meal.
“My old professor emailed me about an entry-level research job she thinks I should consider,” I explained.
“That’s good, right?”
I scooped some mac and cheese onto a plate. “It’s kind of good.” I thought about it but decided not to mention the timeline. Even suggesting I would leave early might pop the bubble we were floating in. “I’m just not sure it’s the kind of work I want to do.”
Cass dropped a few ears of corn in a bowl, then tossed it in the microwave. “Right. You want to keep writing your book. Have you told your old professor that?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No. She’s the busiest person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to bother her with that.”
Cass’s hand landed on the small of my back as he reached to open the cupboard above me, sending a shock through my muscles. “She thought to reach out to you about the job, didn’t she? It sounds like she might care.”
“Maybe I’ll mention it. But unless I sell this book to a publisher, it’s not going to make me money, and that’s still a long way away. I’m not really in a position to turn down a good job.”
“I know what that’s like.” He grabbed a bottle of wine and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll be happy working another carpentry job to pay my bills. That’s good money and good work. But the second I’m back in Nashville, I’m going to have to cave and start drumming for some shitty house band at an equally shitty tourist bar, just to stay in practice.”
“How long do you think until another band you like comes along?”
“It’s anyone’s guess. Could be a week, could be never. There’s not really a science to that kind of thing.”
We made our way back to the studio. I was surprised at how much progress Cass had made so quickly. Among other changes, there were two beautiful benches built into the porch, curved in toward each other but facing the hillside. As we approached, the sun was inching toward the tree line and setting behind a distant horizon. Cass poured us each a glass of wine, I got him to tell me more about the career musicians he spent his days with, and as we ate, the sky turned pink around us.
He looked over the view, his eyes set to the distance, then reached back to rub his shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, just a little sore.”
I set my plate at my feet. “Do you want a shoulder rub?”
He grinned, a wolfish look filling his face. “You know I’m not going to turn that down.”
I went and stood behind him, and Cass tossed his shirt to the side. His shoulders were ropey with muscles, and I had to squeeze hard to sink my fingers into his flesh. I pawed around at first, not really sure what I was doing but still enjoying the give of his muscles and the heat of his skin. When I pressed my thumbs in behind his shoulder blades, he let out a deep moan.
“That’s the spot.”
I kept my thumb there, working it in. “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I admitted. “Feedback is appreciated.”
“You’re doing great, babe,” he answered, relaxing back against the beach.
