Soon enough, though, a banging noise from the direction of the art studio caught my attention. It wasn’t too loud in my workspace, but it wasn’t silent, either. There were a few quick bursts, then a stretch of quiet, and then a few more quick bursts.
I let out a slow breath. It wasn’t as bad as I expected, and it might even be possible to ignore it after a while.
A screech pierced the air, much louder than the banging. Rubbing my hands over my face, I grumbled, then headed down the stairs. The noise sounded about the same from the living room, and I wandered for a minute, pointing my ear in the direction of the studio and judging the volume in different parts of the house.
When I reached the kitchen sink, the house went quiet. I stared out the window toward the back, listening for the racket to start up, but Cass emerged from behind the trees instead. His eyes went straight to the window, and he nodded his head back casually, greeting me.
“Damn it,” I whispered. He was going to think I’d been staring the whole time.
“Hey, Shawn,” Cass called from the back door. I smoothed down my T-shirt, then straightened my back as he walked into the kitchen. Sweat dotted his forehead, and the muscles on his biceps popped. “Was that too noisy up here at the house?”
“Oh no,” I answered quickly. “Not at all!”
Damn it.
A voice in the back of my brain, my voice, screamed that I should tell him the truth, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Like it would be uncool to complain about the noise or something.
“Great,” Cass answered. “Glad to hear it.”
A V of sweat darkened his black T-shirt. I took in a breath, and his pheromones hit me like a wave. I was instantly soaked through, the scent of musky sweat and dirt tingling me in just the right way.
I wanted to bury my face against his chest and taste him on my lips. More than wanted. It was a need, and I had to tighten my hands behind my back to get a grip on myself again.
“Are you going to work long today?” I asked.
“For a while, yeah,” he answered. “But since you’re here, maybe we could see how the drums sound? I hauled them to the studio this morning and found a place to set up. I can give them a quick bang, and you can let me know if it’s too loud?”
I nodded. “Sure, Cass.”
He pushed his hand through his hair, then headed back out. I stood at the window and watched him saunter across the yard, and a minute later, an even louder banging hit the house. The rhythm was fast and fun, almost light, but the shock of it made me jump.
Cass jogged back into the yard, then waved at me as I stood in the window. I pushed it open and stuck my head out.
“How’s it sound?” Cass hollered.
I gave him a thumbs up. “No problem!” I yelled.
He pointed at me. “Beautiful,” he hollered, his voice full and warm, then turned back around the bend to the studio.
When I pulled my head in, I considered running it under the cold water for a minute, just to see if that would snap me back to reality. What the hell was I thinking? Did I hope to impress him by my high noise tolerance or something?
I grabbed a half a sandwich I had left over from lunch, then headed back up to my desk.
Maybe I’d turn into a night owl. The nights were quiet, and that was the best time to see the stars anyway.
And if Cass was going to be all sweaty and hot on top of everything else, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out in the daylight anyway.
Chapter Four
Cass
The old artstudio was exactly the kind of summer project I was looking for. There was one main room, with wall-sized windows that flooded the interior with light. Behind it, a second room hosted some storage and an old sink. Around the side, a narrow porch stretched out, and beyond it, the hill rolled gently into its decline. Leo and Shawn’s grandma hadn’t remodeled since the 1980s, as the wood-paneled walls and pink drum lampshades proved. But when I poked around the foundation and roof, it seemed in decent shape. With Leo’s vision of a guest house in mind, it was the perfect job to fill up a summer.
And with the view the Appalachian hills afforded me, I couldn’t imagine a better spot. The trees were so lush and green, the colors dazzled me, and bright wildflowers of all different kinds sprouted along the earth. The clean, refreshing air cleansed me with every breath, while birds called from the distance.
I’d worked carpentry on and off after high school, when I was still getting my start as a drummer, and it felt good to have the knowledge come back to my muscles. A couple of the short posts under the porch needed to be replaced, so I started there, measuring out the posts I’d grabbed in town and appreciating the warm sun as the day crept toward noon.
As I measured and marked the posts, I remembered those early days, happily working as a carpenter on small, local projects during the day and pulling in extra money playing shows on the weekends. After high school, I’d had a couple of crappy metal bands with friends, but that shit was just a way to pass the time, more joking around than anything else. When I moved to Nashville and answered an ad on a gut instinct, though, I’d picked up a paying gig in the house band at a dive bar. A couple years after that, when the lead singer of Twice Shattered caught me on stage, I got invited to join the band. Our hyped-up blend of punk and metal was popular with some Nashville crowds, and before I knew it, we picked up enough regular gigs to pay my rent.
