Aria laughs. “We’ll see you later.”
Moments later, a firm but friendly knock comes at the door, and Aria skips over and yanks it open. There Griffin stands with his hands folded in front of him grasping a bouquet of flowers. He wears jeans, a knit quarter-zip sweater, and leather boots.
Aria waves him inside as she ignores her racing pulse. “You clean up nice.”
Griffin smiles as he pats the front of his sweater. “I wasn’t sure how to play it, honestly. I figured I didn’t need to show up in sweats, but I also wasn’t going to pull out the suit again.”
“The woes of dressing a professional athlete.”
As Aria stands before him in the entryway, they both glance at the bouquet in his hands.
“I’m realizing now maybe I shouldn’t have brought these,” Griffin says.
“No!” Aria reaches out for the flowers and gently takes them. “They’re lovely.”
Griffin scratches his head like he’s regretting the choice. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, but you said you already had food covered.”
Aria turns and leads the way through the grand entrance into the open living area with the vaulted ceiling, and onward into the kitchen. She fills a vase with some water and deposits the flowers. “I’ll trim them later on, but they’ll make a greataddition to the kitchen. Hungry?” Aria gestures to the food Bailey arranged.
“I’m a professional football player. I’m always hungry.” Griffin leans against the counter and looks around the house. “Is it always this tidy?”
“Pretty much, but I might have picked up a little this morning. Wouldn’t want you to have to dodge piles of laundry.”
“I honestly wouldn’t mind seeing a pile or two of laundry around here. Just shows that you’re human,” Griffin says.
Aria smiles as she hands him a plate, and after he’s loaded it, she leads him down the stairs and into the recording studio. Now that Griffin is here, the worries that kept bubbling up earlier have abated, and Aria feels a peacefulness settle inside her.
At the base of the stairs she points out the beverage fridge over by her writing corner. “Anything you want to drink is in there, so help yourself.” She grabs her favorite cardigan from the mixing table and pulls it on.
Griffin sets down his plate on the table and turns around, almost in wonder, examining the place. “This is where it all happens, huh?”
Aria props her hands on her hips. “For the most part. The new stuff always comes out of here first. We’ll record final tracks elsewhere, but this is pretty much where every song is born.”
Griffin smiles and waggles his brow. “Can’t believe I’m here. So, tell me about it. What’s the process? Where do the ideas come from? How do you keep variety in the actual melody?” He grabs a sandwich from the plate and takes a bite.
Aria laughs. “Well, that’s a lot to answer at once, but we’vegot time.” She wanders over to the writing corner, bends to her guitar case, and uncovers the instrument. “This here is Old Faithful, the guitar I’ve had since I started out. She never goes onstage, but I work out all my new melodies on her before I take it to the piano.”
“That’s so cool. And it’s almost like you get to keep a special piece of it to yourself.”
Aria looks again at the guitar. In all this time, she hadn’t ever considered that, but alas, Griffin is showing her what it is to see with fresh eyes. “You know, you’re right. I cherish it, even though it’s only an old beginner model.”
“But one that wasyourbeginning.”
Aria sets the instrument back into the case and leaves it open. She picks up the writing notebook. “This very high-tech notebook is where I work out lyrics—for better or worse. I always write in pencil.” She glances over at the electronic equipment, a walled-off microphone and a few table boards. “I won’t bore you with the details of the mixing equipment, but I can record vocals in here with pretty good quality.”
“Not to mention there’s a great fireplace.”
A laugh spills out of Aria. “You don’t miss a thing.”
“So do I get to see you at work?” Griffin looks away for a moment. “There’s no pressure.”
Aria takes in a breath, then lets it out as she crosses the room to him. “In theory, yes. It’s just that this new album isn’t coming easy. I have one song—with a football theme, thanks to our time together—but that’s it.”
“You’re trying your best but your heart’s not in it?”
“Bingo. Everything’s coming out flat and boring because that’s how I feel about it.”
“We can get you over the hump.” Griffin sets down the sandwich and dusts off his hands. “The lyrics are the problem?”
