by Kelly Moore
I kneel and stop her hand from unlacing her skates. “No, it doesn’t, but I won’t ask you for more than you’re ready to give.”
“That’s the part you’re missing. I’ll never be ready.”
“Why? Why can’t you tell me?” I search the pain in her eyes.
Her lip quivers. “It’s too much. Can’t we just enjoy our time together?” She raises her hand to my cheek.
I concede and nod. I want more, so much more, but for now, I’ll let it go. It’s only been three days since we met. I can’t expect her to feel the same for me. I’m not even sure why I feel so deeply for her, but I can’t deny that I do.
“How about some hot chocolate?” I change the subject.
“That sounds like something we could both use.”
I sit next to her and unlace my skates as she does hers. Taking them from her, I hand them to the girl behind the booth that sold us the tickets.
I walk back over to Lyla, and she stands. I draw her into my side, where I want her to stay. She doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arm around me.
We walk by a vendor grilling hot dogs. “How come they always smell so good when they cook them?” I angle my head in his direction.
“I know, right. I hate home-cooked hot dogs.
“Do you want one?”
“No. I’m looking forward to the hot chocolate.”
We cross the street and walk over to a row of shops. In the middle, tucked in between a sandwich shop and a small bookstore is a coffeehouse.
I open the glass door. “After you.” I bow, and she giggles.
A long counter stacked with chrome espresso machines, bean grinders, and carafes filled with aromatic coffee blends takes up most of the space in the small shop. There’s a line of people and a chalkboard with specials written on them.
“I love the smell of coffee.” She nuzzles into my side.
“Look, there are muffins.”
She steps closer to the glass enclosure holding the selection of different types of goodies. “No pie,” she says, and I laugh.
“May I take your order,” the young barista asks.
“Two hot chocolates,” I say.
“Could you put whipped cream on mine, laced with a drizzle of chocolate,” she adds.
“I like a woman that knows what she wants. Make mine like hers.” The girl behind the counter smiles and rings up our order.
We walk to the end of the counter where an employee is calling out names for the orders.
“Let’s find a seat.” It’s a busy little place. There are small bistro tables squeezed in every nook and cranny. Lyla heads for the only table that sits in front of a giant glass window with a view of the street and the ice rink.
I pick up the newspaper that someone left behind and place it on the coffee counter. As I’m at the counter, I hear the person in line say they don’t have enough money to cover it. He’s spilled out a pocket full of change and has it in stacks and starts raking it back into the torn pocket of his sweat jacket. I take out my wallet and hand the barista a ten-dollar bill. “Make sure you pick out one of those muffins too.” I smile at him, and he thanks me.
My name is called before I make it back to Lyla. I pick up our warm cups and place them on our table.
“Are you always so kind to strangers?” she asks, sliding the cup in her direction.
“What? I recall you placing money in a homeless man’s pocket.” I sit in the small wrought iron chair with a round padded seat.
“It seems to come naturally to you.” She blows on her hot chocolate.
“I didn’t grow up with money. My mom raised me on her own, and it wasn’t easy on her.”
“Are you an only child?”
“I had a younger brother.” I take a sip, and the warmth cascades down my throat. I look up, and she’s staring at her cup that’s raised off the table.
“What happened to him?” Her voice is hushed.
“My dad had taken us swimming in a rock quarry. The three of us were splashing around and then the next thing I remember, he was gone.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “How did your parents survive it?”
“My dad didn’t. Well, he did for a while, but he ended up taking his own life. My mom found him hanging by a noose in the barn.”
“You say all that like it happened to someone else.” She’s still whispering.
“It was a long time ago, and I barely remember any of it. What I do remember is how hard it was on my mother. Losing a son aged her twenty years. Finding my father hanging, damn near killed her. She blamed herself for not being able to help him.”
“I’m so sorry,” she finally says after a long pause. “Life isn’t fair for those left behind.”
I reach over and take her hand. “I don’t want to talk about anything that’s going to bring you down. Do you want to skate some more?”
“How about we rent a movie and snuggle up at my cabin?”
“Are you inviting me to stay the night with you,” I tease. I lean back in my seat and drink my hot chocolate.
“I don’t think I mentioned you staying the night.” She squints, and then the corner of her lip lifts into a smile.
“It’s supposed to get cold tonight. I could build us a fire in your fireplace.”
“That sounds like a perfect evening to me.”
“If I’m gone before you get up in the morning, it’s because I have a client coming in the morning. I’d reschedule, but I had to cancel on him last week.”
“I understand. I want to work on my song with Elliot.”
I make a face when she says his name, and she laughs. “I think if you gave him a chance, you’d really like him.”
“I don’t know…he thinks you’re trouble.”
“He’s right, I am.” She finishes off her drink and wipes the white cream off her face.
“We’d better go before it gets dark. I don’t want you riding that bike of yours back like it’s on fire in the dark.”
“There’s no other way to ride.” She giggles and stands. She takes my cup and tosses both of them in the trash.
We walk back across the street, and she places her helmet on and straddles low on the bike. She slips easily into traffic, weaving in and out. I keep up with her, and we get back to her cabin at the same time.
“I might have to buy me one of those, and we can ride together,” I tell her as soon as her helmet is off.
“That would be a lot of fun.”
“You haven’t eaten. How about I order us a pizza?”
“That sounds good. Ham and pineapple?”
“That’s totally gross.” I laugh. “I’ll order two pies. Mine will be filled with meat…not fruit.”
I start a fire and call in our order. She runs upstairs and changes clothes. The box of notebooks is staring me in the face, but I refuse to invade her privacy again. When she’s ready, she’ll open up to me, but not if she doesn’t trust me.
She comes back dressed in a thick, warm, light blue robe and heads directly for the vodka in the cabinet. She takes it down and holds it in one hand, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Not a word. I’m having one drink. Do you want to join me?”
I hold up one finger.
She sits with me on the couch and clutches the blanket to her. I know it’s hers and doesn’t belong here, but I don’t ask. She flips through the channels of the television mounted on the wall.
I hear the minute the delivery person pulls into the driveway. I meet him at the door and pay him. When I get back, she has paper plates and napkins set on the coffee table.
“Did you find a movie?”
“Yeah, what do you think about Die Another Day?”
“I’m a James Bond fan.” I open the pizza boxes, and she digs in without hesitation. I think it’s the first thing I’ve seen her eat since the pie, other than stale toast.
Both of us stuffed, we watch the movie. At some point near the end, I feel her head land on my shoulder. She’s asleep. I reach for the re
mote and turn off the TV. I adjust us so that my leg is on the couch behind her and I pull the blanket up over as she plants her head on my chest. She lifts her head and bats her eyes open a few times. She places her chin in the middle of my chest and looks up at me. “Make love to me, Jameson.”
I push her up, lay her back, and cover her with my body. She wraps her legs around me, and I slowly make love to every inch of her. I want her to remember every place I’ve touched her to make it easier to fall in love with me. We spend hours touching each other, kissing, and talking in between. She seems so relaxed and comfortable with me. Looking into her eyes at this very moment, whatever holds her back, has been tucked somewhere inside, and it’s the true Lyla I’m making love to. No pain exists in her, only the emotion she’s feeling right now. I feel it, and I never want to let go of her.
Chapter 9
Lyla was still sleeping when I got up this morning to leave. I felt her get up several times during the night. Her sleep was restless, and I could’ve sworn I heard her open the cabinet where she keeps the liquor bottle several times. She was finally peaceful again this morning, and I didn’t want to wake her up.
The band, Stormy Weather is standing outside waiting for me when I cross the street to my building. It’s a four-man band with a lead singer, electric guitar player, keyboard player, and a drummer. Axel is the lead singer. He’s young with talent but a little on the arrogant side.
“Sorry, I’m late.” The keys rattle as I unlock the door.
He glances at his watch. “Our flight leaves here at five today, so we need to do a quick wrap-up.”
The lights come on, and I go directly into the control room as they go to the live room. They use most of their own equipment, so I work on all the filters as they set up. When he’s ready at the boom, I flip on the “on-air” sign, and they start playing.
Four hours into their album, I throw my headphones off over frustration. They’ve nailed all the songs but their lead song. Something is off, and it doesn’t work for them. They keep trying to blame my equipment. I hear the front door of the studio open, and before I can get up to see who it is, Lyla comes into the control room.
“I hope this is okay. Elliot dropped me off and will be back in an hour. I thought maybe we could work on a couple songs here if the live room was empty.” She sits on my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.
“It should’ve been empty a while ago, but they can’t get their lead song right.” I kiss her sweet lips.
She reaches for the headphones. “Can I hear it?”
“Be my guest,” I tell her. I lift her hips and give her my seat. I roll over another chair and grab a set of headphones. I turn around and see her fingers on the sliders, and her eyes are shut. She’s done this before. I watch her and listen to the slight changes she’s making. I see her lips move, and I take off my headphones so I can hear her.
“What?”
“Have him sing it an octave lower and raise an octave at the chorus.”
I press the mic that blares into the live room. “Guys.” They stop playing. I repeat what she said. “Try an octave lower and go up one octave on the chorus.”
The guitar player strums a few notes lower, and they start over. The song works perfectly. When Axel hits the last note, he looks through the partition at me. “How did you know that would work?”
“It wasn’t me. It was her.” I splay my hand in her direction.
He squints at her and walks closer to the glass. “Don’t I know you?”
She shakes her head and bolts up from her chair, heading for the door. “I need to call Elliot,” she says, making a quick escape.
I turn off the mic and shut down the recording. The band is packing up their equipment. I hand Axel what he needs to take with him. “You recognized her?” I ask.
“I don’t know, maybe. She looked familiar.”
“She’s been playing at the Brew’s Brothers.”
“I haven’t been there in months, so that’s not it. What’s her band called?”
“Gypsy.”
“Gypsy,” he repeats, tapping his finger to his chin. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Maybe she came to one of our concerts, and I saw her there.”
I highly doubt it. I don’t picture her digging his music. “This is all you need. I’m sure I can get you a record label on your lead song.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
I open the door while they carry out all their equipment. Once they’re gone, I go in search of Lyla. She’s sitting on my couch looking at her phone. “There you are.”
She darkens whatever she was looking at. “Elliot will be here in ten minutes.”
“Great. Maybe I’ll get a chance to know him a little better.”
They work on her song and practice for next week’s performance for the next several hours. Elliot doesn’t say much to me, but he did mention that he liked my recording studio. On one of the breaks, Lyla runs upstairs and uses my bathroom, and I take the moment to talk to him.
“Lyla seems to know her way around a recording studio.”
He tilts his hat upward. “She told you her name?” His voice is gruff.
“Yeah.”
“Be careful with her,” he warns me. “She doesn’t get emotionally attached to people.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
“Has she told you her story?”
“No.” I’m hoping he’s going to jump right in and tell me himself.
“Then you’re not as close as you seem to think you are.” He places his guitar in its case.
“Are we done?” Lyla bounces back into the room before I get a chance to respond to his comment.
“I think we’ve had enough for one day. Your song is perfect.” He smiles at her and touches her face.
It’s everything I can do to stand here and watch their interactions. She steps on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “Thank, you,” she says and grabs her bag that she threw in the corner.
“Are you leaving with them?” I ask as Elliot heads out.
“Mmmm…are you asking me to stay?” She has a shy smile on her face.
“Yes.” I step up close to her and kiss her sweet lips.
“Then yes, I’ll stay with you. On one condition.”
“There are always conditions with you. Okay, what deal do you want to make?” I chuckle.
“You take me to the fair that’s coming to town.”
“That I can do. I don’t think it’s here for another month.” That gives me hope that in that time frame, she’ll let me in.
I spend every weekend in the bar, listening to her sing, and she spends every evening in my bed. Little by little, I’ve noticed her not drinking as much. She’s still restless at night, but instead of finding a bottle, I’ve caught her scribbling in one of her notebooks she keeps in her oversized bag.
The one thing I do love is that every time she sees me, her face lights up. She finds me in the crowd every night before she starts singing and smiles this big beautiful smile. I’ve even noticed that her songs seem happier. I asked her about one of them, and she said it was one of the first songs she ever wrote, when life was perfect.
I’m taking her to the county fair tonight like I promised her a month ago.
“Is that what you’re wearing to the fair?” I flip the brim of her hat.
“What’s wrong with what I have on?” She looks at her pink blouse and khaki pants.
“It’s a little dressy, and I think you’re going to want something a little warmer to wear. It’s staying pretty cold at night now.”
“I think I have a pair of jeans upstairs, but all my blouses are thin. I have my jacket.”
“I have the perfect thing for you to wear.” I go to my drawer and dig to the bottom and pull out a Tennessee Titans sweatshirt. It’s one of my old favorites, and I’d love to see her sexy body in it.
“Here, you can wear this.” I toss it to her. She holds it up by the shoulders.
“I think I’ll drown in it.”
But she unbuttons her blouse and pulls it over her head. She stands and holds out her arms. “What do you think?” It falls almost to her knees.
I grab her and jerk her to me. “You’d look sexy in a potato sack.” I nip at her lips.
“I think you’re just horny.” She giggles.
“Only for you.”
“Why have you never been married?” She pulls back and looks at me.
“I never found anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Besides, I was too busy building my career, and I didn’t have time for serious relationships. How about you?”
“How about me what?”
“Why haven’t you ever been married?” She quickly leaves my arms.
“I never said I hadn’t been married.” She picks up her purse. “Are you ready to take me to the fair?” She doesn’t look at me.
“Wait, so you’ve been married?” I follow her down the stairs through the studio.
She stops, and I bump into her. I turn her around to look at me, and her eyes are that stormy color again when she starts to hide. Instead of pushing for answers, I kiss her on the nose. “Let’s go.”
She’s quiet on the ride to the fair, but she reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “Thank you for taking me.”
“You’re welcome. Listen, I talked to Elliot about your song, the one we recorded. He wanted me to try to talk you into letting me get you a label for it.” I glance in her direction.
“Did he now?”
“Yes. And, I know that it’s so good, I could have you a contract by tomorrow.”
She doesn’t come out and say no like she normally does. “I’ll think about it.”
That’s progress.
I follow the signs to park, and I’m directed to a dirt area by a young man with a yellow vest on, pointing to open spots.
“Look at the Ferris wheel.” She sounds like an excited child, pointing at the brightly lit wheel, looping around in a circle.
“You’ve ridden a Ferris wheel, right?” I ask as I lock the car door.
“No. I’ve never been to the fair.”
“How is that possible?” I take her hand, and we walk to the ticket booth. As soon as we make it through the gate, the smell of fair food hangs in the air. That sweet smell of elephant ears used to be my favorite. My aunt worked at the fair, and she’d always get me in free and sneak me food. Cotton candy was my second favorite fair food to eat.