Sweethand

by N. G. Peltier

  “I’m flattered you think this young man’s giving me the time of day,” his mother said, patting his cheek.

  Adam looked too pleased with himself. This swirl of annoyance was leftovers from dealing with his father, who had thankfully left with his girlfriend as soon as they’d all come downstairs. He’d been on edge the entire time. His sole moment of reprieve had been that hug from Cherisse, which he shouldn’t think too hard about.

  He needed some air before he caused a scene and punched a guy out.

  He didn’t go far, just a little way from their table, leaning against one of the columns as he stared out at the dark water.

  “A dollar for your thoughts.”

  He swung his head to the side and watched as Maxine leaned against the column opposite his. “A whole dollar? Lucky me. What happened to a penny?” he teased.

  Maxine shrugged. “I figure a dollar may be more of an attractive incentive for you to share your thoughts.”

  “A dollar can’t buy shit, but I mean, money is money.”

  “You okay?”

  He see-sawed his hand from side to side, and she nodded. Didn’t ask him to elaborate. She obviously got it. Had to be feeling some of the same weariness, anger, and frustration at the entire situation. They both stared out at the waterfront for a while, deep in their own thoughts, until Maxine interrupted the silence.

  “Are you thinking about how weird that hug was that we walked in on? Because I sure was.”

  Of course, she wouldn’t let that slide. Maxine wasn’t Devon, who didn’t care to be involved in his siblings’ business. Not that Cherisse was Keiran’s business in any way that didn’t involve wedding stuff.

  “Nope.” This time, he strived for casual, uncaring. That hug? No biggie. Didn’t affect him in any way. “I’m taking in the scenery, calming myself so I don’t rail that Adam guy.”

  “Don’t deflect. What’s going on with you two? You were hugging.”

  “Nothing is going on. We decided to be civil, that’s all. And I got all up in my feelings, and she felt sorry for me. Just like I said.”

  “Cherisse doesn’t even like you. Would probably not pee on you if you were on fire, but you’re at the hugging stage now?” Maxine’s stare burned the side of his face. He loved having a twin, but times like these, Maxine’s perceptiveness was unwanted.

  “Look, I needed a favor from her, so we paused our arguing, called a truce. That’s it. Really. Don’t ask me what favor. I’m not telling.”

  Maxine sighed loudly and resumed leaning against the wall, arms folded, lips pursed. She was legit pouting, but Keiran wasn’t revealing a thing. Cherisse was already nervous about it, and he’d promised he wouldn’t tell anyone about the studio session except Dale.

  It was easy enough to get Cherisse in and out of the studio without anyone knowing. His mother, sister, and brother would be at work, and Leah was still at school until the July/August break. They had enough time to get it done.

  The knocking of glasses and scraping of utensils against plates jogged something in his brain, a rhythm formulating. Keiran tapped out the beats on his thigh. It was always how it began, some random sound that lit up his brain and shouted yes, you’ve got something here! There was a new potential beat in that chaos of sound. He’d extract it. He always did.

  “You’re doing that zoning out thing again.” Maxine turned to head back to the table. “I’m going back inside to rescue that boy from mummy, cuz she’d eat him alive.”

  Keiran flapped his hands at Maxine. “Shh,” he hissed. That beat, right there. Cherisse’s voice, layered over it, would be something magical.

  “Okay, I’m out.”

  He didn’t acknowledge Maxine’s exit, only smiled to himself as he tried to coax out the fledgling beat, excitement coursing through his veins at seeing what Cherisse could truly do with that voice.

  Chapter 13

  Cherisse

  THE BOOTH FELT SUFFOCATING. It wasn’t claustrophobia making her feel like the words were caught in her throat. It was Keiran watching intently from the other side of the glass. In here, he was different, less carefree. He’d donned this super-serious studio mode mask that left her skin prickly like she’d break out in hives at any moment.

  She was fucking this up, had no clue what she was doing. Just as she’d anticipated. Even as Keiran tried to guide her through it, she felt like she was croaking through the entire verse.

  Music wasn’t hard for her to catch; learning a new song came quickly to her. Hell, anything sung to a tune was faster to learn. The song was clear in her head. She knew her part. But she kept freezing up.

  “Alright, let’s take a break,” Keiran suggested, not a bit of frustration in his voice. Either he was good at faking this, or he was genuinely not about to shout her ass down for wasting his time. This was the second break they’d taken since Cherisse had come down to the studio.

  It was a random day in the week when everyone else was off at work, and his niece was off at school, so no one was around to witness this utter shitfest. Not even Scooby, who wasn’t allowed down here, apparently. The dog’s mournful face was the last thing she saw before Keiran closed the door and headed down the steps to the studio.

  “Sorry, I’m not good at this.” She exited the booth and threw herself down onto the couch, face on fire, as Keiran swiveled his chair to face her.

  She’d been in choir in primary school and had some vocal talent, but this? This was vastly different to singing along with a bunch of other people, guided by a choir mistress. In choir, she’d had no solos except for her audition to get into the choir, and that had been a heart-pounding experience.

  Here, with Keiran, it was just his eyes on her, and it made her itchy, made her skin feel too tight. She was close to dashing up the stairs and out the door, but she’d promised. Keiran had even come to pick her up, brushing away her comment about taking public transport to his house. No judgment about a woman her age, not driving. She was uncertain whether he’d been trying for chivalry or making sure she didn’t duck out on their deal. Maybe both.

  Bet he’s regretting this now.

  “Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” His question drew her out of her thoughts. His legs spread wide as he rocked back in his chair, arms resting on his stomach as he held her gaze. Her disloyal gaze that dipped right into the V his thighs created, for hopefully the briefest of moments. So brief that Keiran hadn’t noticed. Staring at Keiran’s crotch certainly wouldn’t make any of this less stressful. But it was just right there, practically begging for her eyes to trace the outline in those barely decent sweatpants.

  Focus.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s me.” Boy, was it ever. She’d never done this before, obviously, but Keiran had tried to prep her beforehand. He hadn’t just tossed her in the booth, but she wasn’t getting into that relaxed headspace. “I’m not a professional singer. I mean, sure, I’ve been in a choir, but it’s absolutely not the same.”

  Keiran cocked his head. “The secrets keep getting revealed.”

  “Choir wasn’t a secret. Just a part of my life I left behind. A fun thing to do while in school.” She’d loved it while she’d done it but had zero desire to take it further. She’d had no dreams of trying out for the national choir, no matter how much she’d been prodded. The most singing she did these days was in the shower, around the apartment, in Remi’s car, or at karaoke when she was tipsy enough to not care.

  “What can I do to make this less painful for you?”

  “Not look at me?” She was only half-joking.

  “Here’s what. Let’s try again, okay? You know the verse, no doubt about that. It’s your nerves tripping you up, but it’s your first time. You show me yours, I show you mine, right? I’m asking you to bare your soul basically, so I’m getting on the piano to try something, okay?”

  Piano? She’d, of course, noticed the sleek black instrument near the booth but hadn’t for one second thought Keiran knew how to play it. She’d figured
the electric keyboard setup was more his style, and maybe the piano was for show, which was a ridiculous assumption to make. Why wouldn’t he actually be able to play any of the instruments in here?

  “You can play that?”

  He sauntered over to the piano and sat, brow raised. “It’s not in here for style. I’m a terrible singer, so I put my musical talents elsewhere, and don’t even ask me to prove how bad I am. I don’t sing in public. Trust me, I’m saving your ears.” He ran his fingers over the dark wood, his touch a slow caress. “My father would scoff at this Kawai. He’s all about the Yamaha, but this upright will give just the sound I need. Always works for me. The lower tensile strength of the strings gives a more dynamic range. And don’t get him started on the electric piano over there.” He pointed at the keyboard setup. “He gives me grief for that too, but it works for certain tracks. Can’t please the man. Not that I still try to.”

  “Um...”

  He grinned. “Of course, none of that piano talk means anything to you, but just trust me.”

  Trust him. When it came to this, maybe she could. She was in his domain now and had no choice but to follow his lead. As his fingers danced lightly over the keys, Cherisse focused on his face, wanting to see the emotions there as he played what she soon recognized as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

  “Just warming up,” he said, grin wide. “Any requests?”

  “Can you play soca on this?”

  “Of course.” Confidence oozed off of him as the familiar sounds of a popular soca song echoed around the room. “Most people are usually surprised at what songs you can play on a classical instrument. Maxi can play just about anything on a viola. That’s viola, not violin.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Keiran sighed like he’d gotten the question many times before. Cherisse hadn’t known his sister played any instruments, and she sure as hell didn’t know how a viola and violin differed, choir and the recorder being her only forays into music.

  “Quick lesson,” he said as he continued playing song after song on the piano. “Violas are larger. Heavier, too, and have a deeper, mellower sound. Gorgeous instrument, but the piano is more my style.”

  Of course, it was. She could imagine Keiran charming the pants off someone as he coolly and casually stroked the keys like he was doing now. But her pants were staying firmly on, thank you very much.

  “Tell me. How many times have you used this piano to get laid?”

  His fingers faltered on the keys, but he didn’t stop. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?” Cherisse gave him a pointed look, and he chuckled. “Fine, one time, and I didn’t plan some elaborate seduction. She asked to see the studio, then asked me to play her something. The rest is history. Literally, because she’s the one everyone thinks I knocked up and left. But you know how that went.”

  Fuck. Cherisse opened her mouth to apologize again, but he shook his head and launched into something she didn’t recognize, but it tugged at her, causing goosebumps to pop up on her skin. It sounded like a tune that would perfectly back a groovy type soca song, like the one she couldn’t quite nail. The type of song you’d hear in a smoky bar that wrapped around you like a warm hug.

  “That’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  He didn’t reply, but his mouth quirked up in his trademark smirk she was getting used to. She’d never dreamed Keiran could wrench a sound like this from his fingertips. She wasn’t quite sure where to look. Her eyes darted from his fingers stroking the keys, coaxing that mellow sound out, to his face, full of concentration, but something lighter, too. As if he not only took great joy in breathing life into the instrument but sharing that with others. With her. Damn, talk about baring your soul.

  The song trailed off, and Cherisse had no words left. This Keiran she’d never seen. Knowing what he did and hearing the finished product on the radio was completely different from this moment. This raw, in-your-face moment of him replicating and creating sounds like these while his fingers danced across the keys like a lover’s touch.

  Cherisse had never paid much attention to Keiran’s hands, but at the moment, she wondered what music he could wrench from her if he touched her like that.

  Whoa, okay. She needed to reel this in.

  “Something like that would work,” he said, and she blinked at him as if coming out of a trance. Perhaps she was.

  “Yeah, okay, let’s try. That was...wow. Thanks for sharing that with me.”

  “Knives and forks on glass.”

  “What?” She furrowed her brow, confused.

  “Nothing.” He got to his feet. “Ignore my weird ramblings about my process.”

  He gestured for her to put the headphones back on.

  “Let’s try this.” Keiran watched her intently, voice coming through her headphones, calm. “Close your eyes. I need you to really feel the song. I’ll layer the piano over you after. Don’t focus on me. Focus on the lyrics and what type of way they make you feel.”

  She chewed her lip. Okay. He wasn’t asking her to do anything too weird, and after what he’d shared with her, she could at least try again. It was what she did when she was home alone, cleaning, belting out a tune. Her eyes wouldn’t be closed then, but she allowed herself to just feel, throw her whole being into the song, not caring how silly she looked. She did it in front of Remi because she felt comfortable with her; anyone else was a different story. But she could try.

  “Alright.” Keiran grinned, the curve of his mouth an enticing distraction she didn’t need. “Wow me. No pressure or anything.”

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, focused on the music filtering through her ears, and sang.

  KEIRAN

  “Well?”

  “That’s me.” Her eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. “I sound...good. I do sound good, right? By your professional standards, I mean.”

  Keiran chuckled. “You do. I knew you’d get it.”

  When her voice faded away, she asked him to play it again. And even though he did, hearing her voice again was like a kick to the gut, especially with the piano draped over it like warm caramel. She wrapped up the words with raw emotion, just what he’d asked for, but his heart was thumping. He was trying for a neutral face but had no idea how successful he was because damn. He wondered what she’d been thinking of as she sang. Her voice was battering his every sense right now, and he needed to not be getting swamped with all these feels.

  “You’re good at making me sound good,” Cherisse said.

  “Nah, that’s all you. I just bring out what’s already there, act as a guide. Package it up a lil’ nicely, but that’s all you.” She leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Take the damn compliment while you can get it.”

  “Fine. Thank you.”

  She kept up her casual stance, watching him. Her earlier nervousness was gone. Here was the Cherisse he was familiar with. That brain of hers was calculating how to ask him something. Whether to ask at all, but he knew she would.

  “You love music,” she said. “So why didn’t you work with your dad? Before the divorce, I mean.”

  A question he got a lot, especially in the rare interviews he did. His father had built a music empire which he’d made no secret about wanting to leave in Keiran’s hands, but he hadn’t wanted that.

  “I do work with him in some capacity. I produce stuff for some of his clients, but working at KKE just wasn’t for me. I just wanted to do my own thing. Make my own path. It’s funny, but not really, that my dad keeps insisting about me being his legacy when it’s no secret Maxi wants that. She went to school for Music Management, and he just ignored all that, kept insisting he wanted his son at his side. Devon couldn’t give a shit about music, so that was a dead end. My dad has this old-school ‘my son is my legacy’ thinking.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Cherisse said.

  “Totally. He uses the fact that Maxi did the degree, then stayed up there, got married, had a kid, and didn’t come back here to justify w
hy he didn’t insist she come work for him. Talk about an asshole. I’d be miserable there.”

  He had his own style of doing things, worked well with Dale because they wanted the same things, had the same vision, but under his father, he’d have a hard time. Maxi always said she could change all that if she’d just get a foot into KKE, but Keiran didn’t have the patience.

  His father was already driving him to contemplating murder with this Sean Daley thing. Keiran felt a pang of guilt at that, working with that piece of shit even though the man had talent oozing out of his pores. He couldn’t get rid of Sean soon enough.

  His phone beeped, and like a summons from the devil himself, a message from Sean—who he’d saved as That Mofo—popped up: need to reschedule next session. Can’t do this week, will be off island.

  This fucking guy. Sean had confirmed his availability, and now this. Prolonging this process was not ideal. He was likely to strangle Sean before this was over.

  “Everything okay?”

  He shoved his phone into the pocket of his sweats and nodded. “Yup. You hungry? A successful session calls for some food. My treat.”

  She gave him one last piercing look then patted her stomach, sustenance clearly more important than her curiosity about that message. Good. Sean Daley wasn’t a topic he wanted to raise. He was, in fact, doing her a favor by not ruining her day. “Food sounds like heaven right now.”

  “Right. So, let’s head up, so I can get started on cooking.”

  “You’re cooking?”

  “I’ll have you know, Ms. Gooding, my hands are good for things other than making music.”

  She raised her brow at his choice of words, but neither of them touched the obvious innuendo there. Instead, he focused on her skepticism over his cooking skills. Granted, he didn’t have a vast repertoire of fancy dishes he could make, but he was thrilled to introduce her to his fish broth masterpiece. He’d had some kingfish thawing out this morning. It was time to bubble a pot.