Lawson watched my movements, his gaze skating up my arms to my head and back down again. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?” There wasn’t a hint of humor in his tone.
“Certifiable.” I kept my features schooled. “In fact,” I said, pushing my hands in my lap, “I think I might ring the nearest sanitarium. It’s a straitjacket and a padded room for you, buddy.”
His eyes danced.
“How can you not feel like your enough? You’re incredible, talented, handsome as all get-out, kind…” I was going too far, revealing too much. This couldn’t happen. I shouldn’t have let it. I was leaving. And he was a constellation in the sky. Beautiful, inspiring and so far out of reach.
But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “People, when they go to your shows, they sing your songs back to you, Lawson. I’ve watched them. I mean, of course not in person yet, but I’ve seen the videos. The crowds, they love you, and they know your work. They connect with it—with you. Everything you create is good enough. It’s you making music, lyrics. Every single line, every single note is authentically yours. How can it not be good enough? How can you not be good enough?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty good at pep talks?” Some smiles were just a smile, mouth turned up to express happiness or amusement. But not Lawson’s smile. Lawson’s ignited his entire face. There were no in-betweens, no levels of charm versus elated. His smile was his smile, and a rush of excitement zoomed through me every time I bore witness to it.
“If the lawyer thing ever goes sideways,” he said, “you could always think about going into therapy or psychiatry.”
“I don’t think anyone wants me inside their head for too long.” I pinched the cuff of his jeans. “Besides, I’m not really all that good at pep talks. Just telling truths. And maybe attempting to add humor to heavy conversations.”
His lips twisted to one side. “This is pretty heavy, isn’t it?”
Needing to do something with my hands, I grabbed another handful of popcorn. “I think maybe you’re just a heavy kind of guy.”
He cocked his head to the side.
“Am I right?”
Sighing, he looked down at his hands. “You’re not wrong.” He was silent for seconds before his gaze found mine again. “I think I was born to feel things heavily. To make music and turn those feelings into songs for the world around me. To connect with strangers because I’ve put those feelings out there.”
“And this girl you were with for three years…”
He pulled in a breath. Held it.
“She inspired a lot of these feelings. Didn’t she?”
Several heartbeats passed before he answered. “There’s a quote I have on the fret board of one of my acoustic guitars. It says, ‘Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.’”
“William Wordsworth.”
“I’ve never forced songwriting. It’s always been something that just sort of flowed out of me. And, yeah, sure. Maybe she did inspire lyrics, music, but so did a lot of other people, events…” He paused. “Life changes.”
“Of which there have been many, I gather. People.”
“Truthfully? No. People have come and gone from my life, of course they have, but the nature of this business involves a lot of moving parts.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
He stared at me curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe you need to eliminate all the moving parts and get back to when it was just you and the page. Or you and an instrument, since you play, like, twelve thousand.”
We laughed and the sound was beautiful, filling, a comforting completion.
“You meet and lose people, then write songs about it. The good, the bad, the overwhelmingly fantastic, the unbearable.” I shrugged. “Taylor Swift isn’t the only one who does that, regardless she seems to be the poster child for it.”
“Indeed, she is. God love her.”
“Bless her heart.” The words, so common in the South, still felt foreign on my tongue.
“Her whole heart.” Lawson moved the popcorn bowl to the floor. A thrill zoomed through me as he reached for and took my hands in his again. I hoped he didn’t notice mine were shaking. Hoped he didn’t catch the hitch in my breath or the loudness of my heartbeat.
“I do meet and lose people,” he said, “but so does everyone. I don’t have a lot of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but people who are close to me?” He shook his head. “I don’t go through the wrong friends to find the right ones.” His tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. “And I don’t go through lovers in attempt to find my forever girl.”
My death was imminent. Stroke, heart attack, keeling over from extreme emotion. Was that possible? Maybe. I’d seen footage of fans fainting at concerts. Girls crying so hard and sweating, they just passed out on the spot. Was that what was happening? Was I fangirling over Lawson Hill? The small voice in the back of my mind said no. That’s not at all what this was. It was deeper, stronger. Fuller.
“You’re horribly romantic, you know that?” I said, and it was true. Men like Lawson were reserved for novels and rom coms. They weren’t like this in real life.
Except maybe they were.
Or maybe Lawson was the last one alive.
“I am,” he admitted. “Can’t help it. Mama raised me to open doors, stay street-side if I’m walking with a woman, take out the trash, do the dishes, fold the laundry, cook—”
“Damn, Hill, you’re just straight husband material, aren’t you?”
“Some might say.”
“Only some?”
He pumped his shoulders. “Let’s watch a movie, yeah?” He moved for the remote and I wondered what I’d said, why he’d shifted the conversation. “Do you work tomorrow? I’m happy to be the one responsible for keeping you up late, but…” He clicked on the television and scanned through several apps. “I know managers can get more than a little strict over punctuality.”
“That, they can. But tomorrow’s Saturday and I have weekends off.”
“Ah, so, you’re stuck here with me.” He put an arm around my shoulders, and I moved closer, pulled my legs up on the couch. I couldn’t imagine this ever getting old. Us sitting together, his chest rising and falling against my arm, his breath on my face, stirring my hair.
We watched This Means War with Reese Witherspoon, Chris Pine and Tom Hardy. Lawson laughed when I insisted Reese’s character, Lauren, should’ve ended up with Tuck, Tom Hardy’s character.
“That wouldn’t have made sense,” he said. “Tuck was supposed to end up with his ex. They had a family.”
“But Lauren’s the main character, and Tuck has a British accent.”
Lawson laughed harder. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything!”
“Uh huh. And if I had a British accent?” His eyes glistened with humor as they scanned my face.
“Honestly? You would not be safe.”
This time, he was the one who pulled me in. We were a perfect fit, Lawson and me. He felt perfect. The weight of him, our mouths moving in flawless synchronization, tongues sliding softly. Perfection. I’d never wanted anyone like I wanted him. Never felt a burn so intense, a growing, simmering spark that made me greedy for more.
His fingers slipped beneath my bra strap and I trembled. Gooseflesh peppered my skin. His mouth left mine. Slowly, so slowly I thought I might die, he slid the material off, baring my shoulder. Then his breath was there, hot and intense, followed by his lips. He branded me, replaced the slip of uncovered space with kiss after kiss after kiss. I let go of a small cry, half surprised, half consumed by want.
“God, Harper, you’re so soft.” He trailed his thumb over my collarbone. Opened his mouth on my neck. “And you taste…”
His hand was in my hair and I was about to lose my mind. Pleasure rocketed through my body at the feel of him beneath my hands, the movement of his muscles, the heat of his skin beneath his clothes.
“Like an amen.�
��
The words caught me by surprise. He must’ve felt the shift, because he drew back, his eyes boring into mine. They were dark, beautiful. Swollen with desire.
“An amen?” I felt my lips tip a little. “That’s new.”
“Yeah, you know, what you say at the end of a prayer or a hymn or—”
“I know what an amen is.”
He grinned. “It also means ‘so be it.’”
“I still don’t under—”
“I’ve had a gap, Harper. A broad gap. This chasm of not knowing when or why or to what purpose or end or if either of those even exist. But then there’s you.” He swabbed my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, his eyes following the movement. “When I saw you that night for the first time, when Savana introduced us, it was like standing smack-dab in the middle of that chasm, where I’d been forever, and then looking to the other side, where there was flat, viable land, and there you were.” He swallowed and added softly, “There you were. Waiting for me. An amen at the end of the chaos.”
His gaze met mine and my lips parted.
“That may sound ridiculous,” he said, “but I don’t…I don’t know any other way to explain it.”
“I think you said it perfectly.”
He leaned forward, his lips seeking mine for another kiss, but my phone vibrated from where I’d placed it on the cushion behind me. His mouth hovered close to mine and he smiled the wide smile that made my stomach buzz like I’d swallowed a gazillion honeybees.
“You need to get that?” His breath. I wanted to feel it all over my body, not just my face.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’m running to the restroom.” He rose from the couch and I tried to hide my disappointment. I didn’t want the moment to end. “Need anything while I’m up?”
I shook my head. “All good.”
The text was from my dad. Made it in. Hope all is good. Love you.
I typed that I loved him, too, and that, yes, everything was perfect great fine. Fine was an acceptable answer.
He sent back a thumbs up and I contemplated telling him the truth. That I was at Lawson’s. That I realized he didn’t like Lawson, but Lawson was a good guy and I deserved to have some fun, do my own thing, before an airplane swept me overseas and a college schedule became my new best friend. I deserved this. Rules, grades, GPAs, college applications. The proverbial checklist never ended.
But with Lawson, there was no checklist. No obligations. No sense of time or that I should be there instead of here or studying instead of chilling in front of a television.
Freedom. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt a freedom I hadn’t known existed. A sense that I was doing this for me and me alone. Giving my time and energy to a boy who looked like an angel and sang like one, too.
I didn’t tell Dad. Couldn’t for fear his reaction would ruin the feelings I wasn’t ready to let go of.
Lawson returned with two more bottles of water and a large, fluffy blanket. “Up for another?”
“Sure.”
He picked a Tarantino film and I snuggled beneath his arm, laid a hand to his chest. “Too bad it’s too hot for a fire.” He covered us both with the blanket. “This room’s pretty awesome with the grate burning.”
“This room’s pretty awesome, anyway.” I yawned. When did I get so tired? “I used to beg my dad to turn the air conditioner way down in the summer, just so we could have a fire.”
“Seems plausible.”
“Murder on a light bill, but…” I yawned again. “Yeah.”
He kissed the top of my head, stroked my hair. I thought I heard him murmur, “I need you,” but my eyes were closing too fast to be sure.
I woke with a start. Lawson was gone. I was alone, lying on the couch, snuggled comfortably beneath the blanket.
Music flowed from somewhere in the house. A piano. Lone, beautiful, chilling. The music room, I gathered, and checked my phone. 2:12 AM.
“Guess someone couldn’t sleep.” Sitting up, I yawned and stretched. Blinked my surroundings into focus. Soft, overhead lighting bathed the room in amber and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep, too. If we’d slept together. The television was off. I’d received no more texts from my dad.
I decided to follow the music. Regardless I didn’t know my way around the house. Regardless he may not have wanted to be disturbed. Artists needed their space. People needed their space. But I couldn’t stop myself. Couldn’t suppress curiosity when it begged to be fed. I found him easily, exactly where I thought he’d be, parked in front of his piano.
Candles burned, two on top of the baby grand, another on a nearby table.
His fingers moved effortlessly across the keys. Like the night we met, he was humming. Every few bars, he’d murmur lyrics. Lyrics I couldn’t understand but that nonetheless wove their way around my heart.
I leaned on the doorframe, loath to break the spell. In the midst of a master musician’s process, I was a voyeur, perhaps. Peaking in through a slat of boarded up window.
Watching Lawson was special. New yet strangely old, as if I’d been watching him my whole life. From a distance, maybe, but he’d always been there. A sanctuary in the dark, a miracle I hadn’t realized I needed. He was wearing glasses. I didn’t even know he wore glasses. Barefoot, he used the brushed gold pedals to carry out the notes he played, notes that blended like I imagined fine whiskey would.
Arms folded over my chest, I set my head against the white-paneled frame and shut my eyes. I listened. I felt. Felt his perfect voice flow through me, felt the cleansing warmth of his music. It wasn’t until I heard him murmur my name and the music stopped that I snapped to, straightened.
His smile was soft. He outstretched a hand. “Come here.”
Cheeks burning, I did as he asked, took his hand. “Sorry for eavesdropping.” I sat down beside him, swallowing when our thighs touched, pressed against each other.
He played a chord. “Sorry for waking you. Did I?” His eyes found mine.
“No. Well…yes. But it’s okay.” I broke his gaze—it was much too arresting for two o’clock in the morning—and surveyed the row of black and white keys. “What are you working on?”
“Something new.” Another chord, another beautiful riff.
“That’s…that’s wonderful. Right?”
“It’s a start.” His fingers touched my face and suddenly our eyes were connected again, magnets unable to resist the inevitable. “It’s a really good start.”
chapter twelve
We stayed up for a while. Talking, laughing, kissing. Mostly, I listened as he played. New music, old music, and some he’d made up on the fly. I accused him of being more wizard than human, and he laughed.
Then he kissed me again.
We were really good at kissing.
Finally, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and I laid my head on his shoulder. He suggested we go to bed, followed by an explanation that he didn’t mean for us to go to bed together.
It was really cute. Especially when he blushed.
Too bad, I thought, as we walked upstairs side by side, said goodnight and turned in opposite directions. Even if we didn’t have sex, which I couldn’t lie and say I hadn’t thought of at least nine hundred times, we could’ve held each other. I couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than waking up in this man’s arms.
But I slept great. Better than I had in a long time, which was crazy. I hadn’t realized I’d been losing sleep. Throwing on my hoodie and a pair of knee socks, I texted Dad that I loved him.
He called me immediately after.
“Hey, Dad, good morning.”
“Morning, sport. Everything okay there?”
“Yeah.” I hated lying to him. Then again, I wasn’t really lying, was I? Everything was okay. More than okay, it was freaking great. “How’s Ohio?”
“Good, good. Got some things to do today. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
That choked me up a little. Dad and I hadn’t
ever spent any time apart, not really, and I wondered what it would be like when I was gone for months at a time, deeply submerged in classes. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too. Have fun, okay? I’ll see you soon.”
“See ya.”
He hung up, and I hooked my phone to its charger and set it on the nightstand. Coffee. I needed coffee. Maybe coffee outside or by one of those grand windows I noticed at the front of the house.
Lawson’s door was still closed, so I headed downstairs, careful to be quiet. A waft of bacon and something sweet hit my nose. My mouth watered. Was he already up? I walked faster, allowed my nose to lead me to the kitchen, where, sure enough, a woman stood beside the stovetop, whisking a bowl.
I paused halfway, watching her. Straight brunette hair cut to her shoulders, makeup done, she wore a floral apron and a pair of reading glasses. She was also humming. Whipping what I assumed were eggs. My heart did a strange thud inside my chest and I set a hand to my belly.
“You just gonna stand there gawkin’, darlin’?”
I jumped. Let out a squeak that was more mouse than human.
“Or are you gonna come help?” Her eyes met mine and she cocked an eyebrow, smiled.
“I’m Harper.” I approached the other side of the bar. “Harper Evans.”
“Uh huh, I’ve heard.” She stopped stirring, quickly dusted her hand off on her hip and offered it to me. “Darlene Hill.”
Lawson’s mother. The resemblance was there in her eyes, in the way they squinted at the edges when she smiled. I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Hill.”
“Please, doll.” She went back to whisking. “Call me Darlene. Better to be on a first name basis, anyway, the way Lawson talks about you. Good lord, that boy.” She shook her head. “He’s somethin’ else.”
Yes. Yes, he was. He’d talked about me. To his mother. And she wasn’t freaking out like Dad did at dinner. At least not yet.
“You mind checkin’ on the biscuits?” She kicked her head toward the oven. “They should be about done. Those boys, they love their biscuits.”
“Boys?” I peeked in the oven, which did nothing for my already-rumbling belly. Homemade biscuits rose on a cookie sheet. Beautiful and perfect and looking like something out of a food magazine in a grocery store checkout line.
Jump Then Fall Page 12