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“Looking for a melody,” I mumble-sing, picking out some random notes. “Da, da, trying to write a song.”
Kash’s eyes dance with amusement. A chunk of his hair falls into his face and he tosses his head to move it.
“Got a deadline coming soon, mmm-hmm,” I continue. “So I hope it doesn’t take too long.”
Kash laughs. “I don’t know about the lyrics.”
“The words are just fillers right now. This is a way to find the notes that feel right. You try.”
We repeat the chord progression a few times, and then Kash starts singing. We go back and forth, using made-up words and random sentences. Eventually, we’ve both shifted to the edge of our seats, close enough that our knees brush. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of Kash’s breath on my cheek. See the dusting of gold flecks in his brown eyes.
Suddenly, Kash stops playing as if he’s just realized something important. His whole body stills, but he doesn’t break eye contact when he reaches out and takes hold of my strumming hand.
“What is it?”
Has he come up with a melody?
Realized he left the oven on in the Hideaway?
Remembered the moment we first met?
“You’re singing with me.” His words are quiet, just above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would be like spilling a secret.
Oh. Wow. I hadn’t realized.
But now I do.
I drop my hand from the fretboard. Let my pick fall to the floor.
This is the first time since May that I haven’t felt like there were hummingbirds darting around my insides when someone else was around to hear me sing. It’s the very first time I’ve felt comfortable—truly comfortable—singing around anyone.
No, not anyone. Kash.
“Yeah,” I acknowledge, still stunned at the revelation. I study his earnest face, the way his eyebrows peak in surprise over his intelligent eyes.
He exhales. “Why me?”
“Because I trust you.” The answer is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Before I realize what it means.
“Thank you,” he whispers, like I’ve given him a gift.
But it’s a gift that comes with a heavy price. Because if I trust him, I have to come clean about our shared history. And when I do, things will inevitably change between us. Once the cat’s out of the bag, he won’t look at me the same way he’s looking at me now, with tenderness and care. How could he?
My heart races, my palms are clammy, and if I stood up right now, I know my legs would wobble and my weak knees would not hold my weight. I have all the same feelings I do before I’m about to go onstage, except this time, it’s not performance anxiety that’s got me wound up like a spring. It’s knowing that I’ve unmistakably fallen hard for Kash Murray, and this time when I make a fool out of myself in front of him, there’s no way he’ll forget.
I don’t realize I’m crying until he reaches up and brushes a hot tear away from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. My skin sizzles under his touch.
“It’s okay.” His voice is low and soothing.
The tears only fall faster. “It’s really not. I have something I need to tell you. I should have told you before.”
The weight of my confession hangs heavy on my tongue. My mouth is as dry as dust.
“The first time I met you…it wasn’t here, on the farm. We actually met backstage at Ballad FM’s Music Showcase.” I take a deep, shuddering breath and continue. “I was the second opener for Six String Justice. After Chet Bryant.”
I watch Kash’s face for an aha moment to strike, but there isn’t the slightest muscle twitch. I pick at a jagged cuticle and forge ahead.
“My set was an absolute train wreck. Performance anxiety got the better of me. I stepped offstage, completely decimated, and then Six String Justice comes along. Y’all thought I was a groupie. One of the guys grabbed my lyric book and started autographing it. It got passed around. And then you broke the spine, handed me back my notebook, and winked at me…I felt so small and stupid.”
