Try not to jump him before dessert, I order myself sternly. Especially not with his family in the same building.
I take a gulp of sparkling juice to cool myself down, looking around at the other diners. I see a table of women shoot looks at us, checking Ryland out. I smile. He always looks damn good, but this is the first time I’ve seen him dressed up. In a crisp white shirt and jeans, his hair combed back, he looks good enough to eat.
Down, girl!
“So how was your day?” Ryland asks. “I’ve been trying to figure out what you get up to, rattling around in that big house of yours.”
I blush. “I should be in college or something, I know. My brothers have given me a break this year, but before Connor…” I trail off. I don’t want to talk about him anymore, not tonight. “Anyway, they were starting to bug me about finding direction and getting a job.”
“You don’t want to?” He looks curious.
I feel self-conscious, thinking of the long hours he works at the garage. “I know I’m fortunate, having them support me for now.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ryland reassures me. “You’ve been through a lot this year. Recovering from something like that is a full-time job on its own.”
I nod, relieved that he understands. It’s been a big enough achievement getting up in the morning and making it through the day. “But I know I need to figure something out soon. I used to want to be in the music industry.”
“Performing?”
I shake my head quickly. “No way. You’ve heard me sing,” I add with a wry look.
Ryland laughs. “No comment.”
“No, I thought about maybe going into management, something behind the scenes. I always loved seeing all the wheels turning behind The Reckless,” I add. “There are dozens of people that go into making a band a hit. Publicists, agents, label reps… But now, I don’t know,” I admit. “After what happened, being backstage just brings too many memories. I’ll go to things to support Dex, but I can’t go to events without thinking of Connor. I don’t want that reminder.”
Ryland nods. “I can understand that. So do you have any other ideas?”
I shrug.
“C’mon,” Ryland grins. “If you could do anything, anything in the world, what would it be?”
I pause. I haven’t told anyone else, and it feels dumb to even mention it, but Ryland is so easy to talk to, I can’t help but admit.
“I want to be a songwriter. Not so I can be onstage,” I add quickly, “But I’d love to have other artists perform my music, or hear one of my songs on the radio one day.” I stop, looking down. “It’s stupid, I know.”
“It’s not,” Ryland protests. “I didn’t even know you wrote.”
“Nobody does.” I roll my eyes self-consciously. “I’m not even any good, I bet. I just love being able to tell stories, to compose that perfect lyric that packs a world of emotion in just a few lines. At least, I try,” I add.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Ryland says, looking at me intently. I frown. “Put yourself down,” he explains. “You need to believe in yourself, you can do anything to want, as long as you’re prepared to work for it,” he adds simply.
I blink. “Except carry a tune,” I laugh, thrown by the sincerity in his voice.
Ryland chuckles. “OK, apart from that.” He pauses as our first course arrives, something delicious-looking wrapped in a puff pastry with a simple, fresh salad on the side.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” he asks, when the server leaves.
“The writing?” I take a deep breath. “Well, there’s this contest…”
I explain about the competition Dex and his band are holding. Ryland lights up. “That’s perfect!” he exclaims. “You have to enter.”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t want Dex feeling like he has to show me special favors. What if I’m really terrible? Then everyone will know.”
“So use a different name.” Ryland takes a bite of food.
I stare at him. “I can do that?”
“Sure, why not?” he shrugs. “People do it all the time, I bet. You can enter your song under a fake name, and then nobody will know who you are.”
“And Dex won’t feel any pressure judging me,” I add, my excitement rising. “Plus, when I fail miserably, nobody will care except me.”
“Or, when you win, you can announce the truth, and everyone will know you earned it on your own terms,” Ryland counters.
I take a breath, the possibility racing in my veins. I’ve made a hundred excuses to myself of reasons why I can’t enter, but all of them would be solved if I used an alias with my track. It would be my secret, a way to test the water and find out if my songwriting is really any good at all.
“I think I’m going to do it,” I say, feeling a shiver of nervous excitement.
“Damn right you will,” Ryland grins. “And you’ll blow them all away.”
I look at him in the candlelight, so full of faith, and I believe.
24.
Dinner is amazing; we stay and talk for hours, until everybody’s gone and the busboys start to clean up around us. I let Ryland drive us back, and I curl up beside him in the passenger seat, letting the miles blur past in a haze, wrapped up in the warmth of his presence, and his hand resting light on my knee. It’s a gentle touch, barely grazing the bare skin beneath the hem of my dress, but it sends cobwebs of quicksilver desire trembling through my body, radiating outwards from his touch until I feel him everywhere.
I take a gulp of sparkling juice to cool myself down, looking around at the other diners. I see a table of women shoot looks at us, checking Ryland out. I smile. He always looks damn good, but this is the first time I’ve seen him dressed up. In a crisp white shirt and jeans, his hair combed back, he looks good enough to eat.
Down, girl!
“So how was your day?” Ryland asks. “I’ve been trying to figure out what you get up to, rattling around in that big house of yours.”
I blush. “I should be in college or something, I know. My brothers have given me a break this year, but before Connor…” I trail off. I don’t want to talk about him anymore, not tonight. “Anyway, they were starting to bug me about finding direction and getting a job.”
“You don’t want to?” He looks curious.
I feel self-conscious, thinking of the long hours he works at the garage. “I know I’m fortunate, having them support me for now.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ryland reassures me. “You’ve been through a lot this year. Recovering from something like that is a full-time job on its own.”
I nod, relieved that he understands. It’s been a big enough achievement getting up in the morning and making it through the day. “But I know I need to figure something out soon. I used to want to be in the music industry.”
“Performing?”
I shake my head quickly. “No way. You’ve heard me sing,” I add with a wry look.
Ryland laughs. “No comment.”
“No, I thought about maybe going into management, something behind the scenes. I always loved seeing all the wheels turning behind The Reckless,” I add. “There are dozens of people that go into making a band a hit. Publicists, agents, label reps… But now, I don’t know,” I admit. “After what happened, being backstage just brings too many memories. I’ll go to things to support Dex, but I can’t go to events without thinking of Connor. I don’t want that reminder.”
Ryland nods. “I can understand that. So do you have any other ideas?”
I shrug.
“C’mon,” Ryland grins. “If you could do anything, anything in the world, what would it be?”
I pause. I haven’t told anyone else, and it feels dumb to even mention it, but Ryland is so easy to talk to, I can’t help but admit.
“I want to be a songwriter. Not so I can be onstage,” I add quickly, “But I’d love to have other artists perform my music, or hear one of my songs on the radio one day.” I stop, looking down. “It’s stupid, I know.”
“It’s not,” Ryland protests. “I didn’t even know you wrote.”
“Nobody does.” I roll my eyes self-consciously. “I’m not even any good, I bet. I just love being able to tell stories, to compose that perfect lyric that packs a world of emotion in just a few lines. At least, I try,” I add.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Ryland says, looking at me intently. I frown. “Put yourself down,” he explains. “You need to believe in yourself, you can do anything to want, as long as you’re prepared to work for it,” he adds simply.
I blink. “Except carry a tune,” I laugh, thrown by the sincerity in his voice.
Ryland chuckles. “OK, apart from that.” He pauses as our first course arrives, something delicious-looking wrapped in a puff pastry with a simple, fresh salad on the side.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” he asks, when the server leaves.
“The writing?” I take a deep breath. “Well, there’s this contest…”
I explain about the competition Dex and his band are holding. Ryland lights up. “That’s perfect!” he exclaims. “You have to enter.”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t want Dex feeling like he has to show me special favors. What if I’m really terrible? Then everyone will know.”
“So use a different name.” Ryland takes a bite of food.
I stare at him. “I can do that?”
“Sure, why not?” he shrugs. “People do it all the time, I bet. You can enter your song under a fake name, and then nobody will know who you are.”
“And Dex won’t feel any pressure judging me,” I add, my excitement rising. “Plus, when I fail miserably, nobody will care except me.”
“Or, when you win, you can announce the truth, and everyone will know you earned it on your own terms,” Ryland counters.
I take a breath, the possibility racing in my veins. I’ve made a hundred excuses to myself of reasons why I can’t enter, but all of them would be solved if I used an alias with my track. It would be my secret, a way to test the water and find out if my songwriting is really any good at all.
“I think I’m going to do it,” I say, feeling a shiver of nervous excitement.
“Damn right you will,” Ryland grins. “And you’ll blow them all away.”
I look at him in the candlelight, so full of faith, and I believe.
24.
Dinner is amazing; we stay and talk for hours, until everybody’s gone and the busboys start to clean up around us. I let Ryland drive us back, and I curl up beside him in the passenger seat, letting the miles blur past in a haze, wrapped up in the warmth of his presence, and his hand resting light on my knee. It’s a gentle touch, barely grazing the bare skin beneath the hem of my dress, but it sends cobwebs of quicksilver desire trembling through my body, radiating outwards from his touch until I feel him everywhere.
