Lucy
After grabbing what I needed—with Hudson insisting I pack far more than necessary for one night—we left town limits, headed to his house.
I stared out the window on the drive there, unable to form a coherent thought with the chaos roaring between my ears.
Had Josh really broken into my house? For what? I couldn’t picture him doing such a thing, but did I really know what he was capable of?
I watched distractedly as we turned onto the road I’d taken earlier in the day, passing the turnoff to the lake and ascending further up the mountain road. Despite the darkness, I could tell the scenery was beautiful.
When we turned onto an unmarked dirt road, I understood what Hudson had been talking about. It had been nearly impossible to spot. I’d never have found it on my own.
We were soon driving through a green metal gate that closed behind us as we continued up the road.
When the house came into view, I leaned forward, taking in the sprawling mountain home lit up against the night sky, showcasing a wraparound front porch and A-frame windows that must let in gorgeous light during the day.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured as he pulled up to the side of the house and cut the engine.
“Thanks.” He smiled over at me. “I’ll give you the full tour when you’re up for it. For tonight, how about I make us something to eat, and we can find something stupid to watch to get your mind off things.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said as Ranger leapt out of the truck and ran toward a side door.
“I use this entrance more than the front door,” Hudson explained as he opened the door and gestured for me to precede him into what appeared to be a mudroom.
I hung up my jacket on one of the racks and toed off my shoes before continuing into the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen.
With vaulted ceilings and large A-frame windows that no doubt showcased a spectacular view, the space was striking.
I ran my hand over the smooth granite of the largest kitchen island I’d ever seen, admiring the white stone, emerald green cabinets, and brass hardware.
I eyed the state-of-the-art appliances. “I thought you didn’t cook?”
He chuckled. “Not really, but I manage the basics.”
I nodded, my eyes on the sleek range that probably cost more than my car.
“What’s on your mind?” Hudson stepped into my space and tipped my chin up to meet his gaze.
“I was just thinking how this kitchen makes me want to enjoy cooking again. I’m decent at it, but it wasn’t as fun when it was expected of me.”
He leaned in for a chaste kiss before pressing his forehead to mine. “Well, you’re welcome to go wild in here, but only if the mood strikes. I’m fully capable of wielding a spatula. And speaking of”—he pulled away and headed for the fridge—“let me see what I’ve got in here.”
I watched him dig through the fridge, the seemingly small but meaningful effort warming me despite how my evening had ended.
“Breakfast for dinner?” he asked, holding up a carton of eggs.
“Sounds perfect, and I can help.”
He shook his head. “You just sit at the island there looking gorgeous, and I’ll have everything I need.” He winked.
I blushed as he slid a beer my way and got to work at the stove.
I sat on the comfortable barstool, swiveling to get a look at the great room located immediately off the kitchen, noting that it had even higher ceilings.
With a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, large windows, and leather furniture that looked lived in, it was cozy despite its size.
“You must have beautiful views.” I swiveled back to watch him, finding him impossibly more attractive with a dishrag thrown over his shoulder and ball cap backward as he made dinner at the stove.
“It was the main reason I picked this property—that and the privacy,” he amended. “It has views out of every window and the land to do what I want with over time.”
“And your dad and brother built it?” The house could easily be featured in Architectural Digest.
He nodded proudly. “It was a family effort, along with the crew. Griff even helped. The outdoor bar, which you’ll see tomorrow, was his contribution.”
“Can’t wait.” It took effort to keep the tension from my voice as I thought about what else tomorrow would bring. The violation of someone breaking into my home hadn’t fully sunk in yet, and I knew that when it did, it would be a lot to contend with.
“Could you point me to the restroom?” I asked, suddenly needing a minute to collect myself.
“Closest one is down the hall, second door to your left.” He gestured with the spatula.
I headed that way, traveling down a beautiful hall full of pictures and art I intended to study later.
After using the restroom, I caught sight of a cozy-looking sitting room, complete with a piano.
I couldn’t seem to stop myself from entering.
I hadn’t played in years, but the keys called to me, and I crossed the room on instinct.
Before I could think twice, I found myself seated on the bench.
Once upon a time, I loved to play. That was before lessons were forced on me and it became more performative than fun.
My parents had entered me into every competition available, and I’d won many of them before deliberately losing to alleviate the pressure.
The joy was stolen the day they identified it as a commodity.
For the first time in years, I set my fingers on the keys, finding familiarity in an unfamiliar place. As the music flowed from my fingers, I was distantly aware of humming along to the melody as it was created. My entire body loosened as I lost myself in the freedom of sound.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been playing when motion caught my eye and Hudson appeared in my periphery, making me gasp in surprise.
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” I apologized, pulling my hands into my lap.
He simply stared at me, an unfathomable look on his face.
“Did you not want me to play….” I trailed off, unnerved as he continued to silently stare.
“Lucy, that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he rasped.
My cheeks warmed. “Oh, I was just messing around. I’m so rusty these days.”
“You’re incredible. Christ, I’ve barely broached the surface of you,” he marveled before seeming to shake himself out of his stupor. “I want to show you something.” He held out a hand to help me from the piano bench.
He led me back toward the main entryway, taking a right past the staircase and down another flight of stairs. I found myself in his obviously state-of-the-art recording studio, complete with a sound booth, rows of high-tech equipment, countless guitars, and another piano.
“I’ve been trying to work through this one track, and what you were playing felt like what I needed. You want to jam a bit?” He quirked a brow.
“Jam?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t know how to jam. I’ve only played with a piano instructor, who was ready to smack my knuckles when I missed a key. That’s about it.”
“Okay, well, while you’re giving me their number so I can make sure they never work again, I can introduce you to the concept of playing for fun,” he coaxed.
“Isn’t dinner ready?” I tried, not sure why I was stalling.
“Got cold about thirty minutes ago. I figured letting you play was better medicine.”
“You’re right. Okay, playing for fun, right,” I muttered to myself.
He pulled me to him, resting his forehead against mine. As usual, he seemed to be able to sense the source of my nerves. “It’s just you and me, darlin’. Nothing you do could be wrong. You’re safe with me, always.”
“How do you always know what I’m thinking?” I demanded lightly, clutching at his tee.
“You’re very expressive.” He stroked the hair back from my face.
“Just takes some time and attention. I haven’t gotten it all down yet, but I look forward to the challenge.
Studying you is way better than anything I learned in school.
” He winked. “But you would be a terrible poker player, sweetheart.”
“Noted, I’ll be sure to strike that from my potential career options,” I muttered, making him chuckle.
“Let me show you what I’ve got, which is mostly lyrics.” He made his way over to a comfortable-looking couch. He pulled out a tattered notebook and picked up a guitar while I settled on the piano bench next to him. “I’ve had trouble finding the right melody,” he explained as he strummed the guitar.
My breath caught when he began to sing, the soft rasp of his voice caressing each lyric like a lover. I was mesmerized as he sang about lightning strikes and butterscotch eyes against Colorado skies. Then it hit me—he was singing about when we met.
“That song is about me,” I murmured in disbelief as the song came to an end.
He grinned, his hand covering the guitar strings to stop their reverberation. “Sure is.”
“It’s beautiful.” My voice came out as a choked whisper.
“I could write a million more, and they’d still never come close to the beauty of you.” Our eyes locked, the energy crackling between us like a live wire.
“Did you want to do this, or are you just trying to frazzle my brain?” I cocked my head playfully.
He chuckled. “I’d settle for both.”
“All right, crazy man.” Grinning, I turned to the piano and rested my fingers on the keys. “Sing it again.” A hint of a melody was already tingling at my fingertips.
For hours we played, writing and rewriting.
I lost track of time as the melody and lyrics came together like a gift we continued to unwrap.
We worked together seamlessly, shaping the music and bringing out the best in each other along the way.
I left any self-consciousness behind, allowing the music to flow more freely than I’d ever experienced.
“I think we’ve got it,” Hudson announced after the third recording attempt. It had to be the middle of the night, but I didn’t feel the least bit tired.
“I think so,” I agreed, stretching out my stiff fingers, unaccustomed to playing. “How do you feel?”
He turned to me, sheer wonder in his eyes. “Fucking amazing. I think we just recorded the best song of my career.”