Chapter 17
GRACE
LESSONS
“So you’re going to Seattle with him?” Josie asks, sitting next to me on the chairlift.
“Yep. It’s supposed to be some kind of hip, warehouse vibey party to celebrate Slade’s new restaurant before they start construction. He said he also wants me to meet his business manager, who also happens to be his foster brother, Jake.”
Josie hums to herself, tapping her finger to her lip. I already know what’s on her mind. Since she got back in town this morning, she’s had a one-track mind, demanding to know everything about her new favorite topic: Hot Boss.
I can’t really blame her though. I know I’m lucky to have a gig like this.
I’m sure there are far more qualified people that would kill to ‘collaborate’ with someone like TJ, especially with the budget he’s given me.
That doesn’t change the fact that Josie wants to know everything about being up close with the mysterious and conveniently very easy to look at retired rockstar.
Still, I was happy to get a few laps in with her this morning since I need to work later today.
“So is anyone else famous going to be at this thing? You’re going to have to give me all the juicy gossip. You know that, right?” She turns toward me and her head drops the slightest bit. Even with her goggles on, I know she’s raising her eyebrows at me expectedly.
“Yeah, some of the other Teal Tigers guys are supposed to be there to hype the new restaurant. He gave me the run down on them while we watched their old music videos and live performances last night before we fell asleep,” I say before taking a drink from my hydration backpack.
I turn to see Josie’s mouth open, but saying nothing.
“What?” I ask, jutting my head out toward her.
She slowly lifts her goggles and looks at me, her eyes wide.
“You said we fell asleep.” She keeps staring at me and it clicks.
“It was nothing. It was late, he saw the lights on in the guesthouse, and I asked if he wanted to hang out,” I say calmly, not giving in to her hopes for juicy gossip.
“We had some wine, talked, watched those videos, and it was late so we just fell asleep on the couch together. Seriously, it’s not a big deal. ”
The corners of her mouth lift into a smirk. “First, he drinks wine. Big yes. Second, you two fell asleep on the couch together?”
“Seriously, Josie. Nothing happened. The guesthouse only has the one couch. We were sitting there all night and just hanging out.”
“Really?” She raises her eyebrows again in question. “Nothing happened? Then why are your cheeks so red, girl?”
Damnit. Thanks again, traitorous body.
My mind goes back to last night, remembering how it felt to be so close to him.
But still, it was just a casual night hanging out with a friend, right?
Yeah, I did fall asleep on him. And yes, he smelled so, so good.
Something about that bergamot and pine scent put me at ease.
Waking up with him gone, I breathed in the lingering traces of it and wished he was there.
Still though, he knows I’m just an outgoing goof with no personal space boundaries. I’m sure it didn’t mean anything to him.
“Nothing, except I might have fallen asleep on him. Just his shoulder,” I admit, trying to convince myself it was nothing and shrug it off.
“There it is,” she says, her smirk widening. “I knew there was more. And, where was his arm?”
“Around me,” I say, the realization that she might be onto something slowly settling in. I keep thinking about how his arm was slung over the back of the couch. Or was he wrapping it around me?
She laughs to herself, shaking her head. “Only you would find yourself cuddled up with a rockstar and think nothing of it.”
I keep that thought to myself to sort out later.
With the Seattle trip coming up and being in Jackson longer than I was originally planning, I need to go back to my place in Park City to grab some things I didn’t even think to ask Josie to bring.
Suddenly now I’m finding myself with a surprisingly crammed schedule.
“Anyway, let’s talk about the Tahoe trip. We need to pick some dates soon if you still want to squeeze that trip in,” I say.
She throws her head back and groans and I get it.
Neither of us are huge on pinning down dates and prefer to live in the moment and be free and spontaneous.
“You know my calendar is clear. Just say when and I’ll show up.
I’ll even make sure we can get that one campground we like, right on the state line. ”
I love that campground in South Lake Tahoe. It’s been one of my favorite places to stay since it’s right on the water. Being on the state line between California and Nevada, we can walk to all the bars and casinos, and there’s even a shuttle to the ski resort village.
“If we go after President’s Day, we’ll avoid the holiday crowds. A week next month would be perfect,” I say, knowing that’s well after the Seattle trip. It will also give me enough time to go back to Park City to grab some more things from my apartment.
I turn into TJ’s driveway, pulling all the way down toward the guesthouse.
After a morning of skiing, I’m secretly glad I’m staying here.
The shower at the gym is nice, but the one here in the guesthouse with full body spa sprayers is flat out heavenly.
I can’t even imagine what TJ must have in his bathroom.
Hopping out of my van, I start down the path to the guesthouse, but something stops me right in my tracks.
There’s a new wooden post where the edge of the driveway meets the walking path.
It matches the fence posts around the property, but this one is only waist high and standing by itself.
On the front of it are two small, metal flip-up lids.
I flip one open, but I already know what’s under the lid.
Sure enough, it’s a high powdered outlet, just like the one at campgrounds to charge RVs and vans like mine.
Freaking. TJ.
Maybe that’s why he left the guesthouse so early this morning because he damn well knows that if he would have asked me, I would have said no.
Part of the fun of van life is the adventure of not always having it easy and part of me is irritated that he just did it on his own.
The rest of me though, that’s another story.
Something about this gesture feels so personal, so heartfelt.
And again, there’s that decisiveness about him that I can’t resist.
I flip open the second lid and find there’s a note taped under it.
It’s too late to say no, Rainbow. Now please, don’t make a geriatric millennial worry all night and keep your van warm.
I keep trying to tell myself these little gestures don’t mean anything, but that feels like more and more of a lie.
Even after being around here almost every day for the last couple of weeks, I still feel like I could get lost in TJ’s house. He should put up street signs or something so I don’t end up in the wrong room again.
When I came here, I planned to give him shit for putting an RV pedestal in his driveway.
I thought I’d even tell him that I’m going to have Jake take it out of my pay since he’s already paying me way too much.
I’m sure he’d just figure out someway around that though and pay me even more.
Wait. When did I start complaining about getting paid well?
It’s not that I’m not grateful, it just seems like overkill and he’s being far too generous.
After not finding him in the living room, kitchen, office, or his gym, I’m starting to lose my resolve and find myself less irritated with him.
Maybe I should accept that he’s just a giver — move on, and let him do his thing.
I’m about to do just that when a sound at the end of the hall grabs my attention.
That’s when I see that the door to his studio is ajar and the lights are on.
As I step toward it, I realize that I haven’t heard him playing music or seen him in his studio the entire time I’ve been working here.
I lean against the doorway, listening to the notes drifting through the cracked door.
The soft notes from the acoustic guitar feel tentative, like he’s searching for something.
I quietly walk into the room to find TJ sitting on a stool in the corner of the room, facing the window toward the guesthouse, his back to me.
Even from this angle, in his black t-shirt, it’s hard not to see how gorgeous he is.
Holding the guitar, those perfectly toned back muscles rippling under his well fitting shirt while his triceps flex, strumming the notes.
I stand there quietly, admiring the view when something else dawns on me.
Watching his body language, the way he hesitates and replays notes, I don’t think he knows this song. I think he’s feeling it out and writing it.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t be.
From everything I’ve ever heard of him, he all but gave up on music after the band broke up.
I’m sure there’s more to the story, but I still can’t imagine giving up something I loved like that.
I’m about to sneak back out of the room, but something deep inside me says stay.
That’s when my indecisive, clumsy legs betray me.
I trip over my own feet, falling to my knees, and swinging the door wide open and loudly into the wall.
Shit, shit, shit.
To my surprise, he hardly moves, crooking his neck just enough to look over his shoulder and see me on the floor.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I say, standing up and wiping the knees of my overalls.
“You weren’t interrupting. I knew you were there,” he says, the corner of those full lips lifting into a smirk.
He must see the surprise on my face because he tilts his head toward the window he was facing. “Saw your reflection.”
Oh. Yeah. I didn’t think about that.
“And I heard you.”
“You heard me?” I ask, trying to think of what he could have heard over the guitar.