Chapter 10
Drinking the night before a new recording session probably wasn’t my brightest idea. In my tipsy state, I set my alarm for p.m. instead of a.m., and by the time I woke I only had time to swipe on some deodorant. I threw on whatever clothes were lying on the pile by my bed where clothes land when they still have another day left in them before I have to wash them.
In my rush, I failed to notice that my top must have ended up in that pile by accident because it was not, in fact, clean enough to wear one more time. Walking at a breakneck pace down my front lawn to the studio, my eyes happen to land on a giant blob of old marinara sauce smeared across my left boob. Now, here I am, late to our first day—with pizza boob. Just great .
Greg and Ed’s trucks are in the parking lot and Liam’s motorcycle is parked next to them. It looks like I’m probably the last to arrive. Not a great way to start the week.
Liam is leaning against the side of the building smoking when I walk up. There’s a new tattoo on his forearm that he didn’t have last time I saw him, and I squint my eyes to make it out. It’s a music staff winding up his arm weaving into the sleeve he’s been working on for a few years.
“Rough night?” He gives me an appraising look as he stubs out his cigarette.
It’s rare for me to look anything less than put together, but today I probably look like shit. To top it off, at some point during the night, my book ended up under my face, leaving a big sleep crease across my cheek.
“Josie and I drank a bit too much last night,” I explain, holding my thumb and pointer finger slightly apart.
Liam huffs out a laugh as he holds the door open for me, and we walk inside. He’s a year younger, and we grew up running around the studio together while our dads recorded. His siblings weren’t interested in music, but Liam was there with his dad every time the doors were open. Over the years, we’ve basically seen every version of each other—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He’s held my hair after a wild night out, and I’ve watched him go through relationship after relationship.
Greg, Ed, and Austin are gathered around the piano in the center of the room, laughing and talking like old friends, and my insides go warm and mushy at the sight. The band is truly the heart of this studio. They make everyone who comes through feel welcome, never trying to outshine anyone. They always say their job isn’t to be noticed, it's to make number one songs, and number one songs they make. There isn’t an overinflated ego among them. Greg always says he puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.
Their conversation comes to an abrupt halt when I sidle up beside Greg. I must look worse than I thought, because they’re all eyeing me, wearing funny expressions.
"She drank last night with Josie," Liam says, explaining my bedraggled appearance.
“Ahh,” Greg and Ed say in unison like that explains everything. They all know I’m not much of a drinker, but if anyone can get me to loosen up, it’s Josie.
Glancing over, I see Austin staring at the stain on my shirt, his eyes heating imperceptibly. When they flick up to meet mine, I gesture with the universal eyes up here sign, and he shoots me an impish grin. I shake my head but can’t suppress the grin I shoot right back.
We’re standing there, smiling like two fools when I realize Liam’s been talking to me. I shake my head to clear it, turning to him. “Sorry, I missed that. What’d you say?”
Out of the corner of my eye I catch Greg smirking, clearly having witnessed the entire exchange.
“I said I don’t know if Austin told you, but the man is shit at poker. Pretty sure he emptied his wallet last night.”
Austin shrugs. “Listen, I have a lot of faces, but a poker face ain’t one of ’em.”
“I thought you guys normally played for quarters?” Greg claps Austin on the back and we fall silent, waiting for his reaction.
Austin looks at each of us blinking, mouth slightly open.
“I’m messing with you,” Greg says after a beat. “Liam has more money squirreled away than any of us from his poker winnings.”
Austin barks a laugh. “You had me going for a second there.”
They’re teasing each other good-naturedly, like old friends, and a mental image flashes through my mind, unbidden. I can practically see Austin being long-term friends with these guys, and I have to yank that thought out by the stem before the idea of him staying here takes root.
What the hell was that about?
“I was too busy admiring that sexy man hanging on Jackson’s wall. Couldn’t take my eyes off him,” Austin retorts, pulling a big laugh from all of us.
Finally, Greg claps his hands loudly, interrupting us to get down to business. He’s basically the leader of this group. He’s on drums, and he’s also the longest standing member of the band. In my opinion, he’s the best drummer I’ve ever heard, but he’s too modest to agree with me. He also happens to be Liam’s dad. When Liam was old enough, Greg convinced his wife, Lisa, to let him join the band and play bass, despite only being seventeen. Reluctantly, Lisa agreed. Now Liam can play any instrument we decide the recording needs. Ed joined the band on keys not long after Greg. He’s the quiet one of this bunch, only speaking when it's important. Still waters run deep and all that.
“All right, guys, let’s make some ones!” Greg calls out his catchphrase for making number-one records.
I slip behind the mixing board and Greg takes his seat in the booth that holds his drum kit. Ed takes a seat at the baby grand piano while Austin and Liam perch on the stools, instruments in hand. From my vantage point I can see the entire room, and it brightens my day whenever I take the time to look around.
It’s like a time capsule from the sixties in here. The burlap fabric stapled to every wall and ceiling is in shades of primary colors, and there’s Styrofoam on top of that. Back then the original guys had to come up with creative and frugal ways to create good acoustics in here. The Burlap Castle, my Pops called it. I smile at how much this modest studio has seen over the years. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall.
As they play through one song after another, I’m overcome with the sense that something special is happening. I think we’re all feeling it. This won’t be any ol’ album for Austin. With the full band here, the songs he penned are starting to take on a new life. Don’t get me wrong, they already sounded great with just him and his guitar, but adding all the instruments brings more depth and layers. Some are ready to record after one or two takes, and it hits me that we might actually get through every song he showed me the other day.
The morning flies by, and before we know it, it’s time to break for lunch. Everyone brought something from home today so we could eat and get back to it quickly. I grab my PB or worse, they’d show up with the doors locked and no studio time at all. The studio’s stellar reputation had begun to slip, and musicians quit booking completely. That’s what I’ve been working on since I took it over. Rebuilding everything and bringing us to the twenty-first century the best I can with the tiny budget I have.
I give him a watery smile. “You think?”
“Penny girl, I know it.” His expression is incredulous. “I knew your daddy my whole adult life and there’s no way he meant for it to end up the way it did. Yes, they’d absolutely be proud of you, and you know it.”
My cheeks heat at his praise, but I know he’s telling the truth. Imposter syndrome is a beast to overcome, and it rears its ugly head whenever I think about the studio’s recent success.
"I'm sensing a but coming after all that high praise," I say, raising an eyebrow.
"All I want to say is, make sure you're not overworking yourself. Have you paid yourself lately? Lisa was looking at the numbers and she said it doesn’t look like you have."
I let out a long, heavy sigh. Nobody knows about the loan my dad took out against our house. I’d rather not drag anyone else into that mess. I’ve hardly paid myself in a while because I've been putting every penny toward it.
"I’m getting a few things squared away, but I'm about to start," I assure him.
About to is relative, right?
Greg raises an eyebrow.
"I am! Plus, the rent money I'm getting from the apartment helps."
“Heard about that, too.” He smiles at me over his turkey sandwich.
“There are truly no secrets in this town, are there?”
“It’s been a while since you rented it out. But I’m glad it’ll ‘help with the bills.’” Greg puts that last part in air quotes like I have some ulterior motive for renting out the apartment. “Don’t think I didn’t see you two making eyes at each other in there.” He jerks his head toward where Austin is in the other room.
“You’re all meddling. Every last one of you.” I chuckle and throw my balled-up napkin at him. “Not a word about that, Greg!”
“Not a word.” He mimes zipping his lips. “Well, except to Lisa. You know I’m telling her, but she’s a vault. Your secret crush is safe with her.” Lisa really is a vault. When someone tells her something, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t waterboard it out of her.
“Between you and Josie, I don’t know what to do. She’s on me about this, too.”
“Listen, all I’m saying is let your hair down. Have some fun. Make a friend. What's the harm in that?” he asks. “And I’m not really even suggesting dating him, but I haven’t heard a peep about you dating anyone in years. Not since Eric.”
It's true that my dating life has been practically non-existent for years. This is a small town and there aren’t any proverbial fish in the sea here. Every now and then I download a dating app, but between the unsolicited dick pics, the cringey pick-up lines, and the guys with an obvious wedding ring tan line, I've just about given up.
“Greg, you, of all people, know I have to watch everything I do. I have to be on my best behavior all the time.”
“Says who? We’re different here, and you know it.”
“Josie said that too. I swear I think you two have been talking.”
"We’re both saying it because it’s the truth. We might have some gossip, but it doesn’t leave this town. Not a person here would begrudge you a chance to have some fun,” Greg says gently. “Give it some thought. You’re burning the candle at both ends, and you need a break from work sometimes.”
I nod once, and about that time Liam pokes his head in, interrupting us.
“You two ready to get back at it?”
Greg and I both stand, but before we get to the door, he sets a hand on my arm. I look up to see concern in his eyes. “You know we all worry about you. You’ve more than earned some fun in life. Just think about what I said.” He gives my arm a squeeze, and we head back into the studio.
The rest of the day passes as quickly as the first half, and before we know it, we’re wrapping things up. The guys all do that slap-on-the-back thing that guys do, and Austin and I head toward my house. He’s unusually quiet, so I let him be, not filling the silence with unnecessary chatter. He’s had a lot happen in the last few days, and I know as well as anyone how sometimes you just need some time with your thoughts.
When we reach my door, Austin reminds me that dinner is on him. He heads up to shower and I run inside to freshen up. He returns twenty minutes later with damp hair, wearing a black t-shirt that clings to his shoulders and biceps. Before I can do something stupid like run my hands up his rippled chest and drag him to my bedroom, I grab my laptop and take a seat at the table to work on the studio’s social media ads while he cooks.
Wordlessly, he gathers everything from my fridge, tosses a towel over his shoulder, and gets to work.
No matter how hard I try to focus on my work, I can't seem to peel my eyes away from his tanned forearms that flex as he slices and chops. Every romance book I’ve read has a scene where the heroine notices the guy's forearms, and I've always scoffed at it like it's an obligatory thing a romance has to mention. I didn’t know a forearm could be attractive, but here we are: forearm porn on full display. His t-shirt is fitted, and I eye the curve of his bicep stretching against his sleeve.
Austin glances over at me and I quickly avert my eyes, but I hear his rumbly chuckle. There’s no telling what my face was saying while I openly admired him.
I clear my throat, trying to appear nonchalant. “So—um, what are you cooking?
"Sliders with a side salad," he says over his shoulder. “It’s quick and easy, and you’ll have leftovers for lunch.”
My stomach growls loudly, and I know he hears it because he says, “Sounds like I better hurry before you get hangry on me.”
When the food is ready he plates it like we’re at a Michelin-star restaurant, and we sit down to eat. I’m honestly nervous to try it because, like I told him, I’m a picky eater. But it smells delicious with the garlicky butter glaze on top. I take my first bite and a moan slips out before I can stop it. Austin chokes on his water and quickly grabs a napkin to clean up his mess.
“Y’all need a moment alone there?” he teases after regaining control of himself.
"It’s just so good! You said your aunt taught you to cook?"
"Yeah. Aunt Ashley tried to do things one-on-one with each of us. We spent our time together cooking. We still cook together sometimes when I’m in town." His adoration for his aunt is evident from the look on his face. This man, full of all this love for the people in his life, is a far cry from the callous person the media has painted him to be. I don’t know how they got him so wrong.
Every bite on my plate gets devoured, and I even get a second slider while Austin looks on wearing a self-satisfied expression. I can’t remember when I last ate this well and felt this cared for. Food is a love language in and of itself.
Deciding to take Greg and Josie’s advice, and before I can talk myself out of it, I ask, "Do you wanna stay and watch some TV after we clean up? I’m about to start the third season of Schitt’s Creek , but we can start it over. Or we could watch something else."
Austin’s smile is big, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners, and for the first time I notice he has laugh lines fanning out from them. Laugh lines proving that, despite whatever demons he’s been battling, he’s had a life of laughter with the marks to show for it.
"Yeah, sure. But I’d hate for you to start over on my account."
I wave him off. "It's my favorite show. I don't mind at all."
We clean the kitchen together, although I try to convince him that if he cooks I clean, but he’s not having it. Each time he passes me a wet dish, our fingertips brush, sending a zing up my spine. Something is happening here and I’m unsure how long I can keep up my mask of professionalism. It’s basically slipped all the way off at this point, anyway.
With Honey tucked under my arm, we head to the living room. It’s still early enough in the evening that we can probably get in a few episodes before we have to call it a night, if he’s up for it. I settle into my spot on one end of the couch and he takes a seat right beside me, invading my personal space. When I prop my feet onto my coffee table, he does the same, grinning over at me as he rests his socked foot against mine.
It turns out, Austin is the perfect TV watching partner. He laughs in all the right places, which is a giant point in his favor. One time I was on a date with a guy I met on a dating app, and within ten minutes he'd already told me he thought this show was stupid. I asked for the check and left on the spot, not even looking back. There’s no time for that blasphemy in my life.
At some point, I must doze off. I don't remember it, but I wake disoriented, unsure if I've slept for a few hours or a few days. I'm curled up on my couch with a blanket over me that I'm sure I didn't wrap myself in. Looking around to get my bearings, I notice a note on my coffee table. It’s folded in half like a triangle so that the note stands up for me to see.
Sleep tight. See you tomorrow at the studio.
-Austin
His handwriting is the same messy scrawl from his songwriting notebook, and it plucks at a string in my heart, picturing him taking the time to write it before covering me with a blanket and tiptoeing out.
My phone says it's three a.m., so I let sleep pull me back under.