Chapter 11
Dax bounded out of bed for his early morning run, surprised he had as much energy as he did. He’d gone to bed a couple of hours later than usual, but he wouldn’t have given up a second of that time he’d spent with Ivy. She intrigued him. She soothed him.
And their chemistry was off the charts.
Ivy had told him she’d never kissed anyone for as long as they had done last night. He hadn’t shared that the same was true for him. Kissing had always been a gateway to a more physical act of coming together with a woman. Shailene, in particular, had tolerated a few kisses, but she was always ready to rush past that and get down to business.
He still wanted to make love to Ivy so bad that he ached, but he’d been happy kissing her for hours. Completely satisfied.
And that had never been true with any other woman.
Maybe there was something to this taking it slow business. Letting the sexual tension build between them as they became more comfortable with one another. Dax had always been the partner who suggested cranking things up a notch. This time, he decided to give Ivy that power. That, in itself, was liberating.
He ran one of his favorite routes, leaving the square and running through a residential neighborhood, passing an elementary school and houses which had been built four or five decades ago, based upon the maturity of the trees in the yards. Silence surrounded him. Only the pounding of his feet on the pavement kept him company. Not even the birds were awake and singing their morning songs this time of day.
As he ran, Dax let his thoughts drift. To the fusion nights. His songwriting. New coffees he wanted to try. Joining the Chamber of Commerce.
And Ivy.
It seemed something existed inside him now, that with every beat of his heart, it echoed her name within him. He hoped this wasn’t infatuation. That this all-consuming feeling of wanting to be with her 24/7 wouldn’t flame out. Right now, he wanted to give her—and himself—space. He wanted to see her, but he also wanted them to have time apart in order to create their own art.
Doubling back, he ran up and down a few new streets, spying Ivy’s car. He stopped in front of the house where it was parked, running in place, thinking of her sleeping inside. It took everything Dax had not to rush up to the door and pound upon it, getting her out of bed. That might be hard to explain to her sister and Braden Clark, though.
Instead, he returned to the square, pausing as he reached the mural which she had been working on. It was well on its way to completion, with large sections of it finished. He believed Ivy would wrap up the mural sooner than she had estimated. Then again, he wasn’t familiar with her work schedule at the tasting room, so he didn’t know how much time she had to devote to it. He supposed she worked weekends since that’s when more traffic would come through the winery, visitors wanting to do a wine tasting.
He was glad he had done one with Ivy, just to see what she did and said when she shared her knowledge of wines with others. It surprised him how much he’d learned and how ready he was to try a few of the wines again. Maybe since he would be doing the fusion nights, he might need to look into offering a limited selection of wines at Java Junction during those occasions. Then again, he didn’t know what hoops he’d need to jump through to secure a license to serve liquor. Maybe he should simply stick with pushing his coffees and teas.
Returning to his apartment, he readied himself for the day, making sure he had Sylvia Moore’s phone number ready to go in his cell. Dax liked that Ivy hadn’t merely showered him with compliments after he played for her. She had been enthusiastic about his songwriting, but even he could tell his voice was off from years past. Her suggestion to work with a vocal coach was a good one. He only hoped he could schedule an appointment with Sylvia before Saturday night.
Dax went downstairs, greeting Jeanine. Together, they finished prepping the coffeehouse in order to open its doors. Right as the clock showed six, Ethel appeared, bearing the daily boxes of breakfast items. While he had offered to pick them up, Ethel seemed to enjoy delivering the order and chatting a moment before returning to her bakery.
“Here you go, Dax,” she said. “How are things moving?”
“Quickly,” he replied. “I’m not having anything left. If I did, Sean would probably eat it when he comes in afternoons.”
“I’m liking our arrangement,” the feisty baker said. “You’re paying me a fair price. It’s cut down on the number of people I’m serving without costing me money. And I assume your customers are satisfied.”
“They are, Ethel.”
He paused a moment, thinking her color didn’t look good. Having no idea how old Ethel was, he wasn’t about to ask and earn her wrath. Still, he would keep his eye on her and if she looked as if she might be going downhill, he would speak to her. Ethel might take his inquisitiveness for pertness, but then again, she might listen to him more since he was almost a stranger. They were friendly with one another, but they weren’t truly friends. Sometimes, it took someone objective, outside your circle of family and friends, to get through to you about something as serious as a health issue.
The morning rush seemed a little larger and lasted longer this morning, which was fine with him. The old-timers were ensconced in their regular places, while the mom groups were scattered about the coffeehouse.
“I need to make a quick phone call,” he told Jeanine.
“Have at it,” the barista told him. “Things have slowed.”
Dax went upstairs to his apartment so he would have some privacy.
Sylvia Moore answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Miss Moore, this is Dax Tennyson.”
“Ah, yes, the young man with the coffeehouse. I stopped in not long ago to see what the fuss was about. You serve a decent cup of coffee, Mr. Tennyson.”
“Dax. And thank you. The reason I’m calling is that Ivy Hart told me you give vocal lessons. I’m interested in scheduling a few with you if you have an opening.”
“My schedule is more flexible during the day, Dax,” the teacher told him. “At least it is now, before school lets out. Most of my clients are either students who are currently in school or a handful of adults who work full-time and take their lessons at night or on weekends. Would it possible for you to see me during a weekday?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, falling back on good manners which had been instilled in him by his mother. “I usually work the morning rush and then take off between ten and four. I do put some work in during those hours, but I can be as flexible as you.”
“Would today be good, Dax? You could stop by at ten-thirty,” Sylvia suggested.
“I can do that. May I have your address, please?”
She provided it to him and then proceeded to give him instructions on how to get to her house. He could have mapped it on his phone, but he found he liked her very much and didn’t mind listening to her. As it was, she was only three miles from Java Junction, so it wouldn’t take him long to reach her place.
“I’ll see you at ten-thirty then,” he told her. “If you don’t mind, I’ll bring my guitar.”
“I’m anxious to hear your voice, Dax. I hope you’ll be interested in us working together.”
When ten o’clock came, he removed his apron and told Jeanine he’d see her tomorrow. Dax went up to his apartment and retrieved his guitar before heading to his truck. He knew he had a few supplies to order, but that could wait until later.
He turned around, deciding to bring the teacher a treat, hoping she enjoyed coffee. He made her a hazelnut latte and slid a lid into place, leaving to drive the short distance to the former choir teacher’s house.
She opened the door, and he was surprised at her appearance. Instead of a little old lady with a white bun, Sylvia Moore wore yoga pants and a flowing shirt. She also had flame-red hair, which he thought might come from a bottle. She wore glasses with a sparkling frame, turning from pink to purple to blue as she moved.
“Good morning, Miss Moore,” he said. “I’m Dax.”
Her lips twitched in amusement. “I do recall what you look like, Dax. You didn’t wait on me and my friend. Sean Shackleford did. Even though you were busy, you were friendly and spoke to us all the same. That goes a long way in this town. I hope Java Junction will be successful. Come in.”
Entering her house, she indicated for him to step into a large, sunny room to the right of the door. It contained a piano, a harp, and a drum set, as well as a couple of club chairs.
“I give piano lessons, as well as a few harp lessons,” Sylvia said. “And I am teaching myself how to play the drums.”
He beamed at her. “Good for you, Miss Moore.”
“Oh, Sylvia, please. You didn’t go to Lost Creek High School.” She paused, appraising him. “Where did you go? And how did you wind up in Lost Creek?”
Knowing this was a part of small town life, he took the chair she indicated.
“I’m from Dallas. Raised by a single mother who worked long hours. I won a scholarship to SMU and majored in accounting. I’ve held a plethora of jobs, but my favorite one was as a DJ for weddings and parties. I had a few curveballs thrown at me, and I decided I wanted to try a slower pace and different way of life. I drove around Texas and decided the Hill Country was too pretty to pass up. Lost Creek was a no-brainer, Sylvia. The town has charm. As Goldilocks would say, ‘It’s not too big. It’s not too small. It’s just right.’ So I decided Lost Creek would be the place I’d open my coffeehouse.”
“Have you ever run a business before?”
“Just my DJ business. It was very successful. I worked as an accountant after college, though, so I’m terrific with numbers. So far, Java Junction is doing well. I have no complaints. And I have a way to lure a few more people in, now that the summer season is almost upon us.”
Briefly, he told her about the fusion nights, where he’d give local musicians the opportunity to showcase their talents, while artists could display their paintings.
“You might want to add pottery,” Sylvia suggested. “We have a good number of potters in the area. Jewelry-makers, as well. Maybe you could set aside a few tables to display those items.”
“Excellent idea,” Dax said.
“Why are you here if you wish for others to step up to the microphone and sing?” Sylvia pressed.
“Because I also want to perform,” he informed her. “I’ve been writing songs for several years now. I think my voice is decent, but the songs are much better. I wanted to see what you thought of my voice and if you like what you hear, I hope you’ll work with me some to get it where it needs to be in order to sing in public.” He hesitated. “I’ve never done that before. I’ve only sung to my girlfriend.”
“Here’s how I work, Dax,” she said, her tone one of no-nonsense. “There is no charge for this first lesson. You are checking me out as much as I am doing the same with you. I want to assess your range. Identify if you have any problems with your pitch. Work with you on your breathing. Proper breath support is paramount to a singer.”
He nodded. “That sounds good.”
“If you wish to continue, I’ll provide some exercises for you to do at home, between our sessions, which will improve your tone and diction, as well as help with breath control. Usually, I also work with my students on the basics of music theory. However, if you are already writing your own songs, I am going to assume you have a good knowledge of this.”
“I have no formal training, Sylvia,” he explained. “I bought myself a guitar and taught myself to play. Everything I know about music is instinctual.”
She nodded sagely. “I am not one to be a stickler regarding music theory. You might not know the proper musical terms, but I suspect you know the underlying reason behind why you do the things you do. All right, let’s work on a few warm-ups now, and then I can assess your voice as you play one of your songs for me.”
Sylvia led Dax through both spoken and song-related exercises, with her seated at the piano for some of these exercises. He found it fascinating. By the time he was ready to perform for her, he was glad they had gone through the vocal workout. Already, his voice sounded richer and stronger.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” he admitted sheepishly.
Her brows arched. “Then it’s a good thing you have come to me. What are you going to play for me?”
“A Brighter Tomorrow,” he responded. “It’s more of a rock song. I’d also like to do a ballad for you. Dreams Turned to Dust. That way you can assess both styles of music I like to write and play.”
“No country?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“No, ma’am. I’m a city boy who gravitated toward rock early on, but my girlfriend says if I’m going to play for people in this area, I better add a few country songs to my repertoire.”
“You’ve mentioned your girlfriend twice,” Sylvia pointed out. “Did she move with you from Dallas?”
“No, I met her here in Lost Creek. Ivy Hart.”
“Ivy? Oh, she was a darling girl. She and her sister were such good students. On all sorts of committees. True student leaders. Neither of them was in choir, though I do remember Ivy served as the drum major.”
“Yes, Sean Shackleford, one of my baristas, has sung her praises to me loud and often.”
“And Ivy has heard your music?”
He nodded. “She thinks I knock it out of the park with my songwriting. She also told me I have a good voice. Not a great one. That’s why I’m here. To see if you can help me improve upon it.”
“Then play A Brighter Tomorrow for me, Dax.”
He lifted his guitar and pulled the strap over his head.
“You need to stand,” Sylvia prompted. “You will have better breath control than if you are seated.”
He rose, knowing he better stay on his toes around this woman.
“Do you mind if I record you?” she asked. “Most students never do this for themselves. I think you can learn quite a bit by listening to yourself.”
“Go right ahead,” he said, and she slipped her cell from her pocket and tapped it, nodding at him to continue.
Dax played the first song. Sylvia had the best poker face he’d ever seen. When she didn’t comment after the song ended, he decided to move into Dreams Turn into Dust, playing the ballad in its entirety. After he finished, he removed his guitar, setting it aside.
Sylvia turned off her recording. “How do you think you sounded?”
He frowned. “I thought I was here to get your critique.”
“You are. I’m simply interested in what you thought of your performance. Self-evaluation and self-awareness are important if you are to truly improve.”
Thinking a moment, he said, “My voice cracked some on the first song. The warm-ups helped, though. As for the ballad, I struggled to hit a few of the high notes.”
“Let’s listen together and then talk through things.”
He covered his embarrassment, having never thought to record himself once he’d written a song, and feeling uncomfortable hearing himself in her presence. Still, he’d come here for help, and Sylvia seemed both knowledgeable—and tough as nails. She wouldn’t cut him any slack, which he appreciated.
When the second song ended, Sylvia touched a button, and the room went silent.
“I can forward these files to you. I think a student can learn quite a bit from hearing their own performance. Now, what do you think?”
This time, Dax was more critical of his performance, noting several specific examples, but he pointed out that he thought he’d done better on the ballad than he had with the rock song.
“I agree. You sounded rusty to me. Have you been practicing?”
“I’m putting my cards on the table, Sylvia. I haven’t played in seven years. I put music on hold and allowed myself to be swallowed whole by the corporate world. Despite that, I never totally gave up on my dream to sing and play someday. As I told Ivy, I don’t expect to hear myself on the radio. I simply want to entertain people right here in Lost Creek. With that being said, I still want to be the best version of myself that I can be. How can I get better?”
“You’re going to need to practice, Dax. A lot. You have a ton of work to do regarding breath control. Your tone is excellent. Your pitch, even better. I detect a richness to your voice, but it’s going to take work to bring more of it out. Are you willing to put in the work?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, eager to push himself.
“I think once we get the rust out of your voice, the rest will come naturally to you. You are a fine composer, however, and your lyrics are superb. I will do everything I can to bring your singing voice to a higher, more dependable level.”
He met her gaze. “I was hoping to play at Java Junction this Saturday night. Just a few songs.”
She frowned. “Don’t. Give me three weeks—and promise me you’ll put in the work on your end. After that, I think you’ll be ready to sing for the public.”
That would take him to the first week in June. Dax decided that Saturday would be the beginning of the fusion nights which Java Junction would host.
And he planned to close out the list of performers.