Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Four and a half hours later, I’m starting to understand why Axel Cox is such a superstar. The man has an incredible work ethic—well, maybe incredible isn’t the right word. Sadistic is more like it. The man doesn’t stop.
We’ve worked straight through lunch.
When I started coughing from dry mouth, he at least got us bottles of water. That was the only time he left the music room—well, that and when we stepped out to let in the crew to wrap the trees. Once they were settled, we came right back in here and haven’t stopped since.
I thought it would be easier on my hands to play drums rather than wrestle with the branches, but now I’m not sure. My palms are rubbed raw from the drumsticks, my fingers ache, and my shoulders feel like they’ve been wrung out.
“Let’s do it again,” Axel says.
I groan. “Seriously?” We’ve been working on the same song for the past hour and a half.
He flashes a crooked smile. “It’s not right yet.”
I shoot him an exasperated look. “You know what the definition of insanity is, right?”
He pushes out a throaty laugh. “No, but I get the feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”
He tips his head, amused. “Yeah, well … it’s still not right. Time to make some changes.”
He has no idea how much I know about music—thanks to Mom. He had her for one year in elementary school. Try having her as your mother for life. I know my stuff.
I need to offer some instruction, or we’ll be at this all night. “Okay, here’s what I think—”
He cuts me off. “The tempo feels rushed. We should slow it down a tad.”
“Yeah, that might help, and you should pause right before the chorus hits. That split second of silence will make the hook hit harder.”
He nods. “Could work.”
“Also, modulate up half a step on the last chorus.”
He blinks. “Oh, so you do know a little something.”
“If you modulate, it’ll lift the ending—make it feel bigger and more emotional.”
He smirks. “I know the trick. It’s pretty common in my field.”
“Well then,” I say, giving him a teasing grin, “maybe we should actually use it.”
“Okay.” He positions his hands on the guitar. Let’s try it.”
Before he starts, I think of one more thing. “Oh—and right at the end of the chorus, you’re hitting the note, but I’m not feeling it.”
He lowers his hands. “What do you mean, not feeling it?”
“It sounds a little flat. Maybe it’s the lyric. You’re going for rhyme over emotion, and it comes off hokey. The line about ‘longing and belonging’—I get what you’re doing, but maybe there’s a stronger way to say it.”
He studies me. “Okay, what do you suggest?”
I pause, considering. “Maybe instead of ‘longing for home and belonging there’ try something like… ‘I’m longing for home to fill the part of me that belongs to the memories of my heart.’ It has more depth.”
He hums the line under his breath and sings the phrase. “I like where you’re going, but it’s too wordy. How about? “I’m longing for home to fill the part my heart remembers.”
“I like it.”
We launch into the song again. The changes do wonders.
When we finish, Axel flashes a wide grin. “Okay, London, that was pretty good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” I laugh.
He looks thoughtful. “You know, it would sound even better if you’d harmonize with me on the chorus.”
My eyes widen. “You want me to sing?”
“You clearly know music. Can you sing?”
“I can hold my own.”
“Then let’s hear it. Try harmonizing with me.”
I swallow. “Okay, but I’ll have to concentrate. Singing and drumming at the same time is like patting your head while rubbing your stomach.”
He chuckles. “I think you can handle it.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
We start again, and this time I come in on the chorus, harmonizing softly. Our voices blend better than I expected—smooth and natural.
“That’s great,” Axel proclaims when the song ends.
“Glad you approve,” I tease.
“Should we go to the next one?”
Before I can answer, my stomach growls—loudly.
I press a hand against it. “You might be able to do this all night, but I’m starving. Any chance we could break our noses away from the grindstone long enough to eat?”
He laughs. “Let’s order a pizza.”
“Sounds good.”
His phone buzzes. He retrieves it from his pocket. “Hey. How’s it going?” He makes a face. “Oh, wow. That’s too bad. Hmm. Okay. Well … yeah, I can do that. I was just about to grab something to eat, but … sure. I’ll just eat there. Sounds good.” He ends the call and lets out a breath.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He gets up and hangs his guitar on the wall. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta run. They’re short on volunteers at the soup kitchen tonight.”
“Soup kitchen?”
He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah. I help out when I can. It’s over near Jefferson Street. The coordinator just called. Half the volunteers are down with the flu.”
I blink. “You volunteer at a soup kitchen?”
“It’s a good way to give back. Keeps me grounded.”
Okay, that’s … unexpected. For so long, I pegged him as the self-centered playboy who only cares about the spotlight. I’ve viewed him through the lens of old hurts, middle and high school memories, and celebrity gossip. But this? This doesn’t fit the image at all.
“Sorry about dinner,” he says.
“It’s fine.” It occurs to me that I’m disappointed. It would’ve been nice to have pizza with him.
His eyes light up. “Hey, you could come with me.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. Help at the kitchen. You’re hungry, right?” He points. “Don’t deny it, I heard your stomach.”
“Ha, ha,” I say dryly. “Too much work, not enough food.”
“Come with me. The food’s actually pretty good. Lizzy—who runs the place—makes a great soup.”
It would be awesome to watch Axel interact at a soup kitchen, but I can’t come across as too eager, so I scrunch my brows. “I dunno.”
“Come on,” he drawls. “Where else are you gonna get free food and such fabulous company?”
A giggle rises in my throat as my words come out silky and taunting. “Axel Cox, you certainly have a high opinion of yourself.”
He laughs. “I suppose I might resemble that comment.”
We share a smile.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not,” he says easily. “We’ll ride together. It might be a late night—are you okay with that?”
“Sure.” A smile curves my lips. “You did rescue me from the tree decorating nightmare, after all.” I glance down at my hands. “Although I don’t know which is worse—the pricks from the pine needles or the blisters, which I’m sure to have.”
He laughs. “Such a baby. You’ll survive.”
“Thanks for the sympathy,” I mutter darkly.
“It’s called tough love.” He throws me a wink.
The flicker of warmth that whooshes between us catches me off guard.
Is he feeling it too? The attraction is electric.
I’m sure my cheeks are bright red. Needing a distraction, I rise from the drum throne.
“I should probably check on the crew.” Anything to get away from this uncomfortable situation.
“Good idea.”
We go into the living room. “The crew” consists of a middle-aged woman with glossy-black curls and her teenage son.
Consuela greets me with a large smile. “?Hola!”
“Hello.” Her warm and open personality is refreshing.
“You two sounded good,” Consuela says genuinely.
“Thanks,” Axel answers, “we’re getting there.”
“If he doesn’t work me into the ground first,” I joke.
“He does work hard.” Admiration coats her voice.
Consuela’s teenage son, Diego, is busy wrapping branches. They’ve already done four trees and are working on their fifth.
“Wow,” I say, impressed. “Y’all are fast.”
Consuela smiles, crinkling the network of wrinkles framing her eyes. “It helps to have Diego. He’s the fast one. I’m just trying to keep up.”
“You’re doing great. Thank you so much for your help.” Axel throws Diego a conspiratorial grin. “So, she dragged you away from your PlayStation on Christmas break?”
Diego makes a face. “She did … unfortunately,” he mutters.
Consuela’s response comes flying out. “He needed to do something instead of sitting in front of the TV and eating taquitos.” She throws him a sharp look.
“Well, there’s plenty to eat here.” Axel motions to the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. There are some Hot Pockets in the freezer.”
“Awesome.” Diego brightens.
“You can heat something up after we finish this tree,” Consuela pipes in.
Diego nods and continues working.
Axel talks to them for several more minutes, asking about their plans for Christmas. There’s no trace of celebrity pretense or entitlement in his interaction, only warmth and sincerity. It throws me off balance.
“We’re heading out.” Rocking forward on his feet, Axel looks from Consuela to Diego. “I’ll see you both tomorrow?”
“Sí, we’ll be here,” Consuela answers in a way that leaves Diego no room to disagree.
I bite back a smile. Consuela’s tough—keeping her son in check. She reminds me a little of my mom.
Axel moves to the kitchen and grabs two bananas from the fruit hanger. He tosses one to me. “This’ll hold you over until we get there. Wouldn’t want you to starve.”
I catch it, grinning. “Thanks.
“See? I’m not completely heartless.”
“Debatable,” I quip, but there’s no bite in my voice—only a warmth I don’t try to hide.