Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
S avannah
“I have something for you.”
“For me?”
I nod but say no more. Ian’s astonished look reminds me of Gigi on Christmas morning, and seeing the display in a grown man threatens to unmoor my emotions. How is it that someone who had the world at his fingertips thinks so little of himself that he’s shocked by the announcement of a gift? It’s a good bet that he lacks for nothing in material wealth, so maybe this is something that will speak to the part of him that hurts. That little boy inside who never felt he mattered—and he does matter, and this is the only gift I can think of that will speak to his heart.
A song.
It’s the best way to reach a musician and, for all of Ian’s denying it, music is still a big part of his life. The song came to me last night in a dream, forced me awake, and ran in a loop through my head until I got up out of bed, my eyes half-lidded, and found paper and a pencil. I found it where Gigi left a hand-drawn picture of a blue guitar. She laid it on top of a magazine, its waxy crayon squiggles and swirls drawn by our personal van Gogh, in miniature. Once I had the words down, I went back to sleep, only to be awakened a few hours later by Gigi. She cuddled with me in my bed, humming a simple and sweet tune. I took it, folded the words into the notes and, in little more than an hour, wrote a song. Ian’s song.
I walk away from the two men, abandoning them in favor of the stage. Heat warms my cheeks, climbing from my chest and neck. I inch back in my seat and pull the guitar close. When I glance across the room, I see Sam standing behind the bar with Ian a few feet behind him. Inhaling a deep, nerve-dispensing breath, I close my eyes for a silent moment and focus on one more deep inhale. You’ve got this, Savannah.
I lean into the microphone and softly strum, sending the song from mine and Gigi’s hearts to his.
A place you should have been
A thing you should’ve done
Waiting in the wings
A wrong you should’ve right
A word you should’ve said
They seem like little things
Mornings fade into the night
Fireflies dancing with their light
These moments they pass
Much too fast
But you know, you know
It’s the little things
I look up and Ian’s eyes meet mine. A secret smile has stolen his lips, flooding warmth through me as my heart swells.
A heart that doesn’t heal
A wound that doesn’t fade
Is now dust in the wind
A gift you should’ve gave
A hand you should’ve held
A time when you give in
The world keeps spinning round and round
And we just tune into the sounds
‘Cause you know, you know
It’s the little things
I finish out the song with some quiet strumming and, suddenly, my heart gallops. It’s been so long since I’ve written a song. The last one opened the door for Ian and me to meet but this one means so much more because Gigi’s a part of it.
“Got-damn!” Sam breaks the silence, and he breaks the silence by slapping his palm to the bar top. “That sure was pretty. I never heard that one before, Savi. That new?”
I nod. “It is.”
“Well, I like it. You should keep that one in your song list.” Sam turns to Ian. “What did you think?”
Ian’s expression is hard to read. He nods, and smiles, but doesn’t utter a word. I slide off the chair and lean the guitar against it. As I approach him, I see a look in his eyes I’ve not seen before and, impulsively, I reach out and touch his arm. His eyes search mine, and I can tell he’s holding himself back. I’m afraid to say anything, aware that I might say something to break what I can only guess are pent-up emotions. He holds my gaze for a few seconds.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
He nods, swallows, takes a deep breath, and takes my hand. “The song. It’s beautiful.”
I squeeze his fingers as relief conjures my smile. “Thank you. It’s from Gigi and me; my words, her tune. You gave us something that you can’t buy in a store, Ian, and this is our way of reciprocating in kind.”
“No one’s ever dedicated a song to me, much less written one. I don’t know what to say.”
“As long as you like it, there’s nothing to say. Whenever I sing it, it will bring memories of last night.”
“It reminds me of someone. Someone special.”
His comment catches me off guard until he elaborates.
“It’s my mom.” Emotion catches his voice and a groan seeps through the words. “She used to sing sweet songs like that.” He pauses. “You’d think grief would lose its sting after a while, but it doesn’t. The stings turn into sucker punches. It’s usually something simple. A scent. A sunny day. There’s no rhyme or reason. The memory takes your mind down roads you haven’t traveled in a while. I guess that’s the price you pay for loving someone with all that’s in you; you lose them, and reliving memories of them is the most bittersweet pain your heart can bear.”
I tread those same heartfelt waters and, just like Ian, can easily get caught in the undertow. “I know. I feel them too sometimes—about my mom and dad.” The tugging in my chest prompts me to offer comfort and lift the veil of sadness from his eyes, but I hold back. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ian.”
He nods, carefully sniffing back his feelings. “The song’s beautiful and means more to me than you know. Thank you—and Gigi.”
I turn away to spare him from staying too long with his memories, but he stops me by touching my arm. I’m captivated by his tender expression, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“My Momma used to say a song could make you feel better, and your singing always feels like a healing to me.”
His words touch something deep inside and, when his hand falls away, I stay. I can’t explain the depth of emotion he wears. It speaks words he cannot. I raise my hand to his cheek. The barely visible stubble is abrasive against my skin causing goosebumps to skitter up my arm. The rush hits my belly then travels to other places. I’m like a kid on a carnival ride, excited and afraid at the same time. This connection? It’s something we’d do well to avoid, but it’s something for which we both thirst, and I savor it, even if just for this moment. It appears he does too. We’ve both been scarred by love and know all too well that tender moments like this don’t last.
“I hope one day you find your way back to music. You’re good. Really good.”
“I can’t see that happening but thank you.”
“Just think about it. There’s something about music that washes the dust off your soul and tethers us to times and places that let our souls breathe.”
He sucks in a breath and smiles as he exhales. “You’re an amazing woman, Savannah Grace, you know that?”
I note the tremble in his voice and give him a sweet look. “My friends call me Savi.”
A wide smile appears on his full lips, enhancing his looks. Ian is handsome yet doesn’t seem to know. The cockiness with which he made his fortune with the band Boundless Hearts is gone, and in its place is a gentler look. His eyes are tender, warmer, as he holds my gaze, and the flutter in my chest explodes, releasing joy inside of me that feels like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. I can’t deny my attraction to him. It resurrects feelings I harbored in my younger years but more adult and mature. Back then my hormones dictated my response and now it’s the inner stature of the man that attracts me. His kindness balances equally with his body and I’m drawn to his personality just as much as the broad shoulders filling his inky black tee shirt. My thoughts drift as my gaze travels to his muscular chest and trim waist, clear evidence of the work he’s put in at the ranch. The worn and faded blue jeans hug his toned legs like a second skin and I can’t stop staring. This new life has been good for him, and I don’t need to wonder if the near-death experience has changed him in more ways than he realizes. It has and I’m brazen, taking in this simple man with a beautiful soul.
I’m suddenly hot. The warmth I felt climbing up my neck now has me fully flushed. There’s a fraction of space between us and the distance has me breathing in a musky fragrance of shampoo or cologne. I lean in just a little and breathe in a bit deeper. A quick glance around reveals that Sam’s disappeared and I relish the silence. We’re the only people in the room yet it feels bigger than that; more impressive. Like we’re the only people in the world. The only sound breaching the bar is the buzzy, white noise, and hum from the air conditioning. He’s captured me with his tender expression, one, I’m certain, most of the world has never seen.
He steps to my side, draping a relaxed arm around my shoulders as he walks me to a table. It’s more a friendly gesture than a romantic one and feels completely non-threatening. When he pulls out a chair, I take a seat, and Ian crouches down in front of me, looking up at me with a tranquil expression. “Savannah?—”
“Savi,” I correct.
He nods, tips his chin, and takes my hand as he looks into my eyes, and I melt.
“Savi … inside and out, you’re the most beautiful person I think I’ve ever known.”