Chapter 26 Aria
Aria
Aria and Bailey pick up the main level of the house on Thursday morning, Aria running the vacuum over the rugs after Bailey wipes down the counters.
Fortunately, Aria’s biweekly cleaning service came only two days earlier, so the house is in good shape to begin with.
Still, she wants to put her best foot forward for Griffin.
Her mother would always shine up their small-town abode for guests, and Aria, who rarely hosts guests, figures she might as well follow her mother’s example.
“I went ahead and ordered stuff for lunch,” Bailey says as Aria returns the vacuum to the laundry room. “I got a variety of salads, sandwiches, and a few pastries from the deli.”
“Perfect. And the drinks are already well stocked.” Aria glances at her phone, noting the time. “He’ll be here in a couple hours or so, and I’m going to get a head start on writing.” Aria waves, then stops briefly at a console table to fluff the flower arrangement.
“Holler if you need anything,” Bailey says.
Aria takes off down the stairs and opens the studio for the day. She pulls back the curtains that cover the walk-out sliding doors, flips on the lights, and turns on the recording equipment. She lights a scented candle on a side table and ignites the electric fireplace at the end of the room.
Hopefully Griffin likes it. And fortunately, since he’s already part of the fame game, he won’t think she’s showing off by inviting him into this place.
When Aria first got the house and brought her “friends” over, one of them took offense, claiming that Aria knew she was going after her own singing career, and that showing off the home studio was only rubbing salt in her very raw wounds.
Naturally, that friendship soon expired, leaving Aria bruised and weary.
Of course she would never intentionally hurt someone like that. She’d innocently thought the friend would want to see it—that she’d be happy for her.
Today Aria has no such worries. A few nervous flutters rise in her middle when she thinks about tinkering in the studio with Griffin alongside her, but only because she hopes she doesn’t sound incompetent in front of him.
Songs undergo a tremendous amount of work to get from idea to concert-ready, and although Aria expects Griffin will be as easygoing about this as he has been thus far, there’s also simply not the same luster to a first-draft song.
Aria does her best to focus for the morning, but despite her best efforts, she finds herself checking the time frequently and getting pulled off track by thoughts of Griffin.
She manages to draft the first version of the football player song from notes into a song about the quarterback and the theater girl getting a happily ever after.
It’s a song squarely in the Aria Wilder safe zone.
When Aria finishes, she’s happy with it. She’s not enchanted. She’s not excited. She doesn’t love it. But she knows it’ll go over well with the others, and for today that’s the assignment.
Before long, she migrates upstairs and picks at lunch. Bailey asks her why she’s not eating, and Aria says she’s just not that hungry. Honestly, it’s because she’s suddenly extremely nervous for Griffin Hayes to be in her house.
She’s become an expert at keeping her walls up, and even though Griffin has shown himself to be worthy of slipping behind them, it feels like a great risk to bring anyone new into her home.
Bailey reaches over the table and squeezes her arm. “It’s okay, sis. He’s not going to break your world with one visit to the studio.”
Aria lets out a breath that’d been crowding her chest. Her shoulders drop. “You’re right. It’s my buddy, Griff.”
Just hearing the words come out of her mouth sends a smile across her lips, and in perfect timing, the landline connected to the gate call box begins to ring.
“Speak of the devil,” Bailey says before loading a forkful of salad into her mouth.
The gate camera broadcasts to a screen built into the kitchen cabinetry, and it shows a new Bronco, window rolled down, and Griffin sitting in the driver’s seat. Aria’s body warms at the sight of him. Even on the grainy, low-quality screen, he looks like a Greek god.
She hits the button to open the gate and pulls the cover over the screen.
Bailey grabs the plastic container holding her salad and takes off. “I’m letting you have your privacy—see how good I’m being here?”
Aria laughs. “We’ll see you later.”
Moments later, a firm but friendly knock comes at the door, and Aria skips over and yanks it open. There Griffin stands with his hands folded in front of him grasping a bouquet of flowers. He wears jeans, a knit quarter-zip sweater, and leather boots.
Aria waves him inside as she ignores her racing pulse. “You clean up nice.”
Griffin smiles as he pats the front of his sweater. “I wasn’t sure how to play it, honestly. I figured I didn’t need to show up in sweats, but I also wasn’t going to pull out the suit again.”
“The woes of dressing a professional athlete.”
As Aria stands before him in the entryway, they both glance at the bouquet in his hands.
“I’m realizing now maybe I shouldn’t have brought these,” Griffin says.
“No!” Aria reaches out for the flowers and gently takes them. “They’re lovely.”
Griffin scratches his head like he’s regretting the choice. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, but you said you already had food covered.”
Aria turns and leads the way through the grand entrance into the open living area with the vaulted ceiling, and onward into the kitchen.
She fills a vase with some water and deposits the flowers.
“I’ll trim them later on, but they’ll make a great addition to the kitchen.
Hungry?” Aria gestures to the food Bailey arranged.
“I’m a professional football player. I’m always hungry.” Griffin leans against the counter and looks around the house. “Is it always this tidy?”
“Pretty much, but I might have picked up a little this morning. Wouldn’t want you to have to dodge piles of laundry.”
“I honestly wouldn’t mind seeing a pile or two of laundry around here. Just shows that you’re human,” Griffin says.
Aria smiles as she hands him a plate, and after he’s loaded it, she leads him down the stairs and into the recording studio. Now that Griffin is here, the worries that kept bubbling up earlier have abated, and Aria feels a peacefulness settle inside her.
At the base of the stairs she points out the beverage fridge over by her writing corner. “Anything you want to drink is in there, so help yourself.” She grabs her favorite cardigan from the mixing table and pulls it on.
Griffin sets down his plate on the table and turns around, almost in wonder, examining the place. “This is where it all happens, huh?”
Aria props her hands on her hips. “For the most part. The new stuff always comes out of here first. We’ll record final tracks elsewhere, but this is pretty much where every song is born.”
Griffin smiles and waggles his brow. “Can’t believe I’m here. So, tell me about it. What’s the process? Where do the ideas come from? How do you keep variety in the actual melody?” He grabs a sandwich from the plate and takes a bite.
Aria laughs. “Well, that’s a lot to answer at once, but we’ve got time.
” She wanders over to the writing corner, bends to her guitar case, and uncovers the instrument.
“This here is Old Faithful, the guitar I’ve had since I started out.
She never goes onstage, but I work out all my new melodies on her before I take it to the piano. ”
“That’s so cool. And it’s almost like you get to keep a special piece of it to yourself.”
Aria looks again at the guitar. In all this time, she hadn’t ever considered that, but alas, Griffin is showing her what it is to see with fresh eyes. “You know, you’re right. I cherish it, even though it’s only an old beginner model.”
“But one that was your beginning.”
Aria sets the instrument back into the case and leaves it open.
She picks up the writing notebook. “This very high-tech notebook is where I work out lyrics—for better or worse. I always write in pencil.” She glances over at the electronic equipment, a walled-off microphone and a few table boards.
“I won’t bore you with the details of the mixing equipment, but I can record vocals in here with pretty good quality. ”
“Not to mention there’s a great fireplace.”
A laugh spills out of Aria. “You don’t miss a thing.”
“So do I get to see you at work?” Griffin looks away for a moment. “There’s no pressure.”
Aria takes in a breath, then lets it out as she crosses the room to him. “In theory, yes. It’s just that this new album isn’t coming easy. I have one song—with a football theme, thanks to our time together—but that’s it.”
“You’re trying your best but your heart’s not in it?”
“Bingo. Everything’s coming out flat and boring because that’s how I feel about it.”
“We can get you over the hump.” Griffin sets down the sandwich and dusts off his hands. “The lyrics are the problem?”
Aria nods. “To steal a slogan from some of our friends, I just want to ‘level up.’ Just because everyone else is all right with me doing the same thing over and over again doesn’t mean that I am too.”
“Grab your lyrics book, Aria. We’re going to brainstorm.”
Aria can’t help the smile that cracks across her face. And it’s hard not to feel confident when the mighty Griffin Hayes is so certain and enthusiastic that she can get to the place she wants to be.
Aria drops onto the writing sofa and picks up the notebook.
Griffin paces in front of the coffee table. “All right, so go-to categories for the Aria Wilder brand. First I can think of is love, heartbreak, and crushes.”
Aria nods. “And I can’t get away from that entirely.”
“Of course not, but what if you just dig deeper into each? What’s the problem with the current songs?”
“They’re too bubblegum and young. It’s what I wrote as a twentysomething who thought love looked like being swept off her feet or the popular guy picking her.”
“So, what is it now?”