Counting Down with You(84)

I admire him more every day. “You’re so different from what I thought you’d be.”

“Not the bad boy you expected?” he teases.

“Not at all,” I say, but can’t help adding a quip. “Although, you should probably stop wearing a leather jacket.”

He laughs and gently shoves me. I pretend to flail but he wraps an arm around my waist before I can fall. “Sit still for a moment, okay? I really do have something to show you.”

I make a show of rolling my eyes. “O-kay.”

Ace ducks his head, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing the dimples pressing into his cheeks. “You already know I play the piano but, uh, I like to compose songs, too. I haven’t had a lot of inspiration lately, but...something changed these last few weeks.” He takes my hand and presses his lips against the inside of my wrist. “This song is called ‘Spark.’”

My breath catches. There’s no way Ace wrote a song for me.

I don’t know what to say. But maybe I don’t have to say anything, since Ace’s focus is on the piano now.

He starts with one hand, pressing down lightly on the keys. With each soft note, my heart begins to melt. As he repeats the keys over and over, he grows more confident and presses down with more enthusiasm. Soon after that, he adds his second hand.

The tempo strums on my heartstrings. I don’t know what to look at.

I have the option of watching Ace’s capable hands dance across the keys, his rings stark against the black and white. His wrists look incredibly delicate, and I’m all but held captive by the way his hands move.

But there’s something about Ace that’s even more arresting: his expression. A look of peace settles across the planes of his face, soft and open, as he presses key after key. He’s losing himself in the familiar motions, and it’s strange, because it looks so natural—like Ace was born to play the piano.

For the first time since I’ve met him, Ace looks naked with emotion. With each note, I feel more alive.

He’s stunning like this. I wish I had a way to capture this moment, to put it on billboards and magazines. Everyone in the world deserves to know that Alistair Clyde is completely and utterly beautiful.

My eyes begin to water, because there’s something familiar in this tune. I don’t know how to place it, but there is. It’s me. He’s somehow turned me into a song, into a series of notes.

The song starts slow and quiet but there’s a strength hidden, woven through as the song grows more and more intense. Something infinitely tender overlaps with something harsher.

In this song, I hear everything he thinks of me. I’m a dichotomy between quiet and bold, between soft and brave.

When Ace finishes playing, he’s hesitant again, the last few notes soft. He presses one final key before he lets out a breath and sits back on the bench. The moment he turns toward me, a tentative expression on his face, everything collapses inside me.

I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth without thinking. It takes a moment for my own action to register, and I shift away, heat prickling the back of my neck. The song is pulling such a strong reaction from me, and I don’t know what to do with it.

He blinks at me, lips parted. His shock lasts only a moment before a breathtaking smile breaks across his face. “Karina,” he whispers, my name a gentle caress, before he leans in and presses his lips against mine.

He’s kissing me.

Oh my God, he’s kissing me.

I part my lips and Ace moves closer, kissing me deeper. His mouth is soft, but his teeth are sharp where they catch on my lips, and it’s somehow perfect. One of his hands cups my face, his thumb gently brushing my cheek. My own hands find their way into the dark strands at the back of Ace’s neck and I tenderly card my fingers through them, pressing closer.

I don’t know how long we kiss, but suddenly Ace is laughing into my mouth and I can’t help the giggle that bursts from my own lips.

We pull apart, but his forehead rests against mine and he’s still smiling. “Hi,” he says. “Did you like the song?”

I smile back, closing my eyes. There aren’t enough words to answer his question. “Hi. I did. It was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Ace huffs another laugh. He’s close enough that I feel his breath against my face.

I blink my eyes open. “God, you’re ridiculous. Who writes an entire song for someone?”

“Who said the song was about you?” Ace says as he places a featherlight kiss between my eyebrows. I nearly go cross-eyed trying to watch him. “It could’ve been about Spade.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Do you often write songs about your dog?”

“Perhaps,” he says, his nose brushing against mine. “Spark. Spade. Only two letters off.”

“Shut up.” I shove him away, laughing. “I can’t stand you.”

Ace nudges me. “It’s a good thing you’re sitting down.”

“You’re horrible.”

“It’s all a part of my charm.”

I consider him for a moment, from his bright eyes to the sweet dimples indenting his cheeks to his messy unruly hair that I just ran my fingers through. “Yeah,” I say, more breath than words. “It is.”

By the end of the night, I realize I’ve made the worst possible mistake ever, because I’m now terribly, terribly besotted with Ace Clyde. There’s no way to come back from this.