Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(41)

Ridge smiles, sets his phone down, and drops his eyes back to his laptop. There’s something different about him now. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but I can see it in his eyes. He looks distraught. Or sad. Or maybe just tired?

He actually looks like a little bit of all three, and it makes me hurt for him. When I first met him, he seemed to have everything together. Now that I’ve gotten to know him better, I’m beginning to think that’s not the case. The guy standing in front of me right now looks as if his life is a mess, and I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.

Ridge: I’m still a little behind on work, but I should be caught up by tonight. If you feel like running through a new song, you know where to find me.

Me: Sounds good. I have an afternoon study group, but I’ll be back by seven.

He smiles halfheartedly and heads to his room. I know I’m beginning to understand most of his expressions. The one he just shot me was definitely a look of nervousness.

Ridge

I assumed she didn’t feel like writing tonight when she didn’t show, and I told myself I was okay with that.

However, it’s a few minutes past eight, and my light just flickered. I can’t ignore the rush of adrenaline pumping through me. I tell myself my body is having the reaction it’s having because I’m passionate about writing music, but if that were the case, why don’t I get this excited when I write alone? Or with Brennan?

I close my eyes and gently lay my guitar next to me while inhaling a steady breath. It’s been weeks since we’ve done this. Since the night she let me hear her sing and it completely changed the dynamic of our working relationship.

That’s not her fault, though. I’m not even sure if it’s my fault. It’s nature’s fault, because attraction is an ugly beast, and I’ll be damned if I don’t conquer it.

I can do this.

I open the door to my bedroom and step aside while she comes in with her notebook and her laptop. She walks confidently toward the bed and drops down onto it, then opens her laptop. I sit back down and open mine.

Sydney: I couldn’t pay attention in class today, because all I wanted to do was write lyrics. I wouldn’t let myself write any, though, because it comes so much better when you play. I’ve missed this. I didn’t think I would like it at first, and it made me nervous, but I love writing lyrics. Love, love, love it. Let’s go, I’m ready.

She’s smiling at me and giddily patting her palms against the mattress.

I smile back as I lean against the headboard and begin playing the opening to a new song I’ve been working on. I haven’t finished it yet, but I’m hoping that with her help, we’ll make some headway tonight.

I play the song several times, and she watches me some of the time, then writes some of the time. She uses her hands to tell me to pause or back up or move on to the next chorus or to restart the song altogether. I keep a close eye on her while I play, and we continue this dance for more than an hour. She does a lot of scratching out and makes a heck of a lot of faces that I’m not sure convey that she’s having any fun.

She eventually sits up and tears the paper out of the notebook, then wads it up and tosses it into the trash can. She slaps her notebook shut and shakes her head.

Sydney: I’m sorry, Ridge. Maybe I’m just exhausted, but it’s not clicking right now. Can we try this again tomorrow night?

I nod, doing my best to hide my disappointment. I don’t like seeing her frustrated. She takes her laptop and notebook and starts to walk back toward her bedroom. She turns back around and mouths, “Good night.”

As soon as she disappears, I’m off the bed and digging through the trash can. I pull out her wadded-up sheet of paper and take it back to my bed and unfold it.

Watching him from here

So far away

Want him closer than my heart can take

I want him here I want

Maybe one of these days Someday

There are random sentences, some marked out, some not. I read all of them, attempting to work my way around them.

I’d run to him, if I could stand

But I can’t make that demand

I can’t be his right now

Why can’t he take me away

Reading her words feels like an invasion of her privacy. But is it? Technically, we’re in this together, so I should be able to read what she’s writing as she writes it.

But there’s something different about this song. It’s different because this song doesn’t sound like it’s about Hunter.

This song sounds a little like it could be about me.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I should not be picking up my phone right now, and I should definitely not be contemplating how to persuade her to help me finish this song tonight.

Me: Don’t be mad, but I’m reading your lyrics. I think I know where your frustration is coming from.

Sydney: Could it be coming from the fact that I suck at writing lyrics and a few songs is all I had in me?

I pick up my guitar and head to her bedroom. I knock and open her door, assuming she’s still decent since she just left my room two minutes ago. I walk to her bed and sit, then grab her notebook and pen and place her lyrics on top of the notebook. I write a note and hand it to her.

You have to remember the band you’re writing lyrics for is all guys. I know it’s hard to write from a male point of view, since you’re obviously not male. If you stop writing this song from your own point of view and try to feel it from a different point of view, the lyrics might come. Maybe it’s been hard because you know a guy will be singing it, but the feelings are coming from you. Just flip it around and see what happens.