Dreamland(9)

The dolphins moved slowly down the beach, and from the corner of my eye, I saw a melancholy smile cross Morgan’s lips. She sighed.

“I should probably check in with my friends before they start to get worried.”

I nodded. “It’s probably time for me to head back, too.”

“What about all that talk about watching the sunset?”

“I’ll catch it later.”

She smiled, rising from her spot and brushing the sand from her legs. I picked up the towel and shook it out before draping it over my shoulder.

“Are you going to be playing tonight?” she asked, meeting my eyes.

“No, but I’ll be there tomorrow at five.”

“Enjoy your night off, then.” Her gaze flickered toward the pool area before seeking out my own again. For the first time, I had the strange sense she was nervous. “It was nice meeting you, Colby.”

“You, too.”

She’d taken a step away when she suddenly turned back. “Do you have plans tonight?” She hesitated. “I mean, later in the evening.”

“Not really.”

She hugged her arms to her chest. “We’re planning to go to MacDinton’s. Do you know it? In St. Petersburg? I think it’s an Irish pub.”

“I’ve never heard of it, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You should meet us there,” she urged. “Since it’s your night off, I mean.”

“Okay. Maybe.” I nodded, already knowing I’d be there. She seemed to know it, too, and gave me a brilliant smile before starting back toward the hotel. When she was a few steps away, I called after her.

“Hey, Morgan?”

She turned but kept walking slowly backward. “Yes?”

“Why did you come out to the beach to meet me?”

She tilted her head, amusement lighting up her face. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she shouted over the wind. “I love your voice, and I wanted to meet you in person.”





On the way back, I called in a cheeseburger order to Sandbar Bill’s and grabbed it to go before returning to the public parking area where I’d left my truck. Once I reached my rental condo, I popped it into the microwave to warm up, and it hit the spot. Afterward, I showered and tossed on a pair of jeans, then reached for my phone to check my messages.

There was nothing from my aunt. Recalling her scolding, I instead texted Paige to see how she was doing, asking how her latest Tiffany-replica lamps were coming along. I watched the screen for the dots, but when she didn’t respond, I figured she was probably in the barn with her phone on do not disturb.

With the sky beginning to change colors beyond the sliding glass doors, I picked up my guitar, as my thoughts drifted to Morgan. She interested me, but I knew it wasn’t just her beauty that had affected me so strongly. Her confidence, especially for someone so young, drew me in. But there was warmth, too, and curiosity, and a fierce energy that I could sense even in our limited interaction. She seemed to know who she was, liked who she was, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she already had a vision of the future she wanted for herself. I tried to think of whether I’d ever met someone like her, but I couldn’t come up with anyone.

Forcing those thoughts away, I found my mind lingering over a song that I’d been noodling with for the last couple of months. The rhythm—so far—had promise, but I’d been struggling with the lyrics. As memories of Morgan intruded, however, I began to try new phrases and verses, and as I adjusted the opening measures, I felt something click, like the first tumbler falling in a combination lock.

I don’t know how it works for anyone else, but songwriting is a mysterious process. Sometimes a song comes so quickly, I’m a bit shocked; other times—like with this one—the final product eludes me for weeks or months. Sometimes it never feels right at all, but I’ll find myself using bits and pieces in an entirely new song. With any song, however, there’s always a germ of inspiration, that very first idea. It can be a phrase or a snatch of melody I can’t shake, and once I have that, I begin to build. It’s sort of like I’m making my way through a dark, cluttered attic, where my goal is to find the light switch on the far side of the room. As I try new things, sometimes I bump into unseen obstacles and have to retrace my steps, or—if I’m lucky—I’ll take a step forward that just feels right. I can’t tell you why it feels right—it’s instinctual, I guess. After that, I try to find the next right thing, and then the next, until I finally reach that light switch, and the song is finished. I know I’m not explaining it that well, but since I don’t really understand it, I’m not sure it’s possible to put into words. The only thing I know with any certainty is that when I’m creating, I generally lose all track of time.

Which is exactly what happened. I had fallen into one of those creative zones when I realized the song was getting closer. The lyrics were about meeting someone who surprises you, and though I didn’t consider it polished by any means, it was definitely a workable first draft.

By then it was half past ten, and I wasn’t tired in the slightest. Remembering Morgan’s invitation, I dressed in one of the two decent button-up shirts I’d brought to Florida, ditched the flip-flops for a pair of Vans, and—force of habit—grabbed my guitar, as well.