Maybe Someday(35)

At least she’s making jokes about it. I really do

feel sort of bad for saying that to him, but it felt

oddly appropriate at the time.

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Me: We didn’t really get any work done

last night. Are you in the mood to make

beautiful music together?

Chapter Seven

Sydney

Ridge puts down his guitar for the first time in

more than an hour. We haven’t texted at all, be-

cause we’ve been on a roll. It’s pretty cool how

well we seem to work together. He plays a song

over and over while I lie across his bed with a

notebook in front of me. I write down the lyrics

as they come to me, most of the time crumpling

up the paper, chucking it across the room, and

starting over. But I’ve finished lyrics for almost

an entire song tonight, and he’s only crossed out

two lines he didn’t like. I’d say that’s progress.

There’s something about these moments when

we’re writing music that I absolutely love. All

my worries and thoughts about everything wrong

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in my life seem to go away for the short times we

write together. It’s nice.

Ridge: Let’s do the whole song now. Sit

up so I can watch you sing it. I want to

make sure we have it perfect before I

send it to Brennan.

He starts playing the song, so I begin singing.

He’s watching me closely, and the way his eyes

seem to read my every movement makes me un-

easy. Maybe it’s because he can’t express words

through speaking, but everything else about him

seems to make up for that.

As easy as he is to read, it’s only that way

when he wants to be read. Most of the time, he’s able to hold back his expressions, and I don’t

know what the hell he’s thinking. He holds the

crown in the nonverbal department. I’m pretty

sure that with the looks he gives, if he could

speak, he’d never even have to.

I feel uncomfortable watching him watch me

sing, so I close my eyes and try to recall the

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lyrics as he continues to play the song. It’s awk-

ward singing them with him only a few feet

away. When I wrote the lyrics the first time, he

was playing his guitar but was a good two hun-

dred yards away on his balcony. Still, though, as

much as I tried to pretend I was writing them

about Hunter at the time, I knew I was imagining

Ridge singing them all along.

A LITTLE BIT MORE

Why don’t you let me

Take you away

We can live like you wanted

From place to place

I’ll be your home

We can make our own

’Cause together makes it pretty hard to be

alone

We can have everything we ever wanted

And just a little bit more

Just a little bit more

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His guitar stops, so naturally, I stop. I open my eyes, and he’s watching me with one of his expressionless expressions.

I take that back. This expression isn’t expres-

sionless at all. He’s thinking. I can tell by the

squint in his eyes that he’s coming up with an

idea.

He glances away in order to pick up his phone.

Ridge: Do you mind if I try something?

Me: As long as you promise never again

to propose a question by asking if I mind

if you can try something.

Ridge: Nice try, but that made no sense.

I laugh, then look up at him. I nod softly,

scared of what he’s about to “try.” He sits up on

his knees and leans forward, placing both hands

on my shoulders. I attempt to hold in my gasp,

but it’s a failed attempt. I don’t know what he’s

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doing or why he’s getting so close to me, but

holy crap.

Holy crap.

Why is my heart spazzing out right now?

He pushes me until I’m flat on his mattress. He

reaches behind him and picks up his guitar, then

lays it on the other side of me. He lies down next

to me.

Calm down, heart. Please. Ridge has super-

sonic senses, and he’ll feel you beating through

the vibrations of the mattress.

Ridge scoots closer to me and by the way he’s

hesitating, it makes me think he’s unsure if I’ll

allow him any closer.

I will. I absolutely will.

He’s staring at me now, contemplating his next

move. I can tell he’s not about to make a pass at

me. Whatever he’s about to do is making him

way more apprehensive than if he were just plan-

ning to kiss me. He’s eyeing my neck and chest

as if he’s searching for a particular part of me.

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His eyes stop on my abdomen, pause, then fall

back to his phone.

Oh, Lord. What is he about to do? Put his

hands on me? Does he want to feel me sing this