Take a Bow, page 7
Mimi, true to her word, tucked her legs beneath her, folded her hands in her lap, then relaxed her face into a neutral expression.
Why was he so nervous? She was right—there were literally no stakes to him playing this song for her. He’d played for Jay more than once; he’d jammed with friends in private all over the world. Just because he made it a rule not to perform live, didn’t mean he was incapable of it. He had a healthy ego. He knew he could play the guitar proficiently, and he knew how to imbue his playing style with soul, thanks to his acting ability, if nothing else. But he couldn’t eradicate the fear that anyone who ever clapped at one of his songs was only doing it because he was Nash Speedwell. Forget Almost Famous, he was already famous.
He’d never felt like he’d earned any of the accolades that came through his music. How would he know if anyone only gave it a listen because of his name? He wished he could have put his album out with his name nowhere near it, but instead he’d put it right there on the cover, because he wasn’t stupid. He wanted to sell copies because that meant more money for Rainbow Canyon. Every time he was able to send a healthy chunk of change their way, he felt like he’d done something worth doing.
Closing his eyes as she’d suggested, he felt out the fingering and started to strum. When he began to sing, his voice came out almost too soft to hear over the chords. He stopped, started over, forcing strength into his voice.
After the first verse, Nash cracked his eyes open and kept them on the French doors to the patio instead of looking to Mimi for her reaction—or non-reaction, as it might be. He stumbled slightly over the chorus—the last line wasn’t quite right, but he kept on until the end. The last notes faded away in the bright, sunny living room.
When the room was silent but for the faint whir of the ceiling fan, he made himself turn to Mimi.
She was looking at his guitar. Her face was blank, but her eyes gave her away every time. She couldn’t keep her emotions out of them. They were shiny, almost as if they were glazed with tears, but that couldn’t be right, could it?
He hadn’t meant for the song to be sad.
“The chorus needs a little work—” he began just as she said, “Nash. That was gorgeous.”
Chapter Ten
Our flowers will grow stronger than bricks.
Every arm open, every heart free.
Every song for you, every song for me.
“Untitled” for Rainbow Canyon, The Nash Speedwell Experience
“Oh.” Nash’s shoulders dropped about a foot.
Mimi found herself leaning toward him, wanting to ride the line between encouraging and gushing. “I mean, yeah, maybe that one line, about finding a place whether there’s rain or sun, sounded a little rough? But the whole thing was just…lovely. You captured how I feel about the library.”
His forehead wrinkled. “The library?”
“Well, yeah. For me, the library has always been about making a place for people who need one. When I was a kid, I’d go there and feel instantly better. Why do you think we offer so many programs? It’s not just a place to get books. It’s about community.”
“I never thought about it like that before. But I got that feeling when I was there the other day. It’s so inviting, I felt like staying a while, in a cocoon of books.”
Her chest went warm and fuzzy. She worked so hard to cultivate a welcoming environment at the library, and he’d expressed his experience perfectly. “Exactly. Sometimes I think I’d be happy living in a room made entirely of books. But it’s probably good I don’t, or I’d never leave.”
His smile was fond. “No, you shouldn’t be sequestered away. You make the world better by being out in it.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She touched her mouth self-consciously. No one had ever said anything like that to her before.
“I’m glad you connected with the song. I must confess, I wasn’t thinking about the library when I wrote it.”
“I’d be surprised if you had been. What’s the inspiration, then? Or do you not want to say?”
He shrugged. “It’s for a charity album, so I guess I was thinking about the kids who grow up feeling out of place, and I just want them to know there is a place for them, if they can hang on long enough to find it.”
“Are you talking about queer kids?”
“Mostly. You wouldn’t believe how many messages I get from people—young people—like twelve, thirteen sometimes, who watch Sawyer’s Cove and say they didn’t know a gay person could be so well-adjusted in high school.”
“Well, that was the beauty of Will O’Connell. He was the least fucked up of all the Cove kids and dealt with his problems in the healthiest way.”
“Yeah, sometimes I thought he was too good to be true, but then I remembered I was on a TV show and none of it was real.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, then bent over his guitar, plucking at the strings idly.
She leaned toward the music like a plant being played Mozart. “I know, it was almost like they were just making it up as they went along,” she teased. “But it’s cool you have so many people who look up to you.”
He frowned, glancing at her through his long golden-brown lashes. “It’s a big responsibility.”
“You wear it well.”
“Thanks.” He kept playing as if he wasn’t aware he was doing it. “It never feels like enough.”
“Is that why you’re doing the charity album?”
“The least I can do is financially support folks who are much more qualified to give those kids real help than I am.”
“Give yourself credit, Nash. You do a lot more than most people.”
He didn’t answer, but abruptly stopped playing and set the guitar aside.
Apparently, the private show was over. She fought a pout. She could have stayed there for hours watching him noodle on the instrument. For all their banter about bass players, obviously she found his guitar playing more than passably attractive.
Oh, who was she kidding? She’d lived thirty-four very full years and never seen anything as hot as Nash Speedwell playing guitar in a preppy blue polo, his flat-front khaki shorts showing off muscled legs dusted with light brown hair and ending in enviably perfect bare feet. His hair was rather long and swept back in a faux pompadour. She wondered if they were going to make him cut it for the show. His guitar looked well-used—the plain blond wood looked good with the neutral beach-friendly decor of the living room.
But Nash could have been wearing a ratty bathrobe in the middle of a garbage dump, and he’d still be gorgeous strumming that guitar with his agile, clever fingers.
Her panties were damp from more than the overwhelming humidity. God, she was just as stupid around Nash as Marilyn Monroe was around saxophone players.
Speaking of which. “So this ‘let’s talk’ thing…you aren’t punishing me for being easy, are you?”
He grinned at her. “Honey, nothing about you is easy.”
“Thank you.” That was the type of compliment she could understand—one couched in criticism.
“You’re welcome,” he answered gravely.
“Well.” She stood up quickly. Her legs were rubbery after having been folded underneath her for so long. “I guess I should go.”
He nodded and stood as well, but his smile seemed forced. “Sure.”
“I mean, I probably interrupted you doing something important. Some important rock-star-actor business.”
“It’s Sunday,” he reminded her. “Even rock star actors need a day off.”
“Thunderstorm tonight,” she plowed on. “I bet you’ll have a great view of the storm over the ocean from upstairs.”
There was a pause. If this had been six months ago, he would have asked her to come see for herself, and they would have spent the afternoon fucking and forgetting all about the view.
But this wasn’t six months ago.
“I heard tomorrow’s supposed to be cooler.” He crossed his arms, causing the sleeves of his polo to strain over twin swells of muscle.
“That’s good. I like the warmth, but not the humidity. My hair doesn’t need any more inducement to frizz.”
He glanced at her hair. “I like the color. It matches the sky.”
They both turned to look out the French doors. The sky beyond was indeed a bright light blue. But Mimi saw gray clouds gathering on the edge of the horizon. There would be rain before long.
“What night would be good for you to have that barbecue?”
She shifted from romantic notions of riding out the storm curled up in bed with a book and Nash to mentally consulting her calendar. “Technically, I’m done at six every day, and I take a half-day on Friday.” She could take a night off to be social.
“Then I’ll see when Jay’s back in town.”
“Great. Do you think we could invite my mom?” Wait, that sounded as if they were hosting this thing together. “I mean, you. Could you invite my mom?”
“Of course.”
“She says hi.”
He waved at no one. “Hi, Deb.”
“Okay, well, then. I guess we’ll be in touch.” This was weird. Why was she still there? Why wasn’t he kicking her out?
It was almost as if neither one of them wanted to say goodbye.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She took one step toward the front door, then another. He didn’t stop her, so she kept going. “Thanks for the drink. And the song.”
“Mimi?”
She stopped.
“You really liked the song? It was all right?”
“Geez, between you and my brother and Cami—are all actors really attractive bags of insecurity?”
He let out a sharp, short laugh. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“Not pathetic.” She walked back to him, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “Your song was beautiful. Thanks for playing it for me.”
She walked out of the house and got in her car before she could throw herself at him yet again.
Chapter Eleven
We kiss like lightning, and we laugh like rain.
We fight like thunder, honey, let the laughter wash away our pain.
“Cats and Dogs,” The Nash Speedwell Experience
Hours later, Nash had recorded a decent enough demo of the now completed song and emailed it to Lacey at Rainbow Canyon. He’d have to book time at a recording studio to make the final version. Maybe when he was in North Carolina for his chemistry read, he could find somewhere suitable. Then there was always Boston, which was about two hours’ drive from here.
He wished, not for the first time, for his own recording studio. He’d always planned, once he hit some phantom career milestone, to take time off and find a house with a soundproofed studio and big patio with a fire pit. Come to think, a more permanent version of this house.
He was surprised when he looked out the French doors again and it was dark. He grabbed some leftovers out of the fridge and ate them standing up over the sink, thinking about Mimi.
She’d been clear earlier—she wanted to sleep with him again. It had taken a heroic effort, but he’d pivoted, bought himself some more time. Somehow, she’d gotten him to play her the song, and he hadn’t disintegrated into nothingness afterward. How about that?
Whatever they were building between them was good. He hadn’t fucked it up yet, and she was still interested.
The only problem with the situation was, now he was heading up to his big bed alone.
The window over the sink that faced the back yard suddenly lit up with a flash of white. He counted to twenty before he heard the far-off rumble of thunder.
He’d like to make love to Mimi during a thunderstorm. The electric crackle in the air would only underscore the electricity they built between them. The noise would barely compete with the moans he knew he could pull out of her. Mimi was noisy. That time in the storeroom of The Cove, he’d had to shove three fingers into her mouth for her to suck on to help her stay quiet enough to keep their hookup on the down-low.
God, she was hot.
Now he was hot. For her. And she was all the way across town, and he had only himself to blame.
He was contemplating how foolish it would be to get in his truck and drive through a thunderstorm to her place when his phone rang.
His hopes that it might be Mimi asking for him to do exactly that, or at least have some phone sex, were dashed when he saw the name on his screen. It was the wrong Orlando.
“Jay, what’s up, man?”
“It’s not too late, right? I have no idea what time it is,” Jay said, his deep voice made even more gravelly with what sounded like exhaustion.
“No, it’s good timing. You saved me from doing something unwise.”
“How many times do I have to tell you frosted tips are not your look?”
Nash chuckled. “Luckily, hair dye is not involved. Hey, where are you?”
Jay yawned before answering, “We’re at JFK, waiting for our connection.”
“Back stateside already?”
“Cami was getting too stressed about the show to enjoy Paris, so we decided to come home a couple of days early.” Jay yawned again, and Nash found himself echoing his friend with a sympathy yawn of his own. “Honestly, I’m getting a little stressed, too. I was thinking maybe we could get together and run lines this week if you have time. I need the practice.”
“Sure, of course. I was going to suggest the same thing.” It had been years since Jay had professionally acted, and being Parker Wild would come back to him, but that didn’t mean rehearsal wasn’t a good idea. Nash could use the refresher of what it was like to inhabit Will, too. “I’m open. Hey, what night’s good for you and Cami to come grill at my place? Mimi’s free, so it’s up to you.”
“You’ve seen Mimi already? When did you get there?”
“Thursday.” Nash wished he and Mimi had discussed how they were going to ease Jay into their…whatever it was. It had never seemed like a big deal to omit how intimately he was acquainted with Jay’s sister, because their encounters were so infrequent, it didn’t seem to matter. But if things with Mimi kept escalating…well, he didn’t think Jay was going to be upset, but there were bad ways and good ways to go about letting your best friend know you’d slept with his sister, repeatedly, and were now trying to get her to date you.
Another flash of lightning. The rumble came after twelve beats this time.
“I can ask Cami, but I think the only night that’s bad is Wednesday. It’s trivia night at The Cove. Let’s do it tomorrow.”
“You won’t be jet-lagged?”
“Nah. I’ll be okay. It’s been too long, bro.”
Nash smiled. He’d missed his friend, too.
“Safe travels.”
“You, too. I mean, yeah, whatever.”
“And maybe sleep on the plane?”
“It’s, like, a forty-five-minute flight, but yeah.”
“Bye, bro.”
Jay hung up without saying goodbye, and Nash was glad his friend had Cami there to make sure he boarded the plane. Jay wasn’t the most experienced traveler, but Cami was a pro. Nash was certain she was taking care of their boy.
He turned off the downstairs lights and paused in the darkened living room by the French doors. The lightning flash was completely visible this time, a jagged line of light illuminating the ocean, the churning mass of clouds behind it like something out of a special effects house.
It was a real, live, old-fashioned thunderstorm at sea.
It was beautiful.
He wished Mimi was there to watch it with him.
Chapter Twelve
Cold beer and apple pie.
American picnic, American style.
Light up the grill and light up my bliss.
American woman, give me a kiss.
“Fourth,” The Nash Speedwell Experience
Cami: Hi! Jay says you want to have a cookout. Can we do it tonight?
Nash: I think I can pull something together.
Nash: Are you guys jet-lagged?
Nash: Any food preferences? Allergies?
Camille: Yes, we’re jet-lagged, but we have to get back on Connecticut time. No food allergies. What can we bring?
Nash: Booze is always appreciated.
Jay: I’m on it.
Nash: Are we in a group chat now?
Cami: Sorry. I thought it would be more efficient.
Nash: It’s cool.
Nash: Might as well treat me like the third wheel I am.
Cami: Oh stop.
Jay: Who else should we invite?
Nash: Is anyone else in town?
Cami: Not yet.
Jay: You mentioned Mimi? Should I call her?
Nash: Go for it.
Nash: And your mom.
Nash: And um, Pauline?
Nash: From the library?
Nash: And Colin.
Jay: Already making friends in Misty Harbor. I love it. We’re going to make you an official resident soon.
Nash: 6PM
Nash: Alcohol.
Jay: 👍
Nash spent a small fortune at the high-end food market in the strip mall near the freeway and fought a little rush-hour traffic to get home in time to get the grill warmed up. He’d realized while on his daily beach run he should invite his landlord, who he knew was a friend of Jay’s, so he’d texted Warner to let him know about the get-together.
It dawned on him that while his ostensible purpose in Misty Harbor was to work, he was socializing with true townies. Cami counted, since she’d officially moved in with Jay earlier that summer.
It felt good to be somewhere he could put down roots if he wanted to.
And he was looking forward to seeing Mimi again. He’d almost texted her six times during the day, but reminded himself she was working. Jay wouldn’t forget to invite his sister.
It was only after Jay arrived and was helping him unload a case of beer, a few bottles of wine, and an excellent bottle of Scotch from the back of his Land Rover Defender that Nash realized why he should have put aside his hesitance and reached out to Mimi. They still had no game plan when it came to telling Jay.
