Page 112 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

He’d go downstairs and grab something to eat first. But just as he left his room, he saw Hellcat heading down the long hallway that bridged to the main part of the former lodge. Curious, he took off after her. “Hellcat?”

She didn’t seem to hear him. It was only when she turned into a room that he saw the earbuds. By the time he caught up with her, she was playing a piano. He didn’t want to interrupt, so he stood outside and listened.

Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the doorway. Her voice was powerful, with a captivating depth of emotion. The starts and stops gave him the impression she was working on a song.

When she stilled, bent over the keys, she muttered, “You suck.”

She thought she was alone, and he was intruding on her privacy. “Hey.”

She started, her eyes going wide. “Slick? What’re you doing here?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, you found me.” She seemed rattled, almost guilty, as if he’d caught her rifling through his suitcase and pocketing his watch.

Dammit. He shouldn’t have followed her. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. It won’t happen again.”

Everything about her softened. “No, it’s not like that. It’s fine. I have no secrets.” When her gaze cut away, she laughed. “Well, I guess I do. I don’t know. If anyone hears me playing, they’ll start asking questions. ‘Are you working on new material? When’re you going to cut another record?’”

“And you don’t want pressure.”

“Exactly. But I’m about to have a house full of people here, so if I don’t want questions, I better stay out of this room.”

Other than a piano, it had a beanbag chair and some toys. The room itself was nice. High ceilings, lots of windows, and wood-paneled walls. “Is this going to be your studio?” When she flinched, he realized what he’d done. She didn’t want to commit to anything with her career. “Sorry. I get it. You need the space to create. No expectations.”

“That’s exactly right.” As she took in the mostly empty room, her gaze turned wistful. “And at the same time, I want drums and percussion. I want session musicians to jam with me. I want all the fun parts and none of the bad ones.”

Here it is. Us in the cabin. It all came rushing back, this connection between them. He liked when she opened up to him, when they were real with each other. “And what are the bad parts?”

“The exhaustion of touring, the anxiety of dropping a record and waiting to see the world’s response. The haters who make fun of your voice, your style, your expressions, your body.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

“I’ll never tour again. I don’t want that life. None of it. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the melodies, the lyrics…thechordsfrom bubbling up. I don’t know if it’s habit or what, but Imissmusic.”

“You’re a songwriter. You just haven’t figured out what to do with it.

She gave him a soft smile. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“You can sell songs and stay behind the scenes.” But what she’d just said about jamming and session musicians told him she wanted more. “This used to be a camp. It’s got twelve cabins. You can build a studio?—”

“Gigi Cavanaugh has one. Calamity doesn’t need another recording studio.”

“You’ve obviously thought about it.”

“Yeah. But Stevie’s so little, and I…” She froze, her expression seizing in an alarmed look.

He knew exactly what she was thinking.Can I trust you? Or are you temporary?And he deserved that. He’d fucked up. “And you what?”

“I want her to come first. I don’t want to be annoyed when she interrupts me. I don’t want to be out of town during her recital. I want to be here and make music.”

“How does that look to you?”

Hope and yearning bloomed in her beautiful blue eyes. “I haven’t said it out loud, but I think I want this to be a retreat.”

He unfolded his arms.Interesting.

“I don’t want a recording studio because that’s stressful—getting the right sound, the right quality…nailing it. I want this place to encourage art and expression. I want people to come here and feel as wild and free as the wilderness surrounding them.”

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