Page 38 of Speechless

“By all means, Luce. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

That might have backfired. I may be a writer for a living, but songs and rhymes aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse. I guess there’s no time like the present to completely embarrass myself. If it gets Henry smiling again, I’ll be happy to take the bullet.

“Okay, Grammy, Tony, Emmy winner. Sure,I’llcome up with the song.”

“Don’t forget the Oscars.”

“Oh, I could never. What a coincidence that EGOT starts with ego . . .”

He smacks my leg, but he’s grinning.

“I got this, feel free to harmonize or whatever.” I let out a long breath.

“Sushi, sushi, sushi

You make me feel all mushy

Oh God, I think I’m singing the dreidel song. Help!” His laugh is lush and throaty, and damn sexy if I’m being honest. “Seriously Henry, stop laughing and give me a new melody. This is stuck in my head now.”

He comes up with a tune quickly and I get my head back in the song game. His singing voice is deep and—annoyingly—beautiful. I would definitely listen to an album of him singing. Hell, I’d listen to him humming along to his movie scores.

“Okay, I think I got it!

Tuna, salmon, all the maki

Love that you are not too talky

Roll it up with rice so sticky

All the toppings, I’m not picky

I love sushi, yes I do—”

“And don’t forget the yuzu!”

“Henry! That was perfect! It’s like you’re reading my mind.” Even though I was actually going to go with the old standby: “How about you,” his version iswaybetter.

“Okay, now we need a chorus, or was that the chorus? No, let’s not overthink this. How about, umm . . .

I love the way you roll

I’m losing all control

I love the way you roll

I feel it in my soul”

We’re at a stop light and he looks over at me, examining every inch of my face. “You, Luzu, are a natural born songwriter. Seriously, I think you’ve chosen the wrong career. What can I do to get you on my team?”

“I’m on your team, Henry. Good luck trying to get rid of me.”

As soon aswe get home, Henry approaches me with a mischievous glint in his eye. His mood rebounded on the ride home, but now his smile is different, conspicuous. He tells me he has a surprise for me, but I have to go put on pajamas first. This could really go in alotof different directions, but he seems excited, so I decide to roll with it and go slip into some joggers and my favoriteBlissfully BookishT-shirt.

When I get back to the living room he directs me to sit on the couch, covers me in a plush blanket that’s extra toasty and just out of the dryer and presents me with the paper bag he picked up from his earlier rendezvous. Not a drug deal then, whew.

“Open it.” I pull out a plastic container filled with something that resembles cake. I’m intrigued and give him a quick smile.

“Thanks.”

---