Page 55 of Ember

“I didn’t know I had an audience,” she snapped. She glared daggers at me.

Damn, I should have chosen my moment better. I held my hands up. “You’re right, yep, I just…hi.”

Ben snickered.

Some of her irritation left. “What do you guys want to drink?”

“Something smells good,” Ben said. “Well, everything smells good, but I mean something smells like dessert.”

“Oh, yeah, Alejandro is obsessed with making lemon pound cake.” Ember grinned. “Big shocker.”

“Smart man,” I said, watching her move into the kitchen. She had shapely legs, and her fabric pants clung to her body in a way I envied.

She brought us the lemon pound cake, which tasted very close to how she smelled, and it did nothing for my perfume. The room started smelling smoky and spicy between me and Ben, and I had the stupid thought that we were ruining their food scents.

Ember pulled out her boxes of LPs, along with a massive record player, and set it up on the table next to the couch. “The goods.”

She handed it to Ben so he could feel it, and then my alpha passed it to me. “It’s in amazing condition.”

“I’d like to display them, but it’s too humid.” She sighed.

“How long have you been singing?” I asked, unable to let it drop. “Why didn’t you try to have a career? Stage fright?”

Ember shrugged, flipping through her records. “I love singing and music, but I don’t have the urge to get on stage and sing to people, you know? It’s more like a way to purge feelings.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “People make it more complicated.”

“That must seem weird to you two.” Ember frowned. “You make music for a living, which is magical.”

“Not weird,” Ben said softly. “I loved hearing you sing, but I get you not wanting to perform.”

“Sometimes we go do karaoke,” she grinned. “Which isn’t fair. I know karaoke is for people who can’t carry a tune. Wecame to listen to Steve struggle through ‘Living on a Prayer,’ not the next American Idol.”

I laughed. “Exactly. Not you, Miss Diva.”

Ember rolled her eyes. “I haven’t had any professional training. I just like it.”

“Fair enough,” Ben said. “But feel very free to sing around us at all times.”

“Yes.” I knew what Ben meant. Hearing her sing was like seeing a part of her soul, one she kept tucked away.

“I noticed you don’t carry a guitar around.” She gave me a stink eye. “You could be playing us some tunes right now.”

I expected to feel ashamed or self-conscious, but her tone took the sting out of it. “Noted. Now pick us some music.”

Ember went through her collection, and we spent the next two hours talking about LPs and the weird winding path that music could take. Ben talked about early experiences with putting tracks together and which of the indie bands he saw go on to stardom, and Ember showed off her playlists. She squealed and talked about music with such joy I remembered my own passion.

The same love, without all the baggage I carried with me now.

Just loving music for the sake of loving it.

The sun began to set, and it felt surreal and somehow perfect to spend hours talking about something the three of us loved.

“What about Olivia Ruiz’s yellow album,Omega Don’t Cry?” I asked. We’d been stuck on albums that we loved for the last thirty minutes, working our way to omega pop stars.

“Oh, yes,” Ben said. “But ‘I’m the Only One’ is on her blue album so I can’t ignore that.”

Ember bounced again. “Omega Don’t Cry was my jam for years. I played ‘You’re Going to Go Far’ so much West knew whatsort of mood I was in by the first three notes. I told him the song that hurt me didn’t hurt me enough, so I had to hear it again.”

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