Page 117 of The Drummer

And the food that’s coming.

More importantly is the fact that no one has heard this song the way I hear it in my head, and I don’t want their first experience to be less than the masterpiece it could be.

I feel like a diva when I say no and tell them I’m moving to the office, but doing it right is worth their merciless teasing.

Gathering an armful of equipment to relocate, I almost run into Callie standing beside the table.

“Can I help?” she asks, motioning toward the remaining gear. Her intrigued expression brings a smile to my lips. I have no doubt once we introduce her to our world, she’ll fit right in.

I tell her to grab the interfaces and cables, while I handle my laptop and the controller. It’s only a 49-key, non-weighted keyboard so it’s not heavy.

By the time she joins me in the office, I already have a makeshift workstation set up on the desk. While she unloads, I fire up the DAW on my laptop and open a new project. Still not sure what to call this thing, I type “Mirror Song.”

“Can you pass me the USB cable?” I ask.

I point it out and connect the controller to my laptop, then hook up the sustain pedal.

“You’ve been calling it a controller more than a keyboard. Why?” she asks.

Warmth spreads through me at her question. I love that she cares and is so invested in what I’m doing. As much as I’d like to lock myself away for hours and get lost in production like I usually do when the muse hits, I want to bring her along with me this time.

So instead of building tracks, I spend the next few minutes demonstrating the basics of music production. Everything I show her elicits more questions and wonder. It’s addictive, being immersed in something you lovewithsomeone you love, and soon I’m bursting with the same infection I have while creating.

While she runs to her room to grab her headphones, I pop in my own in-ears and record some quick sample tracks for her to listen to. If she thinks this shit is cool, wait until she sees what we do with it for real.

Once she returns, I spend several minutes guiding her further into the world of music production by explaining the DAW, plugins, and even showing her basic sounds.

“Tell me an instrument you want to hear,” I say, loving how seriously she takes this when her face scrunches in thought.

“Violin.” Her answer and corresponding smile feel like a bear hug for my heart. I love that she remembered my background and wants to tie it to the present.

I load my Stradivarius virtual instrument into a new track and copy the midi notes into the grid.

“Okay, now listen,” I say.

Her eyes go wide when I press the space bar.

“I can even hear the vibrato,” she whispers.

Blowing her mind might be my new favorite activity. I nearly forget about the song as I take her on another in-depth tour through my digital universe.

“This is wild,” she says, still in awe.

The best part is, we’ve only scratched the surface. If she’s truly interested in this stuff, we’d have days, weeks,monthsoflessons and material to play with and still not cover all there is to know. The technology and trends are always changing, so there’s always something new to discover.

“I know. It’s awesome,” I say. “And see all these buttons and faders? I can program all of these to control anything I want to. It’s especially valuable when playing live because it allows me to change sounds and trigger what I need right from here instead of messing with my computer.”

Her face scrunches in adorable confusion. “But I thought you’re a drummer.”

“Yeah, I don’t do this for NSB. Just on my own projects.”

I cringe inwardly at the unintended confession. As usual in her easy presence, the words just slipped out on their own. Only Luke knows about Penchant—and now Orin.

She absorbs the comment with a shake of her head.

Thankfully, the interaction slips into flirting instead of more questions, and when she climbs into my lap to straddle me, all previous topics evaporate. Her coy expression triggers an explosion of sparks throughout my body. Guess her smile has become my own personal midi controller.

She leans in slowly, so the kiss isn’t entirely unexpected, but the quick escalation into desperation is. She clutches the collar of my shirt to lock me against her as she pulses on my lap to the rhythm of our tongues. I knew she was a natural musician.

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