Page 59 of Even If the Sky is Falling
“Karaoke fan?” he asks.
“Big-time. It’s in my blood.”
The corner of his mouth hooks up. “That must be why you sounded so good in the bathroom.”
I cover my face with a hand and attempt to muffle an embarrassed laugh. “Crap, you heard me?”
He nods.
I lean my head back and groan. “Bad habit I guess.”
“Not even close to a bad habit. You have an incredible voice. You should be a singer.”
“I am actually. Well, I’m a songwriter and jingle writer, but I sing a lot when I’m pitching and recording.”
Caleb’s brow lifts like he’s intrigued. “Damn, really? What a cool job. Have you written anything I’ve heard of?”
“Maybe? Do you listen to Top 40 radio? A song I co-wrote earlier this year is getting a lot of airplay right now.”
When I tell him the title, those hazel eyes practically bulge from his beautiful face. “Hell yeah, I know that song. I was singing along to it on my way here. You wrote that?”
I chuckle a “yes,” amused and the tiniest bit turned on at the image of this ruggedly handsome Viking grooving to a pop song.
“Man, that instrumental part between verses, with the piano? That was genius. So catchy.”
“Aww thanks. I’m all about writing a killer interlude. It’s kind of my signature.”
“What other songs have you written?”
I name a half dozen more that have been released over the past couple of years, all of which he admits to knowing and loving.
His hazel eyes are wide as he looks at me and stammers, “Holy crap. This is awesome. Like meeting a celebrity.”
I blush, giddy at the fanboy vibes Caleb is giving off. As a songwriter and jingle writer, the bulk of my work is done behind the scenes. I’ve never been someone who craved the spotlight, so this job is a perfect fit for me. Even though millions of people listen to my songs and jingles, they have no idea who I am, and I love that. I can be creative, earn a good paycheck and maintain a private life. But it’s admittedly satisfying to hear Caleb’s praise.
“What about jingles?” he asks.
“Okay, well, do you remember that soup commercial last Thanksgiving with the little kids building the snowman that comes to life? I wrote and sang that.”
His brow hits his forehead. “That’s my favorite soup. I buy it from the grocery store all the time.”
I giggle. “Oh and that jingle for the organic grocery chain that just opened. And that radio ad for that new amusement park outside Santa Monica. And that local shoe store ad that started airing a month ago.”
I name off a few more.
Caleb’s mouth is half open in a shocked smile. “Wow. It’s like you wrote the soundtrack for what I listen to in the car when I drive between jobs. That is pretty damn cool.”
“If I hadn’t grown up singing karaoke at every holiday and family gathering ever since I could talk, I probably wouldn’t be doing this for a living.”
“That sounds like a blast. My family gatherings usually consist of us bickering and fighting over who gets the last of the spinach and artichoke dip.”
“Oh my family does that too, except instead of fighting over dip, we’re usually fighting over the last lumpia. And it’s all going on while someone is belting Celine or Whitney in the background.”
Caleb licks his lips before a rumbling sound echoes from his stomach. He claps a hand over his middle.
“Sorry,” he mutters, glancing down at his stomach like he’s embarrassed. “I guess today wasn’t the best day to skip lunch, especially since who knows how long we’ll be sheltering in place.”
“You haven’t eaten much?”
