Page 40 of My UnTrue Love
“What exactly do you want me to do here, Clem?”
“Whatever you like. That book belongs to me and I’m giving it to you.”
He cast her a suspicious look, not fooled by the innocent words. “I don’t know how to write songs.”
“No one knows how to do anything, until they learn.”
“I’m not the right person to…”
“You’re theonlyperson.” She interrupted. “That song is yours now. Even if it stays unplayed forever, it’s yours. I think it’s been waiting for you.”
Shit.
Bill exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’m gonna make an idiot of myself, if I try to write music.”
“You might.” Clem didn’t sound very worried about that probability. “But so what?”
“I don’t like putting myself out there, knowing I’ll fail. It makes me feel…” He trailed off.
“Vulnerable?”
“No, Ineverfeel vulnerable.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe him. “Well, nobody is expecting you to write a gold record on your very first try. It’s just for practice. Working on it will give you a starting point to release the music that’s playing in your head.”
The whole idea seemed impossible. Bill wasn’t an artist. He had no clue how to even begin. He scraped a hand through his drying hair. “What if I can’t do this?”
“Then, you can’t do it, and you move on to a new project. Failure is a part of the creative process.” Clementine shrugged, like it was no big deal. “But Bill…?” She met his gaze, and her eyes were filled with encouragement. “What if youcando it?”
Chapter Nine
The coyote stood and called for aid,
Right at the crossroad’s core,
A woman appeared, a crone and a maid,
And even one face more.
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
Clementine was the only muse alive who sucked at enticing men.
Bill had not been overcome with desperate love, when she’d shown up at his job in her cutest top and most-expensive sandals. He’d been way more worried about the blisters on her feet and the sunburn on her neck.
Embarrassing in the moment, yes. In the long run, though, great info to have.
Clem was an optimistic person, so she was going to look on the bright side of the situation. There was no sense in squeezing into uncomfortable shapewear, if Bill wasn’t susceptible to fancy clothes. That was a real bonus. And there were lots of other ideas she could try.
It was breakfast on Monday. She and Bill were eating together at the kitchen island. This was a wonderful opportunity to test her feminine wiles. Maybe she could…?
Clementine blinked, suddenly distracted by the news feed on her tablet. “Bill, do you remember how I told you about Hot Biscuit Slim, from the Section 37 Bakery?”
“It rings a bell.” Bill flipped through her father’s notebook, which was opened on the counter beside him. He’d been quietly looking at it on and off for days.
“He runs the Annual Amateur Bakers’ Competition that I lost.” Clem recapped, in case he’d forgotten the embarrassing details. “Hot Biscuit Slim laughed at me and called my chocolate chip cookies ‘low-effort’.”
Bill made atsksound. “Why, I sure don’t appreciate his opinion. That man’s clearly got no aptitude for judging, a’tall.”
