Page 53 of The Bright Side of Christmas
Her face goes soft. “Well, I’m honored to be the first.”
And the last,I want to say, but I stuff it down.
Instead, I stand, moving across the room to kiss her once more, quickly and hard, before sitting back at my piano and jotting some notes. Then I move my hands back to the keys, testing them out and making a few adjustments. I move like this, feeling more like myself than I have in some time, before the inspiration fades sometime later. I sit back, grinning at the paper victoriously before I turn to glance over my shoulder. Wren is watching me with wide eyes and rapt attention.
“Wow,” she whispers, eyes wide.
“Hmm?” I ask, standing, then moving to put away my paper, notes scribbled in margins, and lyrics for a potential bridge in a corner. It’s not a song—far from it—but it’s…something. More than I’ve had in some time, too.
“That was magic,” she whispers. I shake my head, then laugh at her awed face. “I’m serious, Adam. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“It’s really nothing. I didn’t even finish the chorus.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t even play the recorder, much less a piano. You could have pretended to do things for the last ten minutes, and I would still be impressed.”
“You can’t play?”
She shakes her head. “And don’t even think about asking me to sing. It’s not pretty. I can craft, and I can bake, and I can manage a classroom like nobody’s business, but music will never be something I’m good at.”
“Piano isn’t a talent, it’s a skill.” She stares at me, disbelieving. “I’m serious.” That same skepticism is on her face, and I can’t help but grin at her. It seems contagious when I’m around her. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
She looks at me skeptically, but I’m moving, grabbing her, then moving once more. I situate her between my legs on the bench, then place her fingers on the keys, layering my hands over hers. I show her slowly how to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and she giggles when she hits the wrong key. We stay like that for a long time before it sounds normal. I keep moving her hands beneath mine, showing her different songs, but eventually, her hands move out from under mine, then move up, hooking around my neck as she leans into my chest.
“Play something for me,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her temple, then mess around, moving from a few bits of song to song before settling on something I haven’t played in years.
“All Lit Up.”
As I do, I remember the joy I felt when I wrote it and when I heard Willa in the studio recording it. Not because I ever really loved Christmas, but because I knew people did. I knew people felt this genuine, all-consuming joy that came with the holiday, something I faked just enough until I captured it in this song.
I remember when I was finishing it up, thinking it could be something decent. Never did I think it would be what it became, and I surely never thought that I would hate it one day.
Though with Wren against my chest, humming the tune off-key as I play, I don’t know if I hate it nearly as much as I once did.
How could I, when this new memory will now be attached to it?
Eventually, the notes fade and the song ends, and I move, wrapping my arms around her.
“Oh my god, I’m going to have to wrangle you into some events next time I need someone to play music for us.” My gut drops, and I turn away, but she reaches up, gripping my chin and turning it back to her. “Hey, I’m joking. You know that, right?”
I stare at her, noticing the honesty on her face, and then I relax just a bit. She shifts, moving until we’re face-to-face, and I can see how sincere she is, knowing in my gut that she’s right. She was joking, but I have a feeling that if I want to be with Wren, I need to address this sooner rather than later.
“Yeah,” I say, then push a strand of hair behind her ear, unable to stop myself from leaning down and pressing my lips to her cheek. “I just…I like being here, not having anyone know who I am. It’s nice not having that over my head. People treat me…normal here. I kind of want to keep that as long as I can.” I bite my lip, feeling stupid but needing to confess all the same.
“Well, your secret will be yours for however long you want to keep it.” There’s honestly in her eyes, and I brush hair back from her face.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you or even the town. It’s just that I’ve been in this industry for so long, I’ve seen people get used in ways you wouldn’t believe. People they thought were friends, lovers, family—fame and money get in people’s heads and fuck things up. I don’t know the last time I was somewhere where I met people who I knew to my bones didn’t have an ulterior motive. It’s been nice being here and knowing that no one I meet here wants something from me.” I smile then, pressing my lips to hers again. “Except you, of course. You definitely have an ulterior motive to get on my good side.”
Her eyes go wide with panic. “What? I don’t have ulterior motives! I swear, I didn’t know?—”
I let out a laugh, feeling a sense of lightness.
“I mean the Christmas lights, baby,” I say softly.
“Oh.” A blush burns over her cheeks. “Yeah, I definitely want you to do that.”
“I’m going to need a lot more convincing on that.”
