Page 37 of Fresh Tracks
“Actually, yeah. There is one other thing. Put Grace on the guest list for Slade’s party.”
Jake’s laugh comes through loud and clear. “Are you bringing her as a date?”
Again, I walked right into that one. “No, I’m her boss. And do I need to remind you that I’m your boss too?” I wish I was bringing her as a date is what goes through my mind, so again, I settle for a half truth trying to fool my brother and myself. “I just want her to get to see this side of my business a bit, maybe meet you in person too.”
That’s assuming she says yes. But I think she’d like Seattle. She told me she’s never been before and I know how much she likes to travel. Seeing her in Cowgirl Coffee, it was so easyto picture her at home in one of the neighborhood coffee shops back in Seattle I used to spend so much time in, sipping on her hot tea. That’s why I made sure she had tea here in my office. I want her to feel at home around me. I want her to be comfortable with me and feel like she can come and go as she pleases.
“Sure thing there, Boss,” he says with a tone making it clear I’m not fooling him either. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Whatever, ass. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” If Jake and Sutton can both pick up on how I really feel about her, I’m clearly not as good at hiding my feelings as I thought. I can’t help it though and I don’t know if I want to anymore.
“Love you too,” he replies with a chuckle before hanging up.
With that interruption over, I turn my attention back to what brought me into my studio in the first place.
For the first time in years, I find myself looking down at the notepad in front of me. I remember how the blank pages staring back at me were once a reminder of how I fell out of love with music. It felt like a day came where I felt nothing for it anymore. There was a time when it was my emotional outlet, a way to turn the big, complicated feelings from my childhood and early adult life into something that made sense to me. Somehow, I could turn a jumble of notes about what I was feeling or going through into lyrics to help me process my feelings. The truth is though, I haven’t had feelings like that in ages, ones that felt so intense and worthy of being sorted out and explored. Lately though, I’ve started to feel that itch again.
I reach out to the old acoustic guitar in front of me, the one Sutton was goofing off with on the day of the wedding, when I was hiding out in here. I run my finger over one of the frets. My hands might not be worn as much as when I played every day on tour or in the studio, but those calluses are still there. Even now, the sensation of those strings running over my fingertips is a feeling that is so familiar but so foreignall at once.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of light. I look out the window of my studio toward the guesthouse and see the glow from the TV. It’s nearly midnight and suddenly I’m glad I couldn’t sleep tonight. I pull my phone out, grinning to myself as I type out a message.
Me: Are you sleeping in the guesthouse? I know I’m a pretty great boss, but I seem to remember you declining that part of your generous “benefits package”.
As much as I enjoy teasing her, I’m glad she’s making herself comfortable here. She’s welcome to use the guesthouse however she wants. That’s why I built it in the first place, even if I don’t have many guests. But I know that she appreciates her independence and she’s confident enough to tell me to fuck off if I push her too much.
Three dots appear on the screen and my knee bounces in anxious anticipation.
OK. I think I can admit to myself where at least some of the feelings that brought me into my studio tonight are coming from.
Rainbow: If I’m texting you, I’m not asleep.
I start to type something out, but three dots appear again, freezing me in my tracks.
Rainbow: I’ve got wine. Do you want to come hang out?
Fuck me. This is dangerous.
It tookme all of two seconds to realize that when it comes to Grace Chapman, I have no resolve. I was practically sprinting out of my studio as I texted back to say I was on my way over to the guesthouse.
Way to play it cool and look like a desperate weirdo, Tommy. But I was drawn to her and that light in my guesthouse like a moth to a flame.
When I get to the door of the guesthouse, I pause for a second, trying to catch my breath and not be so obvious that I was just running through my own house and across the patio to get here.
Seriously, I work out. I shouldn’t be out of breath, even at high altitude like this.
I knock before walking in the door to find Grace pouring herself a glass of wine at the kitchen island.
“Hey.” She smiles and gives me a little wave.
“Do you want a drink, Boss?” she asks, holding the bottle of white wine out to me in offer.
“Is that my wine or yours?” I ask playfully. “And really, stop calling me boss.”
I know she’s teasing me, but I still feel a knot in my stomach when she calls me ‘boss'.
She rolls her eyes and smirks to herself. “Fine, TJ. I assumed my benefits package didn’t include wine. This is just left over from the wedding. Veronica left some of her bridal party stash out here. I’m just using your glasses.”
“Pour a glass for me then. Your brother might only drink yellow jackets, but Veronica has great taste in wine.”
