Page 48 of Fresh Tracks
Standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows, I can just make out the lights from the groomers on the mountain, cleaning up the ski runs for tomorrow, in the distance. Maybe that’s how I’ll spend tomorrow morning.
From here, I also have a view of the backyard and looking across the patio, I see the hot tub and guesthouse. I can even make out the front of my van in the driveway. I wonder if this is where TJ was the other night when he noticed the light on in the guesthouse.
Finally, I look down at the guitar on the stand next to me, the real reason I came to this corner of the room. I sit on the same stool as the other night in front of the guitar, running my fingertips down the well-worn neck, along the strings, feeling the tension in them, just like that tension I was so sure was between us. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s still there if he really is hiding from me.
I pick up the guitar, holding it in my lap. My eyes drift shut and my hands run across the curves of the smooth wood. Folding my fingers across the neck, I can practically feel TJ’s hand wrapped around mine, placing my fingers on the right strings.
I open my eyes, looking at the instrument when I spot something on the floor at the base of the guitar stand. I reach down to grab the notebook, wondering if it’s the same one he was writing in the other night. There are music notes, but no lyrics or words besides a few scribbled words in the margins.
“Really regret picking dance classes over music right now,” I mutter to myself, flipping through the notebook on my lap, resting the guitar against my side.
Going through the pages, I recognize the handwriting as TJ’s, matching it to the note he left me after installing the electric post. I notice the handwriting on the last half written page toward the back is the boldest, least faded bit. It must be recent, if not even new.
Did I really interrupt him in the middle of writing a new song?
I look back down at the page, running my finger over the little drawing of a rainbow in the bottom corner.
No. There’s no way.
I immediately shut the notebook, tossing it back on the floor where I found it. I know he’s been abundantly clear that I can make myself comfortable here and make use of his home, but this feels different. Reading that feels like a boundary that might be too far, even for me, to cross.
I settle for something that feels safer, picking the guitar back up and holding it in my lap. I look at it and feel my body heat, remembering his gravelly voice saying my name, his hot breath against my neck. Just thinking about it sends sparks of heat across my skin, making me restless.
“Looks good in your hands, Rainbow,” TJ’s deep voice rumbles from across the room.
I practically leap out of my skin, turning to see him here in person, not in my mind. My hands fly to my chest in a startled reaction. He smirks before his eyes fly to the same place minego.
Shit. No, no, no.
I watch in horror as the guitar I was holding falls toward the ground, feeling like it’s unfolding in slow motion. I reach out trying to grab it, but I only make it worse, pushing it further away.
I wince when it hits the hardwood floor, making a mangled mess of sounds before it skids across the floor and stops. I fall to my knees and grab it, hoping that I didn’t just damage his guitar. This thing has to be almost priceless, in so many ways.
I feel him kneel beside me. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. We really need to get better about not sneaking up on each other so much.”
“Sure,” I say, hardly able to pay attention with my heart anxiously racing. “I’ll get right on that, Boss.”
I flip the guitar over in my hands and my heart sinks when I see the long, wide crack down the back, splitting the beautiful wood.
I groan. “Oh, TJ. I’m sorry, ” I say, running my finger along the crack, feeling the splintered edges. “I shouldn’t have been messing with it. I’m such an idiot.”
He leans closer to me and I feel the warmth of his body as he reaches around me, pulling the guitar from my grip. Something about his presence sends alarm bells off in my body again. As tall as I am, I’m not used to feeling small around another person but it’s hard for me to miss his imposing presence.
I look up to see him holding the guitar, a soft smile spreading across his face as his eyes follow the crack in the instrument. He says nothing when he runs his finger along it, just the way I did. He presses his palm against the dark, gorgeous walnut, like he’s soaking up the memories contained in it.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get it fixed,” I say, looking for any reaction. I’d expect most men to get angry, if not even fly into rage. With him, there’s nothing. Just calmness. “Take it out of my pay. You already give me too much.”
The corners of his mouth continue to lift when he lets out a single, lighthearted laugh. Did he seriously just laugh?
Another one rumbles up his chest, leaving no doubt that he did in fact just laugh. Is he laughing at me?
Finally, he outright bursts into a fit of laughter, his shoulders rising and falling. Slowly, I start to nervously laugh with him.
At the sound of my laughter, he looks up from the guitar to me. Something about my expression must show my nerves because his smile fades. He sets the guitar down and reaches out toward me. He rests his thumb on my chin, tilting it up so I have to look him right in those endlessly deep blue eyes.
“It’s just a thing, Rainbow. It doesn’t matter. I can replacethings. It’s the memories that count,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine while his thumb traces the bottom of my lip. “And believe me, this guitar has given me more than its fair share of memories.”
My lips part when I suck in a breath at the contact and those words. Is he just as stuck as me on the memory of that kiss?
