Page 19 of Night and Day
Was it that obvious? Mia huffed, trying to look indignant. “Does it matter? I don’t have any better ideas. I’m running out of money.”
Izzy held her gaze. “But your heart’s not in it?”
Nausea swirled in Mia’s stomach, followed by a flash of anger. “Maybe I don’t have a heart? I don’t even know how to cry.”
“Are you sure about that?” Izzy narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you just haven’t used that muscle?”
“What muscle?”
“Being vulnerable is a choice. It’s pretty uncomfortable, but it’s also the only way to do art, so I think it’s worth it.”
He reached across her to grab the guitar she’d laid on the couch. His arms brushed her knee and his scent invaded her senses. Mia held her breath, waiting for the instant pulsing in her core to settle. This was ridiculous. She was alone in a foreign country with no possessions. She certainly wasn’t looking to becomemorevulnerable. Maybe she just needed to get laid. Could she risk getting involved with this guy? Have a bit of fun and then go back home. Heartless girls couldn’t get their hearts broken, right?
Izzy lifted the guitar onto his lap and began playing. Mia recognised the chord progression and her heart skipped a beat. It was her song. “How do you do that? How did you just pick it up?”
He shrugged. “I listened. It’s a beautiful song, caught my ear.” He hummed along as he played, smiling. “I didn’t catch the lyrics.”
Mia smiled to herself. She’d sung and played so softly it was a wonder he’d picked up anything at all. “You have a good ear. I wish I could do that.”
“I wish I could write songs.”
He hummed the tune building up to the chorus. Before she could stop herself, the words floated out of her mouth. She sang along to the melody as Izzy plucked the strings, playing it so much better than she had.
A mind that is sleeping is so easy to seduce
Is it the new moon or the orbit surrounding you
I’m longing, longing for something foreign
My eyes wandering along the swaying light
Izzy backed up and played the part again, singing along with her lyrics. His mouth pulled into a lopsided grin on the wordforeign, and Mia swallowed air. Oh, God. But it was too late. The song had swept them both away. He slowed down, then picked up the pace again, progressing to the chorus, his eyebrows arched, eyes pleading for the missing words. Mia kept singing.
Izzy finished with soft picking of the strings, turning his flaming eyes to her. “Chills.” He extended his arm. “Look.”
What was this obsession with goosebumps? Mia stared at the solid forearm, thick veins roping under tanned skin. She couldn’t detect raised hairs, but her lady parts clearly didn’t care, zeroing in on the apparent strength vibrating underneath. Those arms could easily lift her up and pin her against the wall. She took a breath, trying to focus on the song. “You played it much better than I ever have. You make it sound good.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I want to hear you play.” He handed over the guitar, rolling his office chair right up to her seat.
Mia accepted the instrument, mostly because she wanted to hide the sharp peaks of her nipples poking through her flimsy bra and thin, flowery top. Izzy kept staring, his gaze filled with expectation, so she played the song again from the start, only humming the melody. He listened, leaning his elbows against his knees, eyes rapt, mouthing the bits of lyrics he remembered, urging her to fill in the blanks. After a moment, Mia’s mouth followed and words flowed out, filling her stomach with warmth. She’d never played for another person, not like this. No one had ever cared. No one had listened. As she played, her voice grew stronger, buoyed by his undivided attention.
No, nothing familiar, I want to feel new
Lift me higher, to the fiddlers on the roof
Buoyed by the sound, we’re orbiting too
Her conscious mind decoded the words as they tumbled out of her lungs, lagging like a lazy interpreter. Had she written about wanderlust, or maybe a desire that travel alone couldn’t quench? She needed to feel new, and sitting here in Izzy’s cosy basement, surrounded by books, computer screens and instruments, she hardly recognised herself. Was there more to her than an unwavering work ethic? Could she be more than a valued team member? Could she be someone truly creative?
“How do you do it?” She asked after finishing the song with a simple chord, nothing like Izzy’s flourish. “How do you write screenplays and make film trailers and play the guitar and not feel unproductive?”
Izzy’s eyebrows sailed up. “How is that unproductive?”
Mia bit her lip. “Sorry, that’s a horrible choice of words. I just meant in terms of money, you know? There’s so much I want to do, but most of those options don’t pay anything, so I can’t really afford to give them that much time.”
“Why not?” Izzy’s dark gaze bore into hers, making her insides swim.
Mia swiped a wayward hair out of her eyes, lost for words. Why indeed not? She’d thrown thousands of Euros into plane tickets and accommodation, on a whim. She worked hard to have enough money for travel and buy things. “Do you travel a lot?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
