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“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone how insensitive you were to my people.”
She shakes her head at me, completely exasperated. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?”
“I’ve heard it a time or two,” I say, grinning.
“Well, are your face muscles sufficiently warmed up? Because my voice is.” She’s trying so hard to sound stern and serious, but that telltale sparkle in her eyes keeps giving her away.
“Let’s do it.”
“What do you want to start with?”
“How about ‘Autumn Love’?” I say, naming one of her songs.
She nods and pulls up the music on her phone, setting it on a stand between us. I don’t need it though. I did my homework. I spent all night last night learning the lyrics and progressions for the songs of Chelsea’s that are going to be on the album.
We jump right in, and after a couple of false starts, we find our stride, harmonizing even better than we did at the show. Our voices mix and mingle together in a flirty little dance that I just know she has to be able to feel
.
Once we finish the song and the music fades from the room, I hear it—applause. Chelsea’s head cocks to the side and we both step up to the window of the recording booth, cupping our hands around the glass to block out the glare.
A light on the other side flips on and both of our managers are there, positively beaming.
“Great job,” Rosa says, her finger on the intercom button. Merrill gives me a double thumbs-up.
“We were just practicing,” Chelsea says, clearly a little violated about the unintentional show we just put on.
Rosa shakes her head. “No need. You should just record it now. It can’t get better.”
Merrill’s nodding along. “She’s right. You two are a natural fit. Can’t improve on perfection.”
Chelsea looks to me, uncertain, but I shrug. “We should probably give the people what they want…”
She still doesn’t look convinced, but she nods. “All right, let’s do that one again.”
We get through “Autumn Love” and then two more songs—one of hers and one of mine, by the time the managers tell us our time slot’s over.
“Wow! What a productive day,” Rosa says as we head back into the lounge area of the studio. “Six hours in the booth and we already have a quarter of the record.”
That makes me pause. I knew we were doing good, but the thought that this album is already a quarter of the way done means that I just have that much less time with Chelsea. I wonder if I should fuck up some chords, make my voice crack, do something to sabotage our progress moving forward because I don’t want this time to go by too quickly. As much as I’m attracted to Chelsea and want her like nothing else, I actually really like making music with her and just hanging out with her. I’m pretty sure I’m not the kind of guy Chelsea Garten is going to hang out with when she’s not making an album with him. So if I want to keep her in my life, I have to do something, right?
But I can’t sabotage the record. We’re doing this for charity, for those sick kids. I just have to take one for the team and be better at my job than anyone expects. What a curse.
Merrill claps me on the shoulder with an approving look as he and Rose filter out, talking about the notes they have for the mixing and the order of the tracks. That’s all stuff for them to take care of. I just make the music. What they do with it afterward is not my problem or concern.
“So, that went well,” Chelsea says, rocking on her heels.
“Yeah,” I say, still thinking about how soon this is going to be over.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” She sounds hesitant and I know this is my opportunity. I gotta step up now and take it.
“You could come back to my place and we can work on the new song. My brain’s been working on that melody all day and I might just have something.”
Her mouth opens, like she’s shocked at the very idea of me inviting her to my house. I know what she’s thinking, and she’s not wrong, but if she doesn’t want anything more than songwriting that’s where we’ll stop.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Chelsea. We have work to do, is all.”
She shrugs, trying to play off the hesitation, but I already saw it for what it was and it leaves me with a bitter taste.
