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“I don’t want to be mad at you.”
“That means everything,” he promised.
A real smile tugged at my lips this time. “You’re kind of crazy.”
“About you? Absolutely. Now, do you want to know where we’re going?”
“That would help,” I told him.
He grinned, “Bonner Street Music, off of Main.” Which to anyone else probably wouldn’t make sense, except where Main Street wasn’t downtown, it was called Bonner.
I turned out before I asked, “Why there?”
“It’s a surprise,” he reminded me, and I rolled my eyes.
“Right.” Then I made a face as a dozen different ideas tumbled through my head. I’d gone to Bonner Street Music with Ian a few times in the last couple of years. It was a music school, mostly for younger kids. Ian had apparently studied piano there when we were all younger. But most of the time, when we went it was to get sheet music or to repair one of his guitars. They had a great music shop there.
It was where I’d gotten him the sheet music for his birthday.
When we got there, I found a place to park in the little lot behind the building. The drive had been a little more nerve-racking than I wanted to admit. One hand controlling the wheel made me extra cautious. Still, when we got there, it was totally worth it.
I loved that the guys would take me anywhere and theywantedto do it. But I didn’t realize just how much I’d missed my freedom driving on my own.
“Feeling okay?” he asked after I parked.
“Um, a little nervy, but…yeah. I’m okay.” Better, actually. It had helped with some of my shitty mood. “I’m ready for my surprise now.”
Ian grinned. “Then come on.”
Inside, he made a beeline for the main desk and got a key, then signed in to the logbook. “Thanks, Marlene.”
“Have fun, sugar,” said the older woman behind the desk with her bright maroon, clearly from a bottle hair, with a genuine smile. Ian held out his hand, and I clasped it, the gesture a little easier than all the other contact combined.
He led the way through what was a series of semi-darkened hallways, past practice rooms—soundproofed because they had all kinds of students from drums to guitars to pianos to a dude actually playing a tuba. Ian didn’t slow long enough for me to do more than glimpse in to each door.
When we got to the one in the corner, he unlocked it and let us into a practice suite and recording studio.
“You’re going to record something.” I didn’t even have to manufacture the excitement.
Ian’s eyes gleamed, and his smile grew.
“Actually, Angel,” he told me. “You are.”
“What?”
“Trust me?”
Oh, I wanted to say yes but… “Ian, I can’t sing.”
“Trust me? Please? Just for the next hour. I promise, I won’t let you down.” He studied me with those intense blue eyes.
I bit my lip.
Did I trust him? Even this little bit?
“Promise me this isn’t going to be like the karaoke incident?”
He grinned. “I swear, Angel. You won’t be embarrassed. If I have my way, you’re going to be thrilled.”
