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What’s the bet there’s a white picket fence around that garden.
The thought sent a pang through him. Regardless, it wasn’t exactly something she could have when she was on the road for months at a time.
His voice was softer when he prompted her again. “What else?”
Her eyes darted over to her purse. He knew it would have her notebook tucked away in it. “Well… You already know I like to write.”
“Are you writing the next big thriller?”
Her smile was self-conscious. “No. I love reading them, but I’d never be able to write anything like that.”
“So, what do you write?”
She bit her lip. Her gaze met his, and she swallowed as if it was difficult to share. “I write poetry.”
The information didn’t really surprise him. “I can see you as a poet.”
Surprise flitted across her face. “Really?”
“Yeah. Sometimes, when you’re in the middle of writing, you stop and get this far-off look in your eyes and a dreamy smile on your face. I can imagine lyrical phrases running through your head.”
She laughed. “I guess you’re a poet yourself.”
His fingers played over the strings of his guitar. “All song writers are poets. They just set their poems against a backdrop of musical notes instead of white space.”
“Is that right?” Her eyes sparkled.
A smile slipped out as his fingers moved over the instrument, playing a pretty little tune he made up on the spot. Then he sang, his voice coming out low and husky.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
“Oh my god, you’re singing Lord Byron!” Her bright smile was fucking gorgeous.
His return smile faded, and he searched her face. “Didn’t you ever help Bryan with his songwriting?”
She blinked. “Well… he didn’t really like having any external input. You know, he wanted the music to be organic to the band. He and S-Stella had a process.” She shrugged as if it hadn’t mattered to her that her fiancé didn’t want her help.
“So, will you read me some?” he asked.
“Some of my poetry?”
He nodded, and she looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her tank top. When she looked back up at him, her expression was guarded. Was it Bryan who had dented her confidence so much?
Zac waited, and eventually, she nodded. She walked to her bag, pulled out her notebook, and brought it back to the couch. She flicked through the pages, searching for something to read him. Finally, she stopped, her slender fingers curling tightly around the cover.
Her gaze darted up to meet his, and he nodded. She took a deep breath and started reading.
“Your love echoes in the hollows of my bones.”
