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Tightening my hold on her, I get to my feet, Birdy in my arms. She lets out a little yelp that soon turns into laughter, and Roy shakes his head as we walk past him and into the studio, Henry walking alongside us.
I place her on the bench and slide next to her. “So what do you want to sing? We could do another cover of Taylor Swift.”
“We could,” Penelope agrees, her tongue darting out to slide over her lower lip. “Or we could do one of your songs.”
Fuck, she’s so cute when she’s nervous.
“Any particular song in mind?”
Penelope nods, grabbing her headphones. I do the same, just as Roy’s voice booms.
“Whenever you kids are ready.”
We lay our hands on the keys, and I look down at her. “So, what are we playing?”
Penelope turns toward me, a smile flashing on her mouth. “Invisible Scars,” she whispers, just as her fingers press the keys, not leaving me a chance to be surprised.
Playing with Penelope is unlike any other experience I’ve ever had. I didn’t even realize it was something I’d enjoy until the first time I sat down next to her. Our hands move over the keys with ease.
I let the melody suck me in. My gaze locks on her face as she plays. She’s the first one to sing, my voice joining hers when we hit the bridge.
By the time we wrap it up, Penelope’s smiling brightly, our mouths mere inches apart, separated only by the microphone between us. Then the music dies, and our heavy breathing is the only sound in the room.
Not caring one bit that Roy’s probably watching us from the other side of the glass, I lean forward and press my mouth against Penelope’s, kissing her deeply.
Pulling back, I press my forehead against hers just as Roy says: “Do you have your guitar? I want to hear it together.”
“And yet I’m the bossy one.” I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“You two sit there. I’ll bring you one.”
I let out a groan, “Now we’ve gone and done it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know that tone, Birdy. The man means business.”
Sure enough, not even a full minute passes before he opens the door of the booth. I get up, grab the guitar he offers me and slide it over my chest. In the corner, I spot a bar stool, which I bring closer to the piano, and lean against it while I make sure the guitar is tuned and the microphones are all in place.
“Okay, guys,” Roy says through the speaker. “Bash, I want you to start this time with the guitar, and Penelope, you’ll join him just as you start singing, okay?”
We voice our agreement, and I run my fingers over the strings, testing the sound until I’m happy with it.
This time we barely get to the second line before Roy interrupts us, and so it goes over and over again. He lets us play, only to stop us and give us instructions on what to change and start again.
I don’t know how long we’re at it. The tips of my fingertips are indented from strumming the strings, reminding me of all the reasons why I fell in love with this job in the first place.
Penelope is a champ through it all. She doesn’t complain once, just goes with any change that Roy suggests, even giving her own two cents a couple of times.
Then suddenly, the door to the studio bursts open, and Seraphina enters. “Oh my God, I’ve been trying to call you!”
“I left my phone at home.” I frown, remembering this morning’s conversation. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“Something did happen.” She props her hands on her hips and gives me a nasty look. “Like seriously, Bash. Do you know what time it is?”
Time? What does time have to do with anything?
“Not really?”
