was so absorbed in my post-composing glow that I’d almost forgotten Wyatt was still in the room with me. The sound of the piano keys tinkling out my song alerted me to his presence.
I was awestruck at the ease in which Wyatt replicated my melody. He was playing without sheet music. He’d heard the song more than a few times, but still, to be able to play by ear was incredible.
I’d spent years of hard-earned babysitting money taking enough piano lessons to learn how to play. And still, I was nowhere near as skilled as Wyatt was.
The piano’s rich sound filled the room with effortless beauty as Wyatt began belting out the chorus. The sound was so intoxicating, I forgot myself and started to sing with him. By our second time around I’d started playing my guitar to accompany the piano. The sound of our voices mixed with the piano and guitar was so perfect and unexpected my chest swelled with emotion.
We were making music!
Could anything else in the world match this kind of joy?
Chapter Fourteen
Wyatt
I caught my breath, collected myself and walked to the light switch, flipping it on. I watched Layne squint in the light. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving as much as mine.
Closing the distance between us I swept her into my arms, lifting her petite frame off the floor as I crushed her in a bear hug. “We did it!”
She laughed. “We did!”
“That was bloody amazing!” I said, spinning her around. “I knew you had a diva buried deep down in there somewhere!”
Giggles erupted from her so suddenly I nearly dropped her. It wasn’t the sound so much as what it did to my insides that shocked me. I set her down and took a step back, hiding my alarming rush of emotion behind the safety of sarcasm. “Penny Layne, you’ve been holding out on me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“That voice! You can sing.”
Her cheeks turned that pretty shade of pink I was beginning to crave.
“And you can play,” she shot back, nodding at the piano. “How can you play like that and not read music?”
I shrugged. “I was just messing around.”
She glared at me. “You know, if I wasn’t already a member of the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club, that comment right there would’ve made me join.”
I winked. “What can I say, I’m hard to love.”
The way she quickly looked away made me think she thought the opposite, which stirred my desire. Maybe this two-week distraction would be more fun than I’d thought. “I’d say we’re off and running, Penny Layne.”
“It’s a solid start,” she agreed.
“Shall we call it a night?”
She nodded. “Sure. We can work on the next song tomorrow.”
“I think we should perfect this one first.”
“It sounded pretty perfect to me,” she replied.
I gave her a smoldering grin. “This is just the beginning,” I teased, quoting the song. “When we’re done, I want to feel torn open.”
Layne flushed as I recited her lyrics. “I guess there’s always room for improvement,” she admitted, stuffing her things into her bag and shrugging on her coat.
“Need a ride?” I asked, flipping my keys in my hand.
“What I need are my glasses,” she said, holding her hand out.
I’d almost forgot. I slipped them off my head, but before handing them back I stepped closer, taking in her unencumbered features—creamy skin, delicate chin, heart-shaped lips and stunning big brown eyes. “You know,” I said, my voice gravelly and low. “Your eyes are kind of beautiful. You should go without glasses more often.” I placed them into her hands, unable to resist letting my fingers unnecessarily brush across hers. Layne’s cheeks flamed.
It was too easy.
I smirked and in a moment of mercy, opened the door, letting Layne and her pretty pink cheeks escape to the hall.
“So, what do you say?” I asked. “Do you want a ride home?”
“With you?”
I pretended to look around the empty music wing as we walked down the hall toward the parking lot. “Do you have a better offer?”
“No, I just didn’t expect you to have your car back.”
“Yeah, well turns out my mother’s easier to win over than you are.” She rolled her eyes as a thought dawned on me. “How were you planning to get home tonight?”
“I was going to walk.”
I balked. I didn’t know where she lived, but the coffee shop we’d been at yesterday was at least three miles from school and there weren’t a lot of houses in between. “Do you always walk?”
“No. I told you, Lola