The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,64
first steps forward with this new project, and she wanted to do it now. She grinned, wiping her dusty hands on her pajama pants. It had been a long time since she’d felt this stimulated and excited about a creative project. Wait until she told Oliver that his back-to-basics songwriting technique had borne fruit.
The thought gave her pause, but only for a second. Last night had been awesome and awkward in equal measures but she’d already decided she could live with that. She was standing by the decision she’d made in the small hours: Oliver was a friend worth having, even without benefits.
She fed Smitty and herself and dressed in cleaning-out-the-shed clothes—yoga pants, a sweater and sneakers—and headed next door, Smitty leading the way double-time. If she was going to be spending hours in Oliver’s yard, there was no reason Smitty should miss out on some quality time with his favorite girl.
She was approaching Oliver’s porch when she heard the mellow tones of an acoustic guitar. Oliver, of course, playing a lovely, rolling melody that made her want to hum along. Her steps slowed as he began to sing in a pleasing, slightly raspy baritone.
“Left town ’cause of her, couldn’t leave me behind. Drove through the country, regret on my tail. Looking for a place to work out why we failed...”
The song washed over her, sad and hopeful in equal measures. She knew, absolutely, that this was an original composition, something he was still creating. She had to blink away tears when he reached the chorus.
“I thought she was the best of me, now I know she set me free. I’d rather look life in the eye than live a quiet suburban lie. It’s true what the wise men say, tomorrow is another day. Another day, yeah...another day...”
She waited until the guitar fell silent before climbing the steps. She knocked, and a few seconds later the door swung open. Oliver stood there in his jeans and sweater, his face bristly with stubble, his hair bed-messy, his guitar in one hand.
“Morning,” she said.
She knew from the expression on his face that he’d guessed she’d heard him playing. She smiled.
“I like it, for what it’s worth. Reminds me of Ben Harper.”
His eyes were very steady on hers. “I didn’t think I’d see you today. You’re a brave woman.”
“Not that brave, really. Are Smitty and I too early? We can go for a walk and come back.”
“I just need to grab a shower. If you don’t mind waiting...”
She had a flash of him standing naked beneath the shower spray and had to blink a couple times to get rid of it. That kind of thing wasn’t going to help anyone with anything.
“Sure. I can wait. No big deal.”
He stood aside to allow her to enter before leading her into the living room. The fire glowed in the grate, a fine layer of ash on the logs, and a crumb-strewn plate and coffee mug rested on the small side table.
“Been up for a while,” Oliver said, obviously interpreting her expression.
A laptop was open on the sofa, a complicated-looking software program filling the screen. She knew enough from sitting in on sound mixes that she was looking at a recording program.
“Oh, good, you got it down,” she said without thinking.
His smile was endearingly shy. “Yeah. Very roughly.” He shrugged.
“I mentioned it was good, right? Thoughtful and a bit sad but mostly optimistic.”
He stared at her for a long beat, a muscle in his jaw flickering as though he was working to contain strong emotion.
“Last night meant something to me, Mackenzie. I want you to know that.” His voice was all gravel and bass.
Any lingering misgivings she’d been hanging on to dissolved. How could she regret having been naked with this man?
“Me, too.”
His smile broadened. Maybe it was her imagination—her ego—but he looked relieved.
“I’ll go grab that shower.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Help yourself to toast or coffee. Sorry, tea.” He started toward the kitchen, as though he was going to make her a cup himself.
“Shoo. I can make myself tea. You go make yourself presentable, you reprobate.”
He glanced down at himself, one hand rubbing his bristly jaw.
“Fair enough.”
He left the room, Strudel following him into the hall but stopping short of trailing him to the bathroom. Clearly the poor girl was torn between two loyalties—the man who fed her and the boy dog who captured her attention.
“I know which way I’d be leaning, Strudel,” Mackenzie said as she wandered into the kitchen and made herself tea. She looked