I walked past the wraparound deck, and I felt my heart thump wildly as Asher came into view—glued to a thick novel by the pool, looking every bit like the movie star that he was: damp hair brushed to the side of his face; chiseled, olive torso; lime-colored board shorts wet against his thighs.
I swallowed hard to keep from tugging his body onto mine, and then I cleared my throat, making my presence known. Asher met my eyes and took off his sunglasses as I waved and walked toward him. He set his book down and stood up so that I could fold right into his open arms.
“Hi,” he said into the curve of my neck.
I felt every muscle in his body constrict around me as he hugged me tight. He smelled like an intoxicating swirl of nostalgia, bringing me back to summer camp. Wildflowers, sunblock, and young love.
We held each other’s grins for a moment too long, making the tips of my ears burn. I tugged a bottle of cold rosé out of my tote bag and thrust it in front of his mouth to keep from falling onto his lips.
“I want you to do something before we drink,” he said, trying to hold back a grin.
I stared back confusedly as his smile widened—a full smile—one I almost never saw from him.
Before I could say a word, Asher’s hand gripped mine, leading me past the French doors, down a flight of stairs, landing us in the chilly basement. We walked past the home gym and through the doors of an enormous, high-end recording studio.
“This is Fin Bex,” Asher said, his arm stretched out toward the boyishly handsome man sitting behind the audio mixer. “He’s co-producing On the Other Side’s soundtrack.”
“I know who he is,” I said, stunned.
Fin flashed an energetic grin in my direction and reached out to shake my limp fingers.
“Hi,” he said.
I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor as I shook hands with one of the biggest music producers in the business. Fin Bex was a small-town kid from Pennsylvania who was now crushing it in his late twenties. He talked a mile a minute and produced number one hit after hit, also at a mile a minute. I’d known that Fin was producing the soundtrack, but I didn’t know I would actually be coming face-to-face with him. It would have a been a dream, but in my dream, I wasn’t wearing a see-through tank top with a barely-there scalloped bikini underneath, leaving significant side-boob sticking out.
Fin pointed to the other side of the glass where, inside the isolation vocal room, a cool-as-fuck woman with a tattoo sleeve and pink hair adjusted the cord on the microphone.
“And that’s my sound engineer, Lila Corr.”
I knew her name as well. These were my celebrities: the people I dreamed about working beside.
I tried to keep my attention on Fin, but I had no control. My eyes drifted to the empty, little black stool next to Fin, like a moth finding its flame. My heart began to race, and the room was suddenly thick, muffled, and hot. The walls were closing in around me, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. Asher led my body out of the studio, as I blinked back white spots clouding my vision.
Asher crouched in front of me in the basement hallway, with his eyes narrowed on my face.
“Can I get you some water? Are you okay?”
I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but no words escaped. My eyes shifted down to his gentle hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have asked you beforehand. I thought this would be a cool surprise—but now I’m thinking: not actually a cool surprise.”
I slowly looked up at Asher, as he attempted a weak smile. It was plain as day that he felt horribly responsible for something he was not actually responsible for. He was the most sensitive human that I’d ever encountered, which was saying something, considering I overanalyzed every human interaction.
I was relieved to feel words escaping my throat. “This isn’t your fault,” I cracked. “It’s just—it caught me off guard, is all. I—I don’t have my guitar, or my notebook,” I stammered, searching for an escape route.
“We were just going to lay down your vocals. I printed out the lyrics and notes for ‘Joyride,’” he said. “I actually wanted to surprise you. We decided you would sing it for the end credits on the film.”
I stared at him, blinking rapidly.
“Me? Not to be recorded over?”
“You. Just you,” he said with a warm smile, which faded as he took in my expression. I was swallowing hard, trying to clear the terror boiling up to my throat. He crouched lower to my eye level with his hand still on my arm. “But none of that’s relevant. We don’t have to do this today.”
The AC grate was below my feet, blasting air into my lungs, cooling my insides. I found my mouth moving, letting out an exhale of words as his hand ran up and down my arm, softly.
“I had a bad experience once, in a recording booth.”
I could taste bile in my throat, reliving something horrible just by hinting at it. Asher’s face pinched together, and I watched his chest rise and fall, right in front of me. He placed his other hand gently on my arm and turned his head to both sides of my face, so he could try and understand what I was saying. After a moment, he seemed to understand, because his eyes darkened and his neck tightened.
“Go back upstairs and lie by the pool, and I’ll be there to join you in two minutes. And we’ll forget all about this.”
I nodded and took a step back from him, slowly walking toward the steps, my head heavy. I stopped at the base of the curved banister, glancing back at Asher. He smiled quickly at me, a reassuring smile, but I could tell there was a soft pain behind his eyes—and I knew what kept the pain there—even when there was pure bliss, there would always be sadness. All at once, I didn’t know how to walk upstairs with nausea weighing me down. Even more, there was an adrenaline running through my veins, pumping blood and thumping my chest against my ribs—a reminder that I was alive. I couldn’t do it anymore—I couldn’t let my past keep me from opportunities that would open the doors to my future. I needed to rise out of the ashes instead of letting them darken my insides. All of them.
“No,” I blurted, standing taller in my own skin, walking toward Asher. “I’m going to lay that song down. Today.”
He arched his eyebrows up, staring wide-eyed into my face. He waited for a moment, as if halting to make sure that the terror inside me had been replaced with fire.
“Okay.”
“I’m going to need a cup of boiling water, a cup of warm salt water, and about thirty minutes to warm up.”
Asher put his hand behind his back and bowed his head down to me with a silly grin.
“At your service, my lady,” he said in a flawless British accent.
I charged up the staircase.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To grab the Throat Coat tea bag from my purse.”
Thankfully, I was used to singing at the last minute. I had a routine that I refused to break—no matter what. While I had consumed an excessive amount of alcohol yesterday, I made sure to cap off the night with a liter of water, and saltwater spray in my nostrils. Nothing kills high notes like dehydration, and water lubricates the vocal cords. I didn’t have a raspy voice, so I couldn’t have an off-day or hide behind a hoarse howl.