And maybe the fact that he could feel jealous was an indirect sign of progress? Maybe being jealous over her would prove to him he could want to get serious with . . . someone else someday?
If, for instance, he and Hannah weren’t meant to be.
Hannah ignored the horrible burning in her breast and turned back around. “Have you had a chance to look at the songs I sent over last night?”
“We have. Been burning the midnight oil working on arrangements.”
“You’ll be happy with them,” the bass player said, definitively, a musician’s arrogance on full display. “No question.”
The fiddle player gave her a look that was half chagrin, half apology for his bandmate. “Soon as Alana is done in there, we’ll run through the shanties, make sure it all works for you.”
She smiled. “That would be great, thank you.”
The trio went back to their conversation, and Hannah returned to the glass to watch Alana, Fox coming up beside her. “What was that?” she whispered at him.
“What was what?”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m being helpful. They were looking at you like a tentier birthday cake just walked in the door.” He wasn’t quite succeeding in pulling off a casual tone, an agitated hand lifting to scrub at the bristle on his jaw. “Musicians are bad news—everyone knows that. Now they’ll leave you alone. You’re welcome.”
Hannah nodded, pretending to take him seriously. “I see.” A few seconds of silence passed. “Thanks for the consideration, but no thanks. I don’t need you running interference. If one of them is interested, I’ll deal with it myself.”
Now his eye ticced. “Deal with it how?”
“By deciding yes or no. I’m capable of doing that on my own.”
Fox studied her as if through a microscope. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Hannah exhaled a laugh. “Doing what? Calling your bluff?” His jaw looked ready to shatter, his eyes revealing a hint of misery. “If you’re jealous, Fox,” she said quietly, “just say you’re jealous.”
Conflicting emotions waged a war on his face. Caution. Frustration. And then he visibly gave up the battle, standing in front of her naked with honesty. “I’m jealous as fuck.” He seemed to be having a hard time getting breath into his lungs. “You’re . . . my Hannah, you know?”
She tried very hard not to tremble or make a show of what was happening inside her. But there was a Ferris wheel turning at max speed in her stomach. Did he really just say that out loud? Now that he had, now that it was out there, she couldn’t disagree. She’d been his for months. Don’t freak out and put him back on guard.
Instead, she went up on her toes. “Yeah. I know,” she whispered against his mouth.
Fox let out a relieved breath, his color returning gradually. He looked like he was right on the edge of making another admission, saying even more, his chest rising and falling. He wet his lips, his gaze raking over her face. But before he could say a word, the door of the booth was kicked open and out came Alana, stomping into the lounge area. “All right, folks.” She clapped her hands twice. “Let’s talk shanties before these two start making out, yeah?”
*
Dealing with her imposter syndrome on the heels of Fox’s admission was no small task. Hannah felt pulled in several directions, acutely aware of the man stationed like a pillar at her side, his exposed energy vibrating like a raw nerve, while also determined to watch her artistic vision come to life.
Who was she to give an opinion on musical arrangements?
But after the third take, there was something not working about the refrain in “A Seafarer’s Bounty.” It fell horizontal in the middle, and as a listener, her interest flatlined, too, when it should have been absorbed. The band seemed satisfied with their angle, and, man, they were so good. Way better than she should have expected on short notice. Why not just be grateful and move on?
She stood beside Fox in the corner of the control room, listening to the song’s playback over the speaker, while on the other side of the glass, the band was visibly preparing to start the next song. Running through the lines individually.
Could she just interrupt the process with an opinion that might be totally wrong?
“Just tell them what’s bothering you,” Fox whispered in her ear, laying a lingering kiss on her temple. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“How can you tell something is bothering me?”