She did not.
She knew he wanted her. He had made that clear on the dock. And yet, there was that gnawing feeling creeping around inside her. That stalking insecurity.
She took a deep breath of crisp morning air and pressed the buzzer.
She was immediately admitted, walked up the stairs, and found Nick’s scruffy face waiting for her at the top of the landing. “Morning,” he said, barely above a whisper. He was smiling, so Sewanee followed his lead, smiling back.
“Morning. You got here early, too.”
His smile broadened. “Come on through,” he whispered. He held a finger to his lips as he stood aside to let her pass.
She entered the studio’s control room and found Cosmo sleeping on the couch. That explained the volume. Nick waved her into the small breakroom, went to a tiny Formica table, picked up a to-go coffee and a white paper pastry bag. “First: caffeine and carbs.” He held the items out to her.
She smiled appreciatively and took a much-needed gulp of coffee and a bite of roll, and asked, with affected innocence, “So. How was your night?”
“Good.”
“Get done what you needed to get done?”
“Absolute-mente,” he answered, in a remarkably spot-on Stu impression.
“Looks like you didn’t get much sleep. Who was she?” Took another bite.
Nick chuckled. “Don’t even.”
Cosmo shuffled into the breakroom in leopard-print slippers, hair mussed, eyes two watery slits, mouth a crooked smile, mumbling “Buongiorno” and “Scusami” and something entirely lost on Sewanee other than the word “Caffe.” Nick moved out of his way and said, “Take your time, we’ll go into the studio.”
“Grazie mille.” His voice sounded like a bullfrog with laryngitis, but he turned around, remembering something, and continued, “Oh Nick. I tell you, last night . . . you surprise me. You so good.”
“Cheers, mate.”
Cosmo turned back to the coffee machine. Nick and Sewanee left the breakroom and Sewanee murmured, “So it was a he?”
“What?”
“Nick-uh,” she breathed near his ear, “you so good-uh.”
Nick groaned and crossed to the soundboard, picking up a set of headphones. “Take a seat.”
She held up a hand. “I’m not judging! He is adorable.”
He took her by the shoulders and sat her down in the chair. “Headphones. On head.”
She grinned. “What am I listening to?”
“Listen to as much as you can stand, then you can yell at me, hit me, do whatever you want to me.”
“Promises, promises.” She put on the headphones and crossed her arms.
Nick walked away, pressing a button on the control panel.
The sound of Brock McNight’s voice filled her ears.
It was the scene they’d recorded yesterday.
She opened her mouth to tell him he’d put on the wrong thing, but then she heard it.
The difference.
This was not yesterday’s performance. The words were the same, but the vocalization was new. It was connected. It was the voice she had heard when he’d read Goodnight Moon. It was Brock McNick.
She was drawn into the story as an aroma draws one to a meal. She uncrossed her arms, put her forehead down on the desk, and just listened. When it got to the steamy portion, she couldn’t help but look up at Nick. He’d sat down in Cosmo’s chair and was leaning back in it, his boots propped on the edge of the low coffee table. He cradled a guitar.
She’d never seen him in his element. He made so much sense this way. As she listened to Brock describe what he was doing with his hands, she watched Nick’s hands glide up and down the guitar’s neck and expertly pluck its strings. The sound was not breaching her headphones. He was playing quietly, head tipped back, lips moving only slightly. She didn’t think he was singing; was he writing something in his head?
In her ear, his voice cracked with lust. With emotion. The vulnerability was unnerving. Arousing.
When his section was over and hers began, she slowly took off the headphones.
At her movement, Nick stopped playing and turned the chair slightly to face her. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew him well enough already to know he wasn’t one to let a silence linger. Unless there was touching involved.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Go ahead, take your best shot.” He put his elbows on his knees and jutted out his chin as if he were putting his head on a chopping block. He closed his eyes.
Sewanee placed a kiss on his cheek, letting her lips linger there.