Page 62 of Sing Your Secrets
nineteen
Reese
“Miles,” I hiss, poking my head through the door that leads out of the basement. He’s sitting at the kitchen island in front of his open laptop with his headphones hanging off one ear. He laughs when he sees me trying to conceal my body with the door.
“We’re still alone, baby. Law and Sienna won’t be home until this afternoon.”
With that, I proudly strut into the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of Miles’s soft cotton white undershirts. It hangs low enough on me to conceal what my thong most certainly doesn’t.
“Where are they?”
“Down in Colorado Springs—The Antlers. Some big charity event they helped sponsor.”
“Hmm, that’s nice of them,” I mumble distractedly as my stomach growls in anger. Making myself at home, I open cabinet doors until I find a bowl that matches the one sitting in front of Miles.
Yanking his headphones down so they rest around his neck, Miles says, “I just needed a snack. I’ve been up for a while. Get dressed, I’ll take you to a nice breakfast.”
I point to the box of cereal in front of me. “Don’t be ridiculous. Trix is gourmet eating in my book.” Without hesitating, I snag the cardboard box and watch the medley of rainbow colors quickly fill my glass bowl. “I could bathe in this stuff.” Grabbing the milk that’s still sitting next to Miles on the counter, I wet my cereal and pop the jug back in the fridge. Men—never afraid of dairy going bad.
“I keep waiting for the real you to appear,” Miles says, examining me with a perplexed expression.
“What?” I pause with my spoon about an inch from my lips. “The real me?”
“Yeah, no way I got this lucky. I’m back in town for a millisecond and I meet a fucking piece who’s out of my league, way too sexy, smart, has a great job and close friends, likes to stay in, and loves my kind of music. Plus, she wouldn’t have minded a cheap date at Applebee’s”—he nods to my cereal bowl—“and likes kids’ cereal as much as me.”
“First of all, had we actually gone to dinner last night, I absolutely would’ve ordered the shrimp. Seafood is not cheap.”
“Their shrimp is frozen before it’s beer-battered and deep-fried.”
“What’s your point?” I ask before shoving a heaping spoon full of fruity cereal in my mouth.
“Is this all a show for my benefit, or are you actually this perfect?”
I snort. Perfect? I chew slowly, contemplating an honest response. “Perhaps I am motivated to be on my best behavior for you.”
“Meaning?” He hangs his head and lifts his eyes in that cute puppy dog way. His look is enough motivation for me to push my cereal bowl away, despite my growling belly, and grab his hand.
“I feel like myself around you. I haven’t felt like myself in a long time. I don’t uh…want to lose this”—I point back and forth, to his chest, then mine—“energy. I’m not sure where it came from, but I want it to stay.”
“What do you mean?”
“In high school, my whole world was music. I’d skip class left and right to watch my dad in the studio. Watching him engineer a track was literally like watching magic happen. He did it all. He composed, mixed, and produced. Whatever the artist needed, he became. A mentor, a friend, a swift kick in the ass when they needed it. It’s a grueling process but the end result was…” I let out a deep sigh. “My dad used to tell me that producing a good song was about anchor and flow. You have to anchor the listener to a rhythm, a beat, a tune, something powerful to catch their attention, and once they were hooked, then the lyrics could flow.”
“That’s insightful,” Miles says. “I like that.”
“Dad’s job was to be the anchor. To get a person to listen, and then the artist could speak—flow. He mostly worked with hip-hop artists, trying to coax a little more poeticism out of their music than hard beats and angry words. That’s what I always thought I’d be doing with my life right now—following in his footsteps, minus the drinking problem.”
“Why aren’t you?” he asks.
“I turned eighteen and moved to Atlanta. I let my passion for my boyfriend override my common sense.” I debate it…I should just tell him about Petey…but what does it matter? An ex is an ex. “I had tunnel vision, which made me careless, and I got my heart broken really bad. I think I blamed music because it made more sense to me. My mom swooped in and put a giant Band-Aid over the entire situation. She told me the best way to get better was to grow up. So, I did. I tried to be like my dad and I got burnt, so I started acting like my mom. Or, tried to anyway.”
Miles nods along, silent, carefully soaking up every word.
“I’ve been feeling lost for a long time like I was sleeping on life, just going through the motions. But then I met you at The Garage and for a reason I can’t explain, you reminded me of the old me. Just someone who loves music like I used to. I met you and suddenly, that old me woke up. I’ve been thinking maybe I can find a way to be the good parts of my dad and the good parts of my mom. Maybe I need balance.”
“Hm, balance seems like a good thing.” Miles brings my hand to his lips and plants a small kiss on each one of my knuckles. I smile at him while subtly scooting my cereal bowl back with my left hand. He laughs and releases me when he watches me eat awkwardly with my non-dominant hand.
“What were you listening to?”