“I’m not afraid,” he said, slamming the spatula down on the counter.
Cerys raised an eyebrow in the direction of the spatula.
Jase followed her gaze. “I swear to God, if you say wave one more time . . .”
“I don’t need to if you’re saying it for yourself.”
Damn. She was right. He’d realised on his own that the word was relevant. Fuck. Next, he’d be wanting a gold fucking star.
“Fucking sneaky.”
“All I’m saying is if you were truly confident, you’d push, stand firm. You’d commit. I have an idea.”
Jase cracked the eggs into the pan and whisked them before putting it on the heat. “I can’t wait to hear it, because everything you’ve said so far has been a fucking bundle of joy,” he said, his voice filled with sarcasm.
“No, wait, it’s a good one. Let’s work on ‘Tell Me This’ together. You and me. Today. Between us, I bet we could do it. I can play piano and drums. You’ve got guitar.”
“You play drums?”
“I play a lot of things. Let’s rewrite and rerecord your song.”
“Now I know you’re smoking crack.”
“Stop it. I’m being serious, Jase.” She placed her hand on his forearm, so close he could feel the heat from her body. “It would just be you and me. My dad’s system here is connected to the studio. I can access all the tracks you guys have already laid down. At the mixing desk I can mess with most elements, especially muting redundant drums you don’t want so early. We can even delete any trace of it at the end of the day if you don’t like it. Let’s do it and play them side by side and see. I’m a safe space, I promise.”
“Safe space? You’ve poked and prodded at me all morning. Doesn’t feel all that safe.”
“Okay, fine. I’m a challenging space, but there is no risk to you. It’s just the two of us.”
Just the two of us.
As he looked into her pale, ice-blue eyes, he wondered if she meant more than just recording. Because the more he was around her, the more he felt she’d be good for him.
“Fine. But just one song.”
Three hours later, she separated out the tracks they’d just recorded and scrutinized each one.
“There’s too much rumble on the guitars and it’s light in the mid-range,” Cerys said, reaching for the dials faster than he could actually keep track of. Alex had done a decent job of producing their music with the local studio mixers and engineers, but Cerys was something else. “And it could do with some eighth note delay and a bit more reverb. I think that answers what you were saying about it feeling a little lifeless. Now let’s just listen to the drums.”
The drum tracks she’d laid down earlier came through the speakers. He thought about how she’d thrown herself into drumming, without a hint of hesitation or embarrassment. With it came memories of how she’d grinned at him as he’d played guitar alongside her, trying to ignore the way her tight T-shirt pulled across her chest.
“With drums, it’s really about level, phase, and panning. Half the time it’s really absolute phase. There are rack toms on the left and two floors on the right and they need panning to make sure the drum kit as a whole instrument is in phase. And Luke gets a little splashy with the cymbals.”
She muttered something about parallel compressions and EQs, and he realised he’d paid nowhere near enough attention to how their music actually got made.
“It’s incredible how you pulled this together.”
“Ready to hear the final version?” she said, stopping then quickly reaching for yet another dial, before stopping herself again. “I mean, it’s still rough. I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Ready.” Jase leaned back in his chair, and their legs brushed beneath the mixing desk. She didn’t move her leg, so he didn’t. There was a connection between then, something . . . other.
The song started. Solo guitars. His voice. He felt the energy of the song, telling him more was coming. That anticipation was to be savoured, which made the roar of drums when they finally kicked in all the more powerful. Partway through the song, he turned to Cerys, watching as she sat with her eyes closed. Her head tilted back.
He wanted to run his fingers down her neck. To see what kind of response he’d get from her.
The song grew to a close.
“See? You were right, Jase. It’s so much better. You should feel my heart, it’s racing.”
Jase swivelled his chair to face her and did exactly what she’d suggested. Her skin warm beneath his palm, and suddenly he wished there weren’t clothes keeping him from touching the rest of her body. He tried to be gentle, but when her pupils flared, he felt a crackle pass between them. “You made it better.”
She held his gaze, her breath slowing as he kept his hand on her. One breath after another.
“There. Slower now.”
He removed his hand, but he could still feel her heat against his palm.
6
Later that evening, Jase wandered into the family room and found Cerys lying on the oversized sofa beneath a plush cream blanket. The fire crackled softly as candles flickered. Jase breathed into the silence and peace he felt in his chest for the first time in a long time.
“The snow’s starting to pile up outside,” she said quietly. “I hope it eases up for the drive back tomorrow.”
He glanced towards the doors where the snow had drifted against the glass.
“I’ve never seen so much snow, have you?”
Cerys shook her head. “Not in Wales, for sure.”
“We might get an inch of snow occasionally in Manchester, and the city grinds to a halt because of it. I remember being a little kid and trying to scoop every bit of it off cars on the way to school to make snowballs.”
He looked down at Cerys, her cheeks flushed with warmth. With comfort. A comfort and ease he suddenly needed to experience. He didn’t want to lose the calm he had going on, and he knew Cerys held the key to it.
Jase reached for the corner of the blanket near her feet and peeled it back so he could crawl on the sofa behind her. When his body lined up against hers, he dropped the blanket over the two of them.
“What are you doing?” Cerys asked as he slid his arm beneath her neck and lowered his other over her waist.
“I’m hugging you.”
“Why are you hugging me?”
He laid his head down on the cushion and placed his forehead on her shoulder. “Waves, Cerys. Waves.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really. Just. I don’t normally feel this . . . quiet.”
Cerys placed her hand on his forearm. “Does the quiet bother you?”
“Just didn’t know it could feel like this,” he whispered. “Is it a problem if I hold you for a little while? I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Her hand squeezed his arm. “It’s not uncomfortable. Do you want me to put a movie on or some music or something?”
Normally, he’d say yes. Fill his mind with distraction, with noise, with drugs, or alcohol, or sex. But he found himself wanting to lean into this moment.