But then, like she’s made of magic, she turns in a sunlit whirl and jumps through the large open window.
No.
I follow her and I can see that she’s running across the field, towards a fence. She looks back to see if I’m chasing her. I am. Not chasing her, but following her. To the goddamn ends of the earth if I have to. I feel dazed but also laser-focused. I’m not about to lose her. I watch her climb over the fence. In the distance, there’s a house.
Her house.
She disappears inside.
What do you know, the little golden songbird is my new neighbor.
Oh, I’ll go after her. I almost do it now. I’ll break down her door so I can stare at her wet, golden beauty as long as I want. I’ll hold her down and lick those soft, parted lips.
Fuck.
Since when do you go around breaking down doors, cowboy?
I don’t know why I do it but I collapse onto the grass of the sloping front lawn. I lay there on my back, arms out, looking up at the sky and a few slow-moving clouds.
I’ll go to her.
I know where she lives. And I need a minute.
I’ve just been cursed, that’s what this feels like. I’ll never not have a fucking hard-on again. Every time I think of her, like I am right now, my ten-inch cock will get hot and engorged and thick to the point of spilling pre-cum because I’m almost there already, and if I don’t fuck her or jerk off or get drunk I’ll go insane.
I’m breathing hard. I unbutton a few buttons to ease the pressure.
The shape of her pink pussy through that transparent fabric, holy Jesus. That smooth, barely-wet skin. That silky, colorful hair. Those full, perfect breasts with their poking-out cherry-ripe nipples.
One detail seems strange about the whole mind-blowing encounter. There wasn’t a hint of recognition in her expression. No revelatory moment or oh-my-God-it’s-you realization. Almost like she didn’t know who I was. I guess that’s possible, but it’s been a long time since anyone has looked at me like that.
I get up and walk down to the pond. Luckily her distant house is behind the hill from the water’s edge, otherwise a pair of binoculars would easily reveal that I’m fully loaded, glistening with the beginnings of a sure thing and so hard I’m jutting out of my unbuttoned jeans. My cock is on overdrive and clearly has no intention of deflating anytime soon. Not until I’ve eaten her pink pussy and made her all wet and soft and ready for me.
Fuck.
I’m seriously about to come.
I strip down to my boxers and dive into the water.
I barely remember to swim.
A Tennessee angel just walked into my life. Golden girl paradise got me all twisted up. Give me summer sunlight, girl, sing me your song. Tennessee angel, I’ll follow you til I’m gone.
The tune lands fully formed.
I swim to shore. I stumble up the beach and grab my jeans.
When I get to the house I step through the open window and sit down at the piano. I use one of the scraps of paper the angel left behind and start scrawling down the lyrics, before I lose them. The song unspools itself through my fingers in a rush of funky chords and unexpected melodies.
It’s the best thing I’ve written in a long time. Maybe ever.
Holy hell.
I finish the first song and scribble ideas for two more. The lyrics—for the first time in ages—mesh perfectly with the tunes. By the time I’ve finished getting it all down, it’s dark outside the wall of windows. The moon is full, hanging low in the sky.
I’ve been sitting here for hours.
There’s a dusty lamp next to the piano and I turn it on. The real estate agent must have had the power turned on this morning, like he said he would.
The angel left her bag. And all her music. The song she sang is still on the piano stand. Ruby Hayes is written in the top corner.
Ruby Hayes.
Mine.
The song’s title is Nashville Days. I play it, humming along to the scrawled lyrics. I can tell from her scribblings and crossed-out notes that she wrote the song herself. I can see the changes she’s made are good ones.
She’s a talent.
She’s a goddess.
And she’s made it easy for me.
I pull on my jeans.
Then I put the sheet of music back into her bag and sling it over my shoulder. I step through the open window. The hot night is thick with the chorus of cicadas.
Making my way out to my car, I find myself a shirt and I grab my guitar.
Under the light of the full moon, I start walking across the field.
“Ruby! There’s a phone call for you,” Rose yells from the kitchen. “It’s Chase.”
I’ve been hiding out in my room since I got back, pacing, strumming my guitar but not having the concentration to play it, remembering every detail of him. Gigi’s out. She has a four-hour afternoon shift at the library on Fridays and I’m glad to have the space to … absorb what just happened to me. To process all the adrenaline that’s pumping through my veins right now.
My heart’s still beating fast. My blood feels hot and my skin is flushed.
God.
I left my music behind. My bag. Rose’s dress.
He was so … hot. So intense. So big. So … male.
“Ruby!”
I pull one of my own sundresses over my head and open my bedroom door. “I’m coming.”
Our landline is the original phone that was in our house when my parents bought it more than twenty years ago. It has a long cord that reaches around the corner of the kitchen to a chair in the dining room that doesn’t entirely allow for private conversations but at least it’s out of the kitchen, where Rose and Momma are cooking dinner. I pick up the phone and pull the cord as far as it will go. Outside the window, the sun is low in the sky, starting to set. The sky is tinted orange along the hazy horizon. I can see the roof of the abandoned farmhouse from here.
Not abandoned.
He lives there.
With his low-strung jeans on and nothing else. With his big, sweat-glistening muscles and his sun-bleached hair.
“Hi, Chase.”
“Hey, Ruby. How are you?”
“Great. Finally finished.”
“How does it feel to be free?”
“It feels amazing. ”
“Did you get my letter?”
“Yes.” It’s in my bag, sitting on his window seat. Will I be brave enough to go back there and confront him and apologize for trespassing and ask for my stuff? I’ll have to be brave enough. I need to get my music. But what if—
“Did you think about what I said? About maybe coming out here?”
“It’s such a nice offer, Chase, and I’d love to see you but … I got a job.” I have no idea why I lie about this. I never lie. I never need to lie and I don’t know why I’m doing it now. I feel bad about it so I backtrack. “I mean, I might have a job. It’s not that I don’t want to come to Portland, it’s just that I—”
“Let me guess. You want to go to Nashville.”
My lie didn’t work anyway. He knows me too well. “You know that’s been my dream all along, Chase. I have to go to Nashville.”
“I knew you’d say that, Roo. It’s okay. I just really want to see you.”
“Maybe you could come here for the summer.” But I know he won’t. He never comes back. He left all those years ago and he hasn’t come back once.