by Lili Valente
I love a well-curated social media feed as much as the next man, but there’s something about a painted portrait that puts photography to shame. Maybe it’s because the conversation between the painter and the subject goes on for so much longer than it takes to snap a picture or spice it up in Photoshop.
By it’s very nature, a painting has layers, depth, and a point of view a photo can never equal.
If I were painting Colette, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from paying extra attention to the parts that fascinate me most—the curve of her breast, the thoughtful tilt of her head, the graceful swoop of her neck. Anyone looking close enough would see that fascination, see my feelings for my subject as well as the beauty of the model herself.
Just like everyone who hears what I’m writing right now will know I’m falling in love with the girl in those songs.
There won’t be a chance in hell of keeping it a secret or explaining it away.
Yet another reason to keep Colette in the dark during the song-writing process.
There will be a time and a place to let her know that I’m falling for her so hard and fast it’s crazy. But when that time comes, I want her to hear it from me, not a song.
A song is created for public consumption, something I’ll share with my fans on the radio and every night that I take the stage. When I tell Colette I want a shot at her heart, I want it to be private, between the two of us, just her and me.
Even though I know it won’t stand a chance at capturing everything I’m feeling, I pull my phone out and snap a few pictures of Colette with her back turned. My phone is on silent, but sometime around the third pic, she seems to sense my presence and glances over her shoulder, a dreamy-sexy-happily surprised look in her eyes that makes me want to rush right back to my guitar and capture the spirit of that look.
Chip was right. I’ve got it bad. But when it feels this good, it’s hard to stress about it too much.
“Send me that later?” she asks as I cross to stand beside her. “I want to remember this moment. It’s so peaceful.” She links her arm through mine and kisses my shoulder with an easy intimacy that feels natural. Effortless. Just like her. “I think we’re going to have a beautiful time.”
“I agree.” I kiss the top of her head.
She sighs and leans against me, and I stop worrying about what lies ahead. As long as the present keeps feeling so damned perfect, I have a feeling the future will take care of itself.
Chapter Ten
Colette
Growing up, we didn’t go on vacation.
When my mom was clean, she worked one minimum wage job after another, and money was tight.
When she was using, it was even tighter.
But we lived by the beach in a village fifty miles north of Hidden Kill Bay, where the people who couldn’t afford Hidden Kill’s upscale shops and bougie bed and breakfasts came to play. In the summer months, when the tourists flooded into our seaside community and I got to go to the beach every day with my friends, I felt like the luckiest kid on the planet.
And then, in junior high, I landed the first of many full scholarships to an arts camp near Bangor and escaped to another world for a month every July.
Camp is where I met Theodora. Where I realized there were loads of people like me, dreamy souls who felt most at home when they were bringing the stuff of their imagination into the real world. Theo was in the cooking track, and I was in arts and crafts, but it didn’t matter—we were soul sisters from the start.
Creativity is creativity. It expresses itself in different forms, but the raw material swirling around inside a chef or a painter is made of the same stuff.
Ditto for musicians.
I cut a glance across the car to see Zack still scribbling away, filling page after page in a notebook he pulled out of his guitar case. I love that he’s feeling so inspired, that music is spilling out of him in waves, coming so fast he can barely keep up with the flood of inspiration.
It bodes well for his new album. And selfishly, I can’t help but feel that all this inspired energy bodes well for our other creative endeavor, as well.
If I were a baby, I’d want in on the excitement. Dad’s about to become an even more well-respected musician, Mom is stepping into her dream career as an interior designer, and both Mom and Dad are excited about starting a family, albeit a non-traditional one.
A baby could do a lot worse.
And if we have a child, he will definitely have some cool vacations with his dad, I think as I steer the car up the long, tree-smothered driveway to the retreat house.
“Oh wow,” I whisper, eyes going wide as the woods open to reveal a massive front lawn and a mansion straight out of an incredibly lovely…horror movie.
Zack looks up, huffing in surprise as he closes his notebook. “That isn’t what I was expecting.”
“It’s very elegant,” I say, trying to look on the bright side.
“And scary,” Zack adds, making it clear I’m not the only one who finds the ornate gingerbread decoration on the four-story Victorian a little…toothy. Each window is an open mouth sporting light-and-dark-blue fangs, and the stonework surrounding the front porch looks like gnarled fingers reaching out to snag unsuspecting victims.
“The colors are fun.” I point to the right of the building. “And there’s a tower room. How cool is that?”
“Very cool. Unless that’s where the ghosts live,” Zack says pleasantly. “Or the madwoman who’s planning to set fire to the place while we’re sleeping.”
“Jane Eyre.” I poke his leg affectionately. “That’s my favorite book of all time.”
He grins. “I pretended to hate reading it like the rest of the boys in eighth grade, but I liked it, too. I loved how deeply she felt things, you know?”
I nod enthusiastically as I pull into one of the three parking spots in front of the home and shut off the Tesla’s quiet engine. “Yes! Exactly. Every time I reread it, I feel like I’m living in her heart.”
Zack’s eyes light up as he flips the notebook open again. “You mind if I steal that line?”
“Of course not,” I say, watching him write it at the bottom of a page. “I’ll take forty-five percent of all royalties and a cut of merchandising.”
Laughing, he leans over and kisses me, whispering, “Done,” against my lips before reaching across my lap to open my door. “Let’s go see what we’re in for. If it’s too creepy, we can find a place to stay in town, and I can come out here to record.”
“Not a chance,” I say, blood fizzing from his kiss and my heart as floaty as its been all day. I know I’m high on sex chemicals and shouldn’t take these feelings too seriously, but I wouldn’t mind feeling like this every morning for a lot of mornings in a row. “I’ve never slept in a haunted hotel before.”
Zack circles around to the trunk while I grab my purse from the back seat. “We don’t know that it’s haunted.”
“Oh, it’s haunted,” I say, just as a deep voice behind me rumbles, “Most haunted mansion in upstate New York.”
With a squawk of surprise, I spin, pressing a hand to my chest as I laugh. “Oh my God, you scared me. Sorry.”
The man—an aging hippie-type in saggy corduroy pants, a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a paisley print, and kind blue eyes—grins, showcasing even white teeth at odds with his scraggly beard. “Sorry about that. I’ve got a soft step. Drives my wife crazy. Just came out to see if you needed any help with your bags. I’m Jed. My wife, Nancy, and I will be taking care of you during your stay. Anything you need, just let us know.”
Zack steps forward, his hand extended. “Zack Halloran.”
Jed laughs as he gives Zack’s hand a firm shake and claps him on the shoulder. “I know you, man. I’m jazzed to have you here. Love your work! Can’t wait to hear what you come up with while you’re with us.”
“Thanks,” Zack says, motioning my way. “And this is my friend Colette.”
Jed reaches for my hand, his warm, dry f
ingers closing around mine in what immediately feels like a hug from an old friend. “Honored to meet you, Colette.” His eyes crinkle as he adds, “I’m sure you’ve heard it a thousand times, but your eyes are incredible.”
“Thank you. I can’t take any credit for them, but—” I break off with a laugh as he releases my hand. “So why is it so haunted? What happened?” I grimace, my shoulders inching closer to my ears. “Unless it’s too scary. If it’s too scary, don’t tell me, or I’ll have nightmares.”
Jed shakes his head. “Nah, not too scary at all. All the ghosts here are friendly. The ones people see most often are a couple of sisters who died of consumption in the eighteen hundreds. But they passed together, surrounded by people who loved them, and when they’re spotted, they’re usually holding hands and playing a game, still enjoying each other’s company.”
I shiver as I glance up at the fanged windows, my stomach going tight. “How old were they?” I ask, already wishing I hadn’t probed him for details.
My imagination is way too active to sleep soundly in a place where people have seen ghost children roaming the halls.
“Seven and eight,” he says reverently, “bless their little souls. Don’t know why they haven’t moved on, but we light candles for them and put their pictures in our ofrenda every Día de Los Muertos to give them some love.” He nods toward the house. “My wife grew up in Patzcuaro, Mexico, so I hope you like Mexican food. Real Mexican, not that taco hell stuff.”
“I love it,” Zack says, casting a loaded glance my way. “How about you, Colette?”
“Never met a food I didn’t like,” I say, forcing a smile.
“And how about the other?” Zack presses, setting our suitcases down beside the car. “If the ghost stuff is going to upset you, we can find somewhere else to sleep.”
Jed makes a sad sound. “Oh, no, I’d hate for you guys to do that. We’ve got everything set up so cozy for you. And Nancy would kill me. She’s always telling me to keep the ghost shit to myself until people have slept here a few nights and realized there’s nothing to be afraid of. Even the pirate isn’t a bad guy. Kind of sketchy looking with his rotted teeth, but harmless.”
My brows shoot up. “A pirate?” I bleat.
Zack puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me gently to face him, murmuring, “Maybe hearing about the pirate isn’t the best choice right now? What do you think?”
“I think maybe you’re right,” I say, biting my lip. “I can’t decide what’s stronger, though, my curiosity about a real-life pirate or my desire to sleep soundly tonight.”
“We can find another place,” Zack repeats softly. “There’s no pressure. As long as I know I get to see you in the morning, I’ll be happy no matter where we sleep.”
My lips curve, and my chest fills with more happy bubbles. “Me, too.” I sigh, and the tension seeps from my shoulders. “I say we give it a try. If it gets too scary, we can always move later.”
“Perfect choice,” Jed says, taking Zack’s suitcase. “And you won’t have to move. You love birds are going to fit right in here.” He starts up the path to the front door, and Zack and I trail behind him. “Hope you don’t mind me sticking my nose in, but you’ve got great couple energy. I see big things for you. A lot of years, a lot of babies, maybe a farm.” He glances over his shoulder with a wink. “People think I’m crazy, but I have a sixth sense about stuff like this. It’s why I got ordained as an internet minister. I’ve had more than one couple ask me to do the honors.”
Zack arches a brow my way, but I shake my head. There’s no point in telling this sweet man that we’re not a couple—at least not in the marriage-in-our-future kind of way. Let him think whatever he wants, and I’ll cross my fingers that at least a part of his prophecy comes true.
Lots of babies would be amazing, but just one would be all I need to keep believing in miracles.
“You aren’t talking too much again, are you?” A petite woman with lively brown eyes appears in the front doorway, a dishtowel bunched in her hands. “I apologize for my husband. He has no filter.”
“I do, too,” Jed says good-naturedly as he pauses to kiss the top of the woman’s head. “It’s just a little loose, like the rest of me.”
She grins, tucking the towel under her arm as she swats his bottom with one hand. “Isn’t that the truth? Put the bags in the Rose Suite, Loosey Goosey, and we can move these lovely people later if they decide they prefer another room.” She extends a hand my way as Jed moves inside. “I’m Nancy. If you need anything practical while you’re here, ask me. Jed’s the best storyteller around, but he forgets anything he doesn’t write down, and he hasn’t written anything down since the eighties.”
“I resemble that remark,” Jed calls from deeper in the house as Nancy shakes Zack’s hand and bustles us inside for a tour of the ground floor that ends in the kitchen.
“I serve meals in the sunroom unless you specifically ask for service in the dining room,” she says, leading us through an unexpectedly modern kitchen adjacent to a glassed-in room filled with plants, cushy furniture, and a table for six. “It’s so pretty in there, and that table has the best view of the pool and the yard.”
“This will be great,” Zack says. “Are those fruit trees at the back of the property?”
Nancy nods. “Cherry and peach, and there’s an apple orchard over the rise and down the hill to the left. The cherries are peaking now, so pick as many as you like. And if you decide to extend your stay, we’ll have peaches ready soon. Either way, I have peach preserves from last year I’ll serve with your french toast tomorrow.”
“That sounds amazing, thank you,” Zack says, squeezing my hand. He looks as excited as I feel, which is kind of amazing considering he’s stayed in fabulous hotels all over the world.
I love that he can still appreciate this beautiful place and something as simple as peach preserves.
“There’s a trail into town behind the recording cottage,” Nancy says, squinting out the window. “It’s about three miles to the turnoff into Little River. Great on the way to dinner, but it can get chilly on the way back, and there aren’t any taxis up here in the boonies. But Jed is always up late—too many years on the road with the band to change him now—and he’s happy to come pick you up. His number is on the whiteboard by the door, so just program that into your cells when you get the chance.”
“I thought I recognized him,” I say, his familiar face snicking into place. “Jed played for The Holler Boys, didn’t he?”
Nancy turns to me, a surprised smile tugging the corners of her lips. “He did. But almost no one places him. Especially people your age.”
“My mom was a huge classic rock fan. I used to spend hours going through her records, studying the covers while the music played.” I bob a shoulder. “We didn’t have a television most of the time.”
“Homeschooled?” Nancy asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Something like that.”
She nods knowingly. “Ah, got ya. I had something like that, too. My dad lived in the U.S., but my brothers and I grew up with my mom in Mexico. Months when dad took a break from his other family and came down, we had shoes and clothes that fit and a working television. Months when we were out of sight, out of mind, not so much.”
I wince sympathetically. “Sorry about that.”
Nancy smiles and squeezes my arm. “No worries. I turned out okay. Looks like you did, too. And Jed was right, by the way, you two have great energy. You’re going to love it here.” She backs toward the glass door leading out onto the patio and the lawn beyond. “Make yourself at home and ring me at our place if you have any questions or concerns. Number’s on the whiteboard.” She motions across the backyard toward the pool. “Jed and I live back behind the pool house. Little cottage at the edge of the forest. You can’t see us from here—and we can’t see you—but we’re there whenever you need us.” She winks. “Don’t be shy. We’re both crazy in our way, but we don’t bite, and we love having comp
any.”
“Thanks so much,” Zack says, lifting a hand to Nancy as she steps out the door and starts across the grass. She’s nearly to the pool when Jed appears from around the left side of the house and calls her name. She stops, waiting for him to catch up before they circle around the pool house, walking hand in hand.
“I wonder how long they’ve been together?” Zack asks.
I turn to him, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smile. “I’m sure Jed would tell you.”
Zack grins. “I like him. I usually record alone, but I might ask him to run the booth for a few things. See how it goes.”
“Might be nice to have company,” I agree. “I’d do it for you, but I can’t be trusted with computers or machines.” He makes a strange face, and I cock my head. “What?”
“Nothing, I just… I don’t usually share songs with friends until after the album’s done. It’s a superstitious thing.”
“Oh.” I wave away my suggestion. “Of course. Whatever works. I don’t want to interrupt the genius.”
“I don’t know about genius, but I’m pretty pleased with what I’ve come up with so far.” He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close, making my nerve endings sing. “I hope you like them. When you hear them.”
“I have no doubt I will,” I murmur, linking my arms behind his neck. “I like everything about you so far, Mr. Halloran. Though I confess, I like you a tiny bit better when you have fewer clothes on.”
His gaze darkens. “Really? Like…no shoes?”
“No shoes is a good start.” I bite my bottom lip as he backs toward the living room, drawing me with him. “Though sadly, we might have to slow down on the constant sexy times if we’re serious about the baby-making.”
“Why’s that?” His hands slip up the back of my tube top, warm on my cool skin.
