Page 9 of Falls From Grace
“What is?”
“This. The discomfort. The confusion. The loss. The weirdness of something new. It’ll be our first song.”
“It will?” She listened to their footfalls, the crunch of fallen leaves on the path. He nodded. His easy confidence was kind of warming.
“Yeah,” he said. “This moment right now in the woods. Both of us uncomfortable… maybe lost.” He looked around at the trees and she found herself laughing. “Soak it up for a minute. Just… feel it.” Somewhere inside she felt kind of stupid as well as slightly annoyed at the California hippiness of being told to feel her feelings, but she nodded, and they trudged in silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the ceaseless whisper of the trees. She let herself soak it all in.
“I need a guitar,” she said after a while, a sense of restless energy tickling at her empty hands.
“Now we’re talking.” Noah whirled around, the same energy lighting up his eyes. They sped up the pace back to the house and right back into the band room, this time with something firing between them.
Two hours later, he put down his guitar and considered her closely.
“Let’s not force it,” he said. “We’ve got the beginnings of something. Like… the vibe.”
“The vibe.” Savannah wanted to murder him. It must have been obvious, because Noah threw up his hands in surrender.
“I can feel it,” he insisted. “Can’t you? The song is right… there. But we’re working too hard and we’re new at this and we’re blocking it from coming through.”
To her surprise, Savannah knew exactly the feeling he meant; she was feeling it too. It was like trying to remember a dream as it slipped further and further away from you the harder you tried. Dreams and songs used a different part of your brain than thinking. They couldn’t force their way back into this.
“Let’s take a break,” she agreed. Noah sprung to his feet like a man saved. They both headed back up the stairs, agreeing to meet back in an hour. She slipped out the door again, this time heading for the lake. The sun was just sinking behind the mountains, the beginnings of darkness creeping in. She took the big stone steps at almost a run, desperate for the solitude of the quiet lake edge and endless expanse of water. She burst onto the small pebbled beach, allowing her lungs to fill with a desperate, heady gasp.
“Shit!” A voice rang out. Savannah whirled around to see that her tiny private beach had an intruder. “God, sorry, you scared me.” Noah’s wife was perched on a boulder near the water. Savannah’s boulder, the one where she always went to think. “I didn’t expect to see anyone and then you came crashing out of the woods and I thought you were a bear!”
The tension escaped her in a sudden laugh. Brynn was holding her chest and looking actually frightened. “There aren’t any bears in these woods,” Savannah told her. She walked closer. “Just cranky old country singers.”
“That’s even scarier.” Brynn widened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to crash your beach time or whatever.”
“No, it’s okay.” Savannah surprised herself by hoisting herself up on the boulder next to the other woman. “Make yourself at home. You may be here for some time,” she sighed. Brynn turned her head to look at her. Her dark hair was tied back, tousled by the wind, and her eyelashes were so long they cast their own shadows in the fading light. Savannah looked at them more closely. God, they were real.
“Songwriting kicking your ass?” Brynn said lightly, as if it wasn’t a case of Savannah’s entire life and hopes of a career all crumbling before them. She checked her irritation, paused for a moment, and let Brynn’s lightness take hold.
“Kicking my ass, kicking Noah’s ass, and I’m pretty sure he wants to kick my ass about now,” she admitted, tucking her own hair back as the breeze tried to wrap it into her eyes. The cold air stung, the freshness like a balm after the frustration in the band room.
“Huh,” said Brynn. “Beware the fury of a patient man,” her lips curved into a smile and she pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. Everything seemed to go still.
“What did you just say?” Savannah’s voice was low.
“Oh, nothing. Just a thing my dad used to say. Noah actually doesn’t experience fury; he’s made of marshmallows.”
“No- please… say it again,” she said urgently, staring at the woman’s face. Her heart was racing, something flaring deep in her chest at the sound of the words. Brynn cocked her head and looked at her with concern.
“Beware the fury of a patient man?” she asked. Savannah stared at her for a beat longer, the words echoing in her ears. Before she could stop herself, she’d grabbed the other woman by her surprisingly strong shoulders and smacked a jubilant kiss on her forehead before jumping down off the boulder, her boots crunching in the pebbles.
“Thank you!” she called over her shoulder at the woman left sitting stock still on the lake shore as she raced back up the granite steps.
Forty-five minutes later, Noah re-entered the band room to find her, guitar in her hands, notebook open on the floor before her. “Listen to this!” she cried jubilantly and began to sing.
Chapter Five
The morning sunlight was strong enough for Brynn to voluntarily choose to step outside. She congratulated herself on acclimatizing from California, even if she was currently wearing a tank top and Noah’s long-sleeved V-neck under her sweater. She’d knocked back the proffered shopping tour for winter clothes and, so far, wasn’t regretting it. Especially right now as the sun shone, and she dug into a plate of chef-provided eggs, toast, hash browns and spinach, with perhaps the world’s best black coffee, seated alone at the big outdoor table on the back patio.
The velvety lawn glowed blindingly in the light and the lake sparkled blue and silver from beyond. Brynn had decided that maybe today she’d venture out and explore the surrounding woods. She’d slept like a baby for the second night in a row in the humongous white bed, Noah not returning from his writing session until well after she was asleep. She’d left him snoring as she ventured out for breakfast.
“Howdy partner.” The door opened behind her and out he walked, a modest bowl of something green in hand.
“Don’t let anyone hear you talk like that,” she hushed him. He sat down opposite her, looking mildly wounded.
