Page 43 of Falls From Grace
“We have to tell her.” Brynn leaned forward, her stomach tight as she prepared to plead with him. “We have to tell Savannah the truth about us.”
Noah blanched.
“Brynn, no,” he said urgently. “She’s going to hate us.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I can’t keep this up any more. She deserves to know. I need her to know.”
Noah stared at her.
“Brynn.” His voice was flat and as close to angry as Noah ever got. “I told you not to catch feelings for her. I went out on a limb for you…I’m risking a lot here to help you out. I don’t want to fuck up all we’ve worked for just because you can’t keep it in your pants. We’re going to get through this, and we’re going to be professionals, and then we’re going to leave.”
“Noah.” Her voice was hoarse. “I don’t want to screw anything up for you. But I can’t lie to her anymore. And you can’t either. It was one thing when we didn’t even know her, but now we both care about her. I know it’s a risk, but she deserves better. You know she does.”
He looked her in the eyes for a long minute. Then he sighed.
“Shit. This is serious for you, isn’t it?” He kept his voice low, glancing over to where Savannah knelt at the window, smiling down at her son who was chatting and pointing at the clouds.
“I’m… I’m beyond falling for her,” Brynn admitted softly. “I know - I don’t have a chance with her, but- ”
“Brynn,” sighed Noah. “You absolutely have a chance with her.”
Brynn bit her lip, staring down at her hands. She wished she shared Noah’s conviction. For all she knew, Savannah was in fact what she appeared on paper to be: a straight woman who enjoyed teasing another woman who she also thought was straight. Maybe what Brynn was interpreting as crackling chemistry and a deeper connection between them was all coming from her own desperate want.
But, a little voice nagged at her, the way Savannah occasionally blushed around her, the immensely soft look in her eyes she got sometimes? The way she let her gaze drill into Brynn when she sang that unbearably sexy song, rocking her hips forward just so? There was always just enough hope to keep her tantalized.
“Look,” Noah said, spreading out his hands. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. We should tell her. But not today, okay? She’s about to head into the studio to record her first solo tracks. She’s pumped. She’s happy. She’s in the right headspace. We can’t fuck with that. As soon as recording is over, if you’re sure you want to go ahead with it, we’ll sit her down and tell her,” he promised. “Or, I guess maybe you should tell her yourself, depending on what you’re planning to say.” He raised his eyebrows.
Brynn considered it. The idea of keeping the stupid pretense up of being Noah’s wife for even an hour longer seemed terrible. Not when Savannah was being so… Savannah all the time. She thought of her teasing glance and flirty remarks in the bedroom the morning after they’d first written together. Of Savannah offering warmth and courage, her body pressed up against Brynn’s only minutes ago. Did Brynn have a chance? She was terrified to find out, but she desperately wanted the freedom to make a move if she could ever get up the courage.
But Noah was right. Brynn would never forgive herself if the confession went badly and the news threw Savannah off her game right when she needed to be focused.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Not until after the recording is over.”
At that moment Savannah looked over and caught her eye and smiled. Brynn’s breath caught.
“Oh dude,” Noah whispered. “You’re so fucked.”
From the airport, a limo whisked them away to Savannah’s compound on the outskirts of Nashville. The grounds that awaited them made Vermont look practically quaint in comparison. Brynn squinted at the expansive, lush green surrounds and the huge modern mansion, a glamorous feat of polished concrete and spectacular plate glass.
Discreet staff arrived, as if by magic, transporting baggage and guitar cases and ushering Brynn and Noah to their very own extensive guesthouse beyond the gigantic blue swimming pool. Nashville was significantly less freezing than Vermont. What would have felt like a solid winter to her once was practically balmy in comparison to where they’d been. Brynn was almost sad to leave her new winter jacket in the closet.
For the next three days, she barely saw Savannah at all. Savannah had abruptly dismissed her from her nannying duties for a couple of days, with the instruction just to relax and enjoy exploring Nashville. Noah took her downtown, where they ate amazing ribs in famous restaurants, drank - or didn’t drink - in famous bars and listened to up-and-comers playing on every damn street corner. Brynn had never in her life even thought about the city before and she felt half in love with it already. Almost everyone spoke in the same soft, woozy accent Savannah had, and that in itself was almost enough to make her want to move in for good.
But also… the music. She’d walk into a bar and get blown away by someone on a tiny stage with more talent in their pinky finger than Brynn could hope for in her entire life, and they were just the opening act. She felt like an unbearable pretender taking out the little blue notebook Savannah had given her, but still, lyrics kept pouring out of her. Some wall that had held back a dam within her had burst, and there was no going back.
She missed having a piano, but she strummed things out sufficiently enough on Noah’s guitar, sitting on the side of the bed back in the guesthouse and staring out at the pool. She recorded snippets on her phone just to stop them escaping. She wanted, as always, to share them with Savannah, but other than brief text messages checking in, it was like she’d disappeared entirely. Tomorrow was Thursday, and Brynn expected she’d be even less available, now the band was arriving and recording was set to begin.
“Knock knock.” As if her longing were a prayer, all of a sudden Savannah was standing right there at the bedroom door. Brynn scrambled to her feet, dislodging the guitar.
“Hey!” she said, drinking her in. It felt unbelievably good to lay eyes on her after days apart. Savannah’s hair was scooped up in a messy bun, a soft black designer sweater exposed her delicate collarbones and half a bare shoulder, while tight ripped black jeans showed tiny glimpses of skin. A rose gold necklace with a tiny matching pendant glistened in the hollow of her throat. She wore makeup for the first time in Brynn’s presence, her eyeliner a perfect winged cat-eye. She looked beautiful, sophisticated and rock’n’roll all at once. So this was Nashville Savannah. Brynn wanted to touch the nape of her neck, tuck back a golden strand of her hair, thread a finger through the belt loop of her jeans, anything, everything to casually and explicitly claim her.
“Brynn.” Savannah was shaking her head. “Are you for real?” Brynn blinked, suddenly worried her desires were screamingly obvious. “You play guitar as well?” She was looking over at the discarded guitar on the bed.
“Oh, barely,” she denied. “Just enough.”
“I’m starting to realize that you understate pretty much everything about yourself,” Savannah leaned against the doorframe, “so I suspect you’re actually pretty good at that, too.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you there.” Brynn shifted her weight on each foot, shaking out her aching muscles. She’d been writing longer than she’d thought.
