“Most of the words are there.”
“I’m struggling with the composition.”
“You weren’t meant to do it on your own.” I tilt my head back to see his eyes better. “I’m sorry I hid the last few days. I don’t know if it’s obvious or anything, but that’s kind of my go-to move when things freak me out.”
“I’ve picked up on that.” His smile is dry. “I was trying to give you space, but everything I’ve done with the melody feels wrong. It would be easier if we did it together, so I have a better idea about the vibe you want to go with.”
A gentle breeze tickles the back of my neck as I nod slowly. “We can do that. Did you bring your guitar?”
“Here?” He tucks his chin in surprise, but a smile spreads over his mouth. “Actually, yeah. I have one in the back seat. It’s old, but it’ll work.”
I don’t question why he has an instrument at the ready. Benny’s a musician. Even if he stepped away a decade ago, that kind of thing doesn’t just leave your blood. I watch him retrieve the guitar from the truck before I head to the back and let the tailgate down, then hop up and let my legs swing.
The truck dips when Benny sits beside me. He settles the guitar on his lap and strums. “Do you remember the words?”
“Not perfectly.”
“They’re in my phone.” He pulls up the notes app and finds the lyrics we came up with together, then hands it over. When I read over the words, a sick feeling settles in my gut. This is more than an apology; it’s giving far more credit to Jaida than she deserves.
I swallow my reservations and sing the first few lines. Then I try them again another way.
“Wait,” Benny says. “I like that.” He strums, singing it back, and we’re off.
There’s a sort of Benny-Bree magic that happens when we write music together. It happened when we wrote the words to the song, and it’s happening again now as we formulate the music. The only other time I’ve experienced this was when we were teens writing together, and I haven’t shared this kind of alchemy with anyone since. I don’t sing anything I don’t connect with, but I haven’t written with another person like this ever. Ideas and thoughts and sound rapidly bounce between us, and my mind feels caught up in a musical, glowy haze. Time doesn’t exist in this bubble. It’s only music and rolling hills and cows and my weightless, swinging legs, and the occasional whiff of Benny’s cologne.
I’m drunk on music and the warm sunlight. Despite how much I can’t stand Jaida, I love this song immensely. It’s taking shape into something beautiful.
It’s a shame it has to be about her.
“Why are you frowning?”
Benny’s question pulls me from my thoughts. I was picturing her the last time we were in the same room together and the way she’d lied to me, how much of a fool I’d allowed myself to be. I shake my head softly. “It doesn’t matter. You mentioned you’re willing to produce the song. Does that mean you know of a studio nearby? I don’t know how we’ll keep things under wraps once we book a space.”
“Won’t your label need to be part of that decision? Or do you plan on handing them a completed song and hoping they accept it?”
I bite my lip. “So, my contract is up.”
“Seriously?”
“The new single fulfilled my final requirement, and we’re done. I’m a free agent now.”
“Bree, that’s amazing.” His face brightens, and he’s truly happy for me, adding to the glowy feeling in my chest.
“Do you have a place we can record?”
“Yeah, I know the perfect place, and we can probably get in and do it all ourselves after hours.”
“You really do know a guy.”
“I have a buddy in Sebastopol with a studio. I’ll talk to him and see what I can do.”
I nod, closing my eyes and tipping my head back to face the sun. Is it possible to cancel the song and stay in this moment forever? Never leave Bodega Bay at all? Benny hasn’t left my side. His grandma is still on my team. Maybe they’ve lost respect for me, I don’t know—they’re definitely disappointed in some of my choices, and that’s a shame I have to live with. But I’m starting to believe this little world could absorb me, that I could stay, that they could shuffle their things aside and make room for me.
Even as I think those things, reality hammers down in quick succession. Colby needs his house back. Benny has a life outside of squiring me around the beach and the countryside. Mrs. Rhodes can’t take care of me forever. What’s nice right now isn’t sustainable in the long term.
There’s a soft clink as Benny sets his guitar on the truck bed behind us. I blink, watching a rusty red truck drive down a dirt road and meet up with the lane we’re parked on. The farmer lifts a hand to wave as he passes, and we both wave back.
My body yearns to be part of this world. I’m desperate for it. I’d give up all my Tiffany earrings and Louboutin heels to stay here anonymously, forever.