I follow the path of Ridge’s finger with my eyes as he runs it back and forth over my stomach. We’ve been lying like this for five minutes now, him running his fingers in soft circles over my skin while he watches me. Every now and then, he kisses me, but we’re both too exhausted for round two.
I don’t even know how he’s still awake. He barely slept last night at my house because he stayed up writing that song for me, and then as soon as I got here an hour and a half ago, we came straight to the bedroom and have stayed fairly busy. It’s almost eight, and if I don’t eat dinner soon, I’m going to fall asleep right here in his bed.
My stomach growls and Ridge laughs, pressing his palm flat against my stomach. “You hungry?”
“You felt that?”
He nods. “Let me shower, and then I’ll figure out dinner.” He kisses me and rolls off the bed, heading for his bathroom. I find his T-shirt and pull it on before heading to the kitchen for something to drink. When I open the refrigerator, someone behind me says, “Hi.”
I yelp, and then I swing the refrigerator door wide open and try to hide my undressed bottom half behind it. Brennan is sitting on the couch, grinning.
So are the two guys from his band, whom I’ve still yet to be formally introduced to.
Brennan tilts his head. “The first night I met you, you weren’t wearing a shirt. And now a shirt is all you’re wearing.”
I can’t recall ever being this mortified in my life. I didn’t even put my panties on, and even though Ridge’s shirt covers my ass, I don’t know how to make it from here all the way back to his bedroom without losing my last shred of dignity.
“Hi,” I say, sticking my arm up over the door with a pathetic wave. “Do you guys mind looking away so I can find some jeans?”
All three of them laugh, but they look at the wall to spare me a few seconds to run back to Ridge’s room. As soon as I start to swing the refrigerator door shut, the front door flies open and Warren stomps into the apartment. I pull the refrigerator door open again to continue shielding
myself.
Bridgette storms into the apartment behind Warren, and then Warren slams the door. “Go!” he says, waving her away as she storms across the living room toward their bedroom. “Go hide in your room and give me the silent treatment like you always do!”
Bridgette slams their bedroom door. I look back at Warren, who is staring at Brennan and the other two guys on the couch. “Hey,” he says, still not noticing me. “What’s up?”
None of them are looking at Warren because I asked them to turn toward the wall, so Brennan is still staring at the wall when he says, “Hey, Warren.”
“Why are you staring at the wall?”
Brennan points toward the refrigerator, but continues to stare at the wall. “Waiting for her to run back to her room so she can put some clothes on.”
Warren swings his attention to me and his eyes immediately light up. “Well, what a sight for sore eyes,” he says, tossing his keys on the bar. “I know I see you all the time, but it’s good to finally see you back in this apartment.”
I swallow, doing my best to remain stoic. “It’s…good to be back, Warren.”
He points at the refrigerator door. “You really shouldn’t stand there with the door open like that. Ridge makes me split the bills with him now, and you’re wasting a lot of electricity.”
I nod. “Yeah. Sorry. But I sort of don’t have any pants on, and if you’d walk over there and stare at the wall with those guys, I’ll shut the door and go back to Ridge’s room.”
Warren tilts his head and then takes two steps toward me and leans to the right like he’s trying to look around the refrigerator door.
“See?” Bridgette yells from across the room, standing in Warren’s now- open doorway. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Warren! You flirt with everyone!” Their door slams again.
Warren rolls his head and sighs, then walks toward their bedroom. I use the opportunity to make a mad dash back to Ridge’s bedroom. I shut the door and lean against it, covering my face with my hands.
I’m never going back out there.
I make my way toward Ridge’s bathroom just as he opens the door. There’s a towel wrapped around his waist, and he’s drying his hair with another towel. I rush toward him and wrap my arms around him, burying my face against his chest as I squeeze my eyes shut. I just start shaking my head until he pulls me away from his chest so he can look at me. I can’t even imagine what he’s seeing because I’m groaning and frowning and laughing at my embarrassment.
“What happened?”
I point to the living room and then sign, “Your brother. Warren. The band. Here.” Then I motion toward my half-naked body and the fact that my butt cheeks are practically hanging out of his T-shirt. He eyes me up and down and then glances toward the living room, then looks at me again, squinting like he’s remembering something.
“The first time you met Brennan…you were wearing a bra. Now you’re wearing—”
“I know,” I groan, falling onto his bed. Ridge starts laughing while he pulls on his jeans. Then he leans forward and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he just slips his shirt over my head and pulls it off me. He’s fully dressed, and I’m even more naked than I was when I walked into the room. He hands me my clothes, and I know he wants to officially introduce me to the band, but I want to curl up into a ball and hide until everyone leaves.
I force myself to suck it up and get dressed because Ridge is smiling at me like this entire thing amuses him, and his smile makes me forget how embarrassed I am. The kiss he gives me when he pulls me toward the door makes me forget it even more.
When we walk back into the living room, Brennan is now sitting on the bar with his legs dangling, swinging back and forth. He grins at me, and it’s unnerving how much he and Ridge look alike, carry themselves so differently. Ridge walks me to the couch where the other two members of Sounds of Cedar are standing up to shake my hand.
“Spencer,” the tall brunette one says. He’s the drummer. I know this because I’ve seen them play. I’ve just never actually been introduced to them. “Price,” the other one says, shaking my hand. He plays lead guitar and sings backup vocals, and while the star of the band is definitely Brennan, I think Price gives him a run for his money. He’s got the rockstar swagger down, even though their music isn’t typically rock. It’s got a more pop/alternative vibe. But he could probably pull off any sound because he’s so charismatic on stage. Brennan sometimes takes a step back and lets him shine. “I’m Sydney,” I say, with a lot of forced confidence. “It’s so good to finally meet you guys. I’m a huge fan of the band.” I wave my arm across them and over to Brennan. “It’s so impressive how fast you guys get stuff
recorded.”
Price laughs and says, “Sydney, we’re all huge fans of yours. Ridge went through a pretty long dry spell until you came along.”
My eyes widen and I look over at Ridge, who is looking at Brennan, who is signing everything everyone is saying. Ridge immediately looks back at me, and then at Price.
“Dry spell?” Ridge says out loud.
“Lyrical dry spell,” Price says, clarifying what he meant. “I meant lyrical.” Now Price looks embarrassed.
God, this is so awkward.
“I’m hungry,” Brennan says, slapping his hands on the bar on either side of him. “Has anyone eaten?”
“Chinese sounds good,” I suggest.
Brennan picks up his phone and looks at it. “A girl who knows what she wants. I like it.” He pulls the phone to his ear. “Chinese it is. I’ll just order a shit-ton of everything.”
I try not to stare at him too hard. I just can’t get over how much he looks like Ridge physically, but with a completely different personality. Ridge is responsible and mature, and Brennan seems like he doesn’t give a shit. About anything. It’s like he doesn’t have a single care, yet his older brother takes on the burden of caring about every single thing.
“So, Bridgette and I are fighting, if you didn’t notice,” Warren says, taking a seat on the couch and scrolling through his texts. He looks up at me. “She says I flirt with other people too much.”
I laugh. “You do.”
Warren rolls his eyes and mutters, “Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“There are no sides when it’s a discussion of facts,” I say. “You flirt with me. You flirt with Bridgette. You flirt with the old lady who lives in my apartment building. Hell, you even flirt with her dog. You’re a flirt, Warren.”
“He flirts with me,” Spencer says.
Warren is still scrolling through his texts when he reads something that makes him pause. He laughs a little and then looks over at Ridge and Brennan. “Maggie went skydiving today.”
My breath catches at the mention of her name. Naturally, I look over at Ridge, who is leaning against the bar next to Brennan. Brennan covers his phone with his hand and says, “Good for her.”
Ridge just nods, expressionless, and says, “I know. She told me earlier.” He glances at me for a brief second and then looks down at his phone.
My mouth feels dry. I press my lips together. There was a moment earlier, when I came out of the bathroom and saw Ridge holding his phone with a torn expression. I had no idea what had caused him to react like he was. I assumed it was work.
But…it wasn’t work. It was Maggie. He was worried about Maggie.
I don’t like how I’m feeling right now. I pull my phone out of my pocket and try to busy myself, but I’m standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Brennan ends his call to the Chinese place, and Warren and Ridge are both looking at their phones. I suddenly feel out of place. Like I don’t belong in this living room with these people in this apartment. Brennan signs something to Ridge without speaking, and then they start a silent conversation with Warren that’s too fast for me to keep up with, which makes
me think they don’t want me to know what they’re saying. I try to ignore them, but I can’t help but look when Warren says, “You worry too much, man.”
“Typical Ridge,” Brennan says. As soon as he says that, Brennan looks at me and then at Ridge and then stiffens a little. “Sorry. Is that weird? We shouldn’t talk about Maggie. That’s weird.” He looks over at Warren, who brought up the entire conversation. “Shut the fuck up, Warren.”
Warren brushes off Brennan’s comment with a flippant wave in my direction. “Sydney’s cool. She’s not a PSYCHOTIC JEALOUS GIRLFRIEND LIKE SOME PEOPLE!” he yells toward his bedroom.
Two seconds later, Bridgette swings open the door and says, “I’m not your girlfriend. I broke up with you.”
Warren looks offended. And confused. He holds up his hands. “When?” “Right now,” Bridgette says. “I’m breaking up with you right now,
asshole.” She slams the door, and sadly, no one really pays it much attention. Some things haven’t changed a bit around here. Warren doesn’t even get up from the couch to chase after her.
I feel my phone vibrate, so I look at the text.
Ridge: Hi.
I glance over at him, and he’s sitting on the bar now, next to Brennan. They’re both swinging their legs, seated the same way, and Ridge looks completely adorable as he smiles at me. The looks he gives me are intoxicating. He motions for me to come stand with him, so I walk over to him. He spreads his legs wider, turning me until my back is against his chest. He kisses me on the side of my head and wraps his arms around my shoulders.
“Hey, Sydney,” Brennan says. “Did Ridge play you the song Price wrote?”
I glance at Price and then back at Brennan. “No, which one is it?”
Brennan signs for Ridge to play me the song, so Ridge holds his phone in front of me and searches his files.
“Even If Your Back Was Turned,” Price says from the couch.
“We just recorded it last week,” Brennan says. “I like it. I think it’ll do well. Price wrote it for his mommy.”
Price throws a pillow in Brennan’s direction. “Fuck you,” he says. He looks at me and shrugs. “I am a momma’s boy.”
I laugh, because he doesn’t look like your typical momma’s boy.
Ridge finds the song and presses play. He sets the phone on his thigh and then wraps his arms around me again as I listen. Almost as soon as it starts to play, the text notification goes off on Ridge’s phone. I look down at it.
Maggie: Guess what? I’m finally riding in a TESLA!!!
Ridge must see the text as soon as I hear it and read it, because his legs stop swinging and he stiffens. We’re both looking at the phone, and I know he’s waiting on my reaction, but I don’t know how I should react. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling right now. It’s just all too weird. I reach over and swipe up on her text so it’ll disappear. Then I pause the song and say to Price, “I’ll listen to it later. It’s too loud in here.”
Ridge wraps his arm tighter around my waist as he picks up his phone and begins texting with one hand. I don’t know if he’s responding to her or not, but I guess it’s not my business. Is it? I don’t even know if I should be mad. I don’t think I’m mad. Confused is a better word for it. Or maybe uncomfortable is the best way to describe what I’m feeling.
Ridge pulls on my hand so I’ll turn and look at him. I’m still standing between his legs, but this time I’m facing him, looking at him, trying not to let him read my thoughts. He puts his phone in my hand, and when I look at it to read whatever he’s written in his note app, he lowers his forehead to mine.
She’s my friend, Sydney. We text sometimes.
As I’m reading the note on his phone, his hands are sliding softly down my arms in a comforting gesture. It’s amazing how much more he can communicate non-verbally as a result of being so stifled by his verbal communication. By pressing his forehead to mine as I read what he typed, it’s as if he’s silently saying, “We’re a team, Sydney. You and me.”
And the way he’s sliding his hands down my arms is equivalent to a thousand verbal reassurances.
I expected that he still talks to Maggie. What I didn’t expect was for it to bother me like it is. But it’s not because I think Ridge and Maggie are in the wrong. It’s because I feel like I’ll always be the girl who came between them, no matter how friendly they remain. I can be friendly with every single friend Ridge ever has, but I’m not sure I could ever be friends with Maggie, so the fact that he is friends with her makes me feel like a third-wheel to that friendship.
It’s a strange feeling. And one I don’t like, so I can’t help but have a noticeable reaction. Especially to Ridge. He notices every non-verbal reaction I have because that’s the focus of his communication.
I hand Ridge’s phone back to him and force a smile, but I know my feelings are probably written all over my face. He pulls me in for a reassuring hug and then kisses the side of my head. I press my face against his neck and
sigh.
“God, you two are so cute together,” Brennan says. “It makes me want a girlfriend. For like a whole week, maybe.”
His comment makes me laugh. I pull away from Ridge and turn around, leaning my back into him again.
“You’re about to have one for more than a week,” Spencer says. “Sadie’s opening for us for the next two months.”
Brennan groans. “Don’t remind me.”
I welcome the distraction. “Who is Sadie?”
Brennan looks at me pointedly and says. “Sadie is Satan.”
“Her name is Sadie Brennan,” Warren says, standing up. “Not to be confused with Brennan Lawson. Coincidence that they share part of a name, and also a coincidence that Brennan thought she was a groupie the first time he met her.”
Brennan grabs a roll of paper towels off the bar and throws them at Warren. “It was an honest mistake.”
“I think this is a story I need to hear,” I say. “No,” Brennan says firmly.
At the same time Brennan says no, Warren pipes up and says, “I’ll tell it.” He flips one of the table chairs around backward and sits down, facing us. “Brennan has a routine,” Warren says and signs. “Sounds of Cedar isn’t a widely known band, but locally, you know they have a decent following. Quite a few fangirls who come to the meet-and-greets after the shows.”
Warren is signing everything for Ridge, so it makes me laugh when Brennan’s head falls back and he groans, then signs, “Shut up,” at the same time he says it. It’ll never get old that they sign everything for Ridge. It’s like it’s second nature and they don’t even realize they’re doing it. That’s my goal. I want to learn to communicate that way to the point where Ridge and I have absolutely no barriers.
“Sometimes after the shows, if Brennan thinks a girl is cute, he’ll slip her a note with his hotel information, asking if she wants to chat in private. Five times out of ten, they show up an hour later at his hotel room door.”
“Ten times out of ten,” Brennan corrects. God, he and Ridge are so different.
Warren rolls his eyes and continues. “Sadie happened to be one of the girls he slipped a note to. But what he didn’t know was that she wasn’t at his meet and greet as a fan. She was there looking to talk with him about a gig. And what she didn’t know is that Brennan slips someone his number after every show with the intention of hooking up. She thought he slipped her a note because he wanted to chat with her about opening for the band on our upcoming tour. So, when she showed up at his hotel room that night, let’s just say there was a lot of confusion.”
I look at Brennan, and he’s running his hand down his face like he’s embarrassed. “Dude, I hate this story.”
He might hate it, but I’m enjoying the hell out of it. “What happened?” Brennan groans. “Can’t we just end the story here?”
“No,” Warren says. “This is where it gets good.”
Brennan looks so embarrassed, but he continues the story himself. “Let’s just say it took her a few seconds to realize what I assumed she was there for, and it took me more than a few seconds to realize she wasn’t there because she wanted me to take off her shirt.”
“Oh, no. That poor girl.”
Brennan makes a face. “Poor girl my ass. I told you she’s Satan. She makes Bridgette look like an angel.”
“I heard that,” Bridgette yells from her room. Brennan shrugs. “It’s true.”
“She’s not that bad,” Price says to Brennan. “She just hates you.” “But…she’s opening for you guys on the next tour? She must not hate you
too much,” I say.
Brennan shakes his head. “No, she definitely hates me. But she also has mad talent. That’s the only reason why she got the gig.”
“Do you have any of her songs?” I ask. “I want to hear one.”
Brennan scoots closer to us and hands me his phone after pulling up a YouTube video. Ridge scoots me over and hops off the bar to set out plates for the Chinese food. I can’t help but stare at the video on Brennan’s phone in complete awe. The girl is really pretty. And she’s super talented. I watch the first video, and then another, and then a third before I realize Brennan hasn’t moved a muscle. He can pretend he isn’t into her all he wants, but he holds his breath through every video, never taking his eyes off the screen.
We’re watching the fourth video when the food arrives. We all make our plates and sit around the table. It’s the first meal Ridge and I have eaten together as a couple. He’s sitting right next to me with his left hand on my thigh. We’ve eaten a lot of meals at this table together while forcing ourselves to sit as far apart from each other as we possibly could. It feels good to finally be able to touch him—sit close to him—and not fight everything inside me that was growing.
I like this.
The door to the bathroom between Warren and Bridgette’s old bedroom swings open. Bridgette is standing in a towel, sopping wet from the shower. Her eyes scan the table until she finds Warren, and then she tosses something at him, hitting him in the chest. Whatever it is falls onto his plate. Then the door slams.
Everyone looks at Warren. He picks up the block of whatever she just threw at him and stares at it for a second. Then he sniffs it. His head slowly
turns toward Ridge.
“Cheese? You put cheese in my shower?”
I look at Ridge, and he’s attempting to force back a smile.
Warren sniffs the cheese again and then takes a small bite of it. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying not to gag. Does he not realize that Bridgette had to rub that block of cheese on some part of her body before realizing it wasn’t soap?
Warren sets the cheese on his plate like he just received a free course with his meal.
As disgusting as some of them are, I’ve missed their pranks so much. I squeeze Ridge’s leg to let him know that was a clever one.
When we finish eating, I text Ridge and tell him I should go. I have an early day tomorrow, and it’ll be after ten by the time I get home. I tell all the guys goodbye, and Ridge walks me down. When we reach my car, he opens my door but doesn’t kiss me goodbye. He waits for me to sit, and then he walks around to the passenger side and takes a seat.
He grabs my phone that I just placed in the console and hands it to me.
Ridge: You okay?
I nod, but he doesn’t look convinced. I don’t know how to say, “Stop having friends!” without feeling a little like Bridgette.
Ridge: Does it bother you?
He doesn’t even have to specify what he’s talking about. We both know. And I don’t know how to answer him. I don’t want to be that jealous girlfriend who takes issue with every single thing, but how can I not be jealous when there’s still a part of me that’s envious of Maggie?
Ridge: Please be honest, Syd. I want to know what you’re thinking.
I sigh, thankful he cares enough to talk about it but also wishing we could brush it under the rug at the same time.
Sydney: It’s uncomfortable. It bothered me that you seemed so worried about her. But it would also bother me if you didn’t care. So, it’s just…weird. It’s going to take time to get used to, I guess.
Ridge: I do worry about her. And I care about her. But I am not in love with her, Sydney. I’m in love with you.
When I finish reading his text, he leans across the seat and takes my face in his hands. “I love you.”
The sincerity in his expression makes me smile. “I know you do. I love you, too.”
He stares at me for a moment, searching for any remaining doubt in my expression. Then he kisses me goodnight. When he gets out of the car, he takes the stairs two at a time. He reaches the top and texts me again.
Ridge: Let me know when you make it home safe. And thank you. Ridge: For being you.
When I look up, he smiles and then disappears inside his apartment. I watch his door for a moment and then drop my phone in my purse, just as someone knocks on my window. I jump and press my hand to my chest. When I look out my window, I roll my eyes.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Hunter is standing at my driver’s side window, looking at me expectantly. I forgot he even frequented this apartment complex. I guess that means he’s still with Tori. I stare at him for a moment and feel absolutely nothing. Not even anger.
I put my car in reverse and back up, pulling away from the complex without looking back. The only way to look now is forward.
•••
Ridge: You asleep?
I look at the time stamp on his text. He just sent the message two minutes ago. I pull the towel off my head and run my fingers through my hair before I text him back.
Sydney: Nope. Just got out of the shower. Ridge: Oh, yeah? So you’re naked?
Sydney: I have a towel on. And no, you aren’t getting a pic.
Ridge: I don’t want a pic. I want you to open your front door and let me in.
I glance toward the living room, then look back down at my phone. He’s here? I only left his apartment an hour ago. I rush to the living room with worry in the pit of my stomach. I hope nothing is wrong. Surely Hunter didn’t do anything stupid after I pulled away.
I look through the peephole and there he is, staring at the door. I leave the
living room light off since I’m opening the door with only a towel on. Ridge slips inside my apartment. I close the door, it’s dark, I’m suddenly no longer wearing a towel. Ridge’s mouth is on mine and my back is against the living room wall.
Ridge isn’t really the type to just show up without telling me first, but I don’t mind it.
I don’t mind it at all.
What I do mind is that he’s dressed and I’m not.
I pull off his shirt and unbutton his jeans. His mouth is everywhere, but his hands have me caged against the wall. He kicks off his pants and then picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He starts toward the bedroom, but realizes we’re way closer to the couch, so he turns and lowers me to the sofa.
We’re still kissing when he lowers himself on top of me, and then he’s inside me and it’s incredible. I am so in love with this man.
He stops kissing me for a moment, so I let my head fall back onto the cushion, and I relax as he kisses my neck. When he reaches my mouth again, he pulls back and stares down at me. He brushes my hair back, and there’s just enough light from the window shining down on us so that I can see every emotion in his eyes. He’s looking at me with so much feeling when he says, “I love you, Sydney.” He pauses above me so that I’m focused on his words and nothing else. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”
I close my eyes because the impact of his words hits me everywhere. I had no idea how much I wanted those words. Needed those words. And he knows I would never ask him to admit that or compare us to his last relationship, but here he is, wanting to diminish any shred of doubt I might have had while at his apartment tonight. I repeat his words silently, never wanting to forget this moment. This feeling. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”
His warm mouth presses gently against mine, and his tongue slides past my lips, delicately searching for mine. When I kiss him back, I wrap my hand in his hair and pull him as close as I can. For the next several minutes, Ridge proves to me just how much I mean to him without speaking or signing another word.
Even when it’s over, several minutes go by with our lips still connected. Every time he tries to stop kissing me, he can’t. It’s just one kiss after another after another. He eventually buries his face against my neck and sighs against my skin. “Can I spend the night with you?”
His question makes me laugh. I don’t know why. It just feels like it’s a given at this point. As soon as I nod, he grabs my arms and pulls me up with him, then lifts me and carries me to the bedroom. He lays me on the bed and then crawls under the covers with me, wrapping his bare legs around me. I love that neither of us are dressed. This is a first.
I kiss him on the nose and want to sign to him, but it’s dark. He also can’t read lips in the dark, so I grab my phone.
Sydney: That was completely unexpected.
Ridge: Do you prefer your boyfriend to be more predictable?
Sydney: I prefer my boyfriend to be you. That’s really my only requirement. Just be Ridge Lawson and you can date me.
Ridge: I’m pretty good at being Ridge Lawson. You’re in luck.
We are so cheesy. I hate us and love us.
Sydney: Unexpected or predictable, I like all the versions of you.
Ridge: I like all the versions of you, too. Even if the rest of our lives were predictable, I’d never get tired of you. We could live the same day over and over and I’d just ask for more. Sydney: Like Groundhog Day. I feel the same way.
Ridge: You make routine something I actually look forward to. If you told me you wanted us to go wash dishes together right now, I’d get excited.
Sydney: What if I asked you to do laundry with me? Would that excite you?
The light from our phones makes it possible for me to see him when he looks at me. He nods slowly, like the thought of doing laundry with me turns him on. I grin and look back at my phone.
Sydney: Would you look forward to eating the same meal every single day? Ridge: I would if I were eating it with you.
Sydney: Would you be able to drink the same drink every single day?
Ridge: If I were drinking it with you, I would still be thirsty for it on my deathbed. Sydney: Oh, that’s a good line. Keep going.
Ridge: If I could hear music, I would listen to the same song over and over and never tire of it as long as I was listening to it with you.
I laugh.
Sydney: I see you still have the same self-deprecating deaf jokes you’ve always had.
Ridge reaches out and touches my mouth. “And you have the same beautiful smile you’ve always had.” His thumb runs over my bottom lip, but his eyes grow intense as he stares at my mouth. “Same smile…same laugh.” He pulls his hand from my mouth and lifts up. “This feels like a song,” he says. As soon as he says it, he rolls over and turns on the lamp. “Paper?” He
opens my top drawer. He doesn’t find paper, but he finds a pen. He faces me with a look of urgency. “I need paper.”
I roll off the bed and walk to my desk. I grab a legal pad and a book for him to place it on. He grabs them out of my hands before I’m even seated back on the bed; then he starts writing lyrics. I’ve missed watching this so much. He writes a few sentences, and I lean over his shoulder and watch him.
Same seats on the couch Same drinks when we go out Same smile, same laugh
You know I’ll never get enough of that
He pauses for a moment, then he looks at me. He smiles and hands me the pen. “Your turn.” It feels like old times. I take the pen and the legal pad and think for a moment before adding my own lines.
Same clothes on the floor Same dog at our door Same room, same bed
I wouldn’t wish for anything instead
He’s staring at the lyrics when he hops off the bed and starts looking around the floor. “Jeans?” he says. I point to the living room. He nods, like he forgot we came to my bedroom naked. He points over his shoulder. “Guitar. My car.” He rushes out of my room, and a minute later, I hear him walk out my front door. I look at the page and read through the lyrics again. I have two more sentences written when he makes it back to my bedroom with his guitar.
When everything is changing Baby you’re written in stone
He sets his guitar on the bed and looks over the lyrics, then motions for the pen. He tears out the lyrics and starts writing out chords and notes on another page. This is my favorite part. This is the magic—watching him hear a song that doesn’t even have sound and doesn’t even exist yet. The pen is flying over the paper frantically. He pulls the lyrics back in front of him and starts adding to them.
Feels like we made it
Got something of our own Maybe it’s predictable But I can’t complain
With you and me All I need
Is more of the same More of the same
He hands me the notepad and pen and picks up his guitar. He starts playing, and I’m reading the lyrics, wondering how he does this with such little effort. Just like that, he’s created a new song. An entire song from nothing more than a few sentences and a little inspiration.
I begin to write another verse while he plays the chords.
Same songs in the car
We never need to go too far and I won’t leave you alone
Just stay the same baby I’ve always known that
When everything is changing Baby you’re written in stone Feels like we made it
Got something of our own Maybe it’s predictable But I can’t complain
With you and me
All I need is more of the same More of the same
When I finish writing the chorus again, he reads it all. Then he hands me the lyrics and leans back against my headboard. He motions for me to sit between his legs, so I crawl over and turn my back toward him as he pulls me against him and wraps his guitar around us. He doesn’t even have to ask me to sing the song. He starts playing, leaning his head against mine, and I start singing the song for him so that he can perfect it.
The first time he played for me, we were sitting like this. And just like that first day, I am completely in awe of him. His concentration is inspiring, and the way he creates such a pleasing sound that he can’t even hear makes it hard for me to focus on the lyrics. I want to turn around and watch him play. But I also like that we’re wrapped together on my bed and I’m caged against him by his guitar and every now and then, he kisses the side of my head.
I could do this every night with him and still want more of the same.
We sing and play the song about three times, and he pauses to make notes between each run-through. After the fourth and final time, he tosses the pen on the floor and then pushes his guitar to the other side of the bed. Then he turns me around so I’m straddling his lap. We’re both smiling.
It’s one thing for a person to find their passion, but it’s another thing
entirely to be able to share that passion with the person you’re passionate about.
It’s fun and intense and I think we’re both realizing for the first time that we get to do this together all the time. Write songs, kiss, make love, be inspired to write more songs.
Ridge kisses me. “This is my new favorite song.” “Mine, too.”
He slides both hands to my cheeks and bites his lip for a second. Then he clears his throat. “With you and me…all I need…is more of the same.”
Oh, my God. He’s singing. Ridge Lawson is serenading me. And it’s terrible because he’s so out of tune, but a tear falls from my eye because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed or heard or felt.
He wipes my tear away with his thumb and smiles. “That bad, huh?”
I laugh and shake my head, and then I kiss him harder than I’ve ever kissed him because there is no way I can verbally express my love for him right now. Instead, I love him silently. He doesn’t even break the kiss when he reaches behind him and turns off the lamp. He pulls the covers over us and then tucks my head under his chin as he wraps himself around me.
Neither of us says I love you before we fall asleep.
Sometimes two people share a silent moment that feels so deep and so powerful, a simple phrase such as I love you risks losing all prior meaning if spoken aloud.
