Tempt Me Like This

She held his gaze, as fiercely strong and passionate as she’d been that morning with the executives. “What’s the truth, Drew?”

His mom would have asked him that same question, just like that. No pauses. No trying to make it all easier.

“The truth is that I’ve always loved writing and playing songs. I never had to think about it, never had to try, it was just always there. I knew the sound I wanted to make and I made it. And it was great when I found out other people liked it, too. Liked it enough to come out and see me and download my demos online. When the label wanted to sign me, it was just another thing I didn’t have to think about. But maybe I should have.” Though she was frowning, she waited for him to continue his thought. He liked that about her, how she knew when to push and when to pause. “It’s great most of the time, but sometimes...sometimes it’s like being in a cage. A really nice one, with plush leather seating and a built-in coffee maker.” He was glad when she smiled at that, and it made it easier to continue. “Back when my mom was alive, she would ask me, ‘Are you happy?’”

“Are you?”

“Right now? Here with you?” He stroked her cheek again. “Yes. I’m happy.”

When the pad of his thumb brushed over her lower lip, she closed her eyes for a moment, and he could feel the ragged breath she inhaled. But a moment later she was opening her eyes and asking, “What about tonight, on stage? Were you happy then?”

“I tried to be. I wanted to be.” He pulled away, hating that he didn’t know how to put words to it. “Those songs, my songs—like I said, I never had to think about them. They were just there and they felt right. But now... Now they don’t feel totally right anymore.”

“Only ‘One More Time’ does, doesn’t it?”

“It shouldn’t. It doesn’t sound like the rest of my songs. Doesn’t sound like anything the label wants. Doesn’t sound like anything on the radio right now. Doesn’t sound like what I’m sure Smith Sullivan wants me to do for his movie soundtrack. It’s why I haven’t written anything else.” His hands were fisted now at his sides in frustration. In anger at himself for being so screwed up. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”

“Yes, you do. The one new song you’ve written is amazing. Yes, you break our hearts, but you’re breaking them in the best possible way.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “Do you want to know what I hear in your song?”

He was almost afraid to say yes, but he was done hiding out from the truth. At least this one. Because he knew he still needed to fight the incredible temptation to kiss her. “Tell me, Ash. I need to know what you hear.”

“I hear the kid whose demos I downloaded from the Internet when I was fifteen. I hear the rock star whose music has taken over the world. And then, blended in perfectly with everything else, I hear the son who learned every folk song on the planet for his mother. Because she loved those songs and he loved her.” He felt as though she was looking straight into his soul as she said, “Somewhere along the way, you fell in love with those songs, too, didn’t you? With that sound?”

It was one of those rare moments when things suddenly became so clear you wondered why you hadn’t seen it before.

“You’re right. All those songs—I thought I was just learning them for her. But I wasn’t, not after the first couple of days. I was like an addict, searching for the songs they only performed live in concert, the cuts that never made the albums.”

“How could anyone walk away from a song like CSNY’s ‘Suite: Judy Blue Eyes’ or Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ and not be moved?” Ashley asked. “Not be changed? What those songs did for you once you started learning them for your mom is what your songs did for me when I was a teenager.”

“Before we went into the meet-and-greet room tonight, Ash, you said I was there for you when you needed me. Is that what you meant? That my songs helped you?”

She was silent for a long moment. “I’ve never talked with anyone about this. And I certainly never thought I’d be talking to you about it.”

“I don’t want our friendship just to go one way. I want to know you. Hell, I’m dying to know more about you.” When she still didn’t say anything, and he could read the silent Why? in her eyes, he told her, “I feel a connection with you. Don’t you feel it, too?”

“I do, but...”

“You just told me what you hear in my song. Do you want to know what I see whenever I’m with you?” His question clearly made her nervous, and when she dropped her gaze, he put his hand on her chin and tipped her face back up to his. “Beauty. Incredible beauty. I’m not going to lie and say that wasn’t what struck me first. My jaw hit the floor the first time I set eyes on you.”