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Lacy is already dusting breadcrumbs off her hands and dumping our dirty dishes in the sink. I rescue the last bit of my sandwich as she whisks my plate away from me.
“Alright, alright! I’ll let him know.”
I shoot Blake back a quick text and then follow Lacy eagerly into the next room. Normally, I’d scoff at something like this. Writing a folk song? So not my style. Writing a romantic song? Also, not my style. I’m more of a breakup-song kind of guy. But Lacy’s enthusiasm is difficult to resist. Plus, we’ve been working so well together. Maybe it’ll be fun to try something new artistically if I have her by my side to help me.
“So, where should we start?” Lacy asks, already brainstorming while climbing up the ladder, spray bottle in hand, to continue her work. I grab the base of the ladder confidently, letting my arms brush against the soft skin of her legs. What freaking lotion does she use? I wonder to myself momentarily. They’resosoft.
“Ben?” Lacy’s voice from above brings me out of my reverie on body lotions.
“How about what you were saying in the kitchen—that stuff about them kind of being opposites?”
“Right. Opposites attract. But we need a new way to say it.”
“Wait, what about using this as a metaphor for something,” I say, gesturing to the dining room as Lacy steps back down off the ladder and motions for me to climb up.
“The dining room?”
“Yeah, remember, Nanette and Elliot got in some tiff about the space. He wanted it to be this classic, all-white, calm spot to enjoy brunches.”
“Dad does love his serene brunches.”
“And she wanted it to have morepizzazz, to use her word. So, the compromise was that that she got to pick the wallpaper, and he got to pick the furnishing.”
“And then we ended up with this mismatched mess,” Lacy laughs.
“Yup. But now we’re stripping this wallpaper to make room for something newer and better, something more cohesive.”
“Oh, so stripping the wallpaper could be like some metaphor for how he’s going to change his ways?” Lacy asks with interest.
“Yeah. Kind of folksy, right?”
“Totally.”
“What about if we also relate it to stripping, like stripping off clothes?” I ask, eyeing Lacy tentatively. Her t-shirt is still sweat-soaked and clinging to her body, and I’m secretly wondering what she’d look like if she took it off.
“Ew, no!” Lacy says with a giggle. “We’re trying to be folksy and romantic here, Ben! Not pervy. Stick to stripping wallpaper. DIY home renovations give a very rugged man, salt-of-the-earth vibe. Write it down!”
We continue like that, ping-ponging ideas back and forth, working off each other’s thoughts, until we’ve gotten a full set of lyrics down on paper. It takes all afternoon. By now, we’ve finished stripping the wallpaper and all that’s left to do is clean up.
“Mind if I grab my guitar and strum out some chords while you tidy up?” I ask Lacy.
“Go for it,” she says with a quick nod.
I grab one of my acoustics and hunker down in a corner as I strum out some tunes, while Lacy bustles around cleaning up scraps of wallpaper. Every once in a while, she’ll pause to hum along to a few bars I’ve written or to say “Oh, that’s awesome!” after I get out a bar of notes she likes. By the time dusk falls, we’ve got our song.
“How about a beer on the front porch to celebrate?” I propose.
“Only if you’ll play the full song for me one more time through,” Lacy says with a smile. “I want to watch the lightning bugs come out and listen to you play.”
I feel my stomach twist uncomfortably at her words, spoken softly and sweetly. I’m used to having girls screaming in the front rows of my rock concerts, throwing their panties on stage at me—literally. That’s my comfort zone. Private acoustic concerts like this? Not my thing. But for Lacy? Maybe it could be. Just because she’s been so helpful with my songwriting—and now even helping me write a song forBlake.
It’s definitely has nothing to do with her soft skin… Or her cute butt… Or her killer curves… Or that strawberry smell her hair has…
Chill, Ben.
“You got it,” I reply, before heading to the kitchen to grab a couple beers out of the fridge. “Let’s go,” I nod to the front door, sling my guitar over my shoulder, and head out.
The sweltering hot summer weather is finally cooling down. It’s the perfect time of day at Rose Manor. We settle onto the front steps with our beers. The smell of roses gets heavier as it gets darker out, and the lightning bugs start flashing, illuminating the air around us.
