Page 46 of On the Power Play

To dance under the moon and sun.

In this maze of hopes and fears,

Let me be the one you hear.”

Jack listened in awe, then gaped as Finn stopped her and pretended something she was doing wasn’t flawless. Delia started again, then they both repeated the entire process over and over until the first verse and chorus were complete.

Mary leaned over. “Bored yet?”

Bored was the antithesis of what he was. Even after Delia had sung the same lyrics twenty times, he was still on pins and needles waiting for her to open her mouth again. It had to be a reaction to seeing something so wildly outside of his life experience—something behind the scenes. That warmth in his chest. The tingling in his hands. That would happen with any artist creating music in such an intimate setting. It wasn’t just Delia.

Jack shook his head. “Not bored. Is this how every record is made?”

Mary shrugged. “I’ve only worked with Delia, but other managers talk about artists holing up in a studio for a week at a time. Recording straight. Usually that’s when they’re writing all their own stuff. Or working as a band.”

“Doesn’t Delia write?”

“She does, but that’s not what the label signed her for.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “So she doesn’t record any of her own songs?”

Mary shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe someday.”

That was a travesty. Yes, her voice was otherworldly—she could probably sing movie credits and he’d want to listen—but the one song he’d heard of Delia’s that had struck him to the core had been the one at the end of her concert. The one she’d written. Maybe the reason he didn’t connect with lyrics was because he’d never heard any good ones until that moment.

Finn clapped his hands. “Brilliant! Let’s take a minute. I’d like to get these tracks sorted before we move on to doubling and harmonies, yeah?”

Delia set her headphones on the stand and pushed through the door into the booth. Finn sat hunched over the board with his headphones on.

Mary stood and stepped out of the way. “Here, sit for a sec.”

“You should take my seat.” Jack stood, but Mary was already pressed against the back wall.

She folded her arms in front of her. “You’re our guest, Jack. Sit down. I’m not too feeble to stand for ten minutes.”

Delia sat in Mary’s chair and swivelled to face her. “How’s it sounding?”

“Like another hit.”

Delia raised an eyebrow. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Mary laughed. “No, I’m not being sarcastic.”

“But the lyrics . . .”

“Nobody listens to the lyrics.” Mary waved her off, and Delia turned to Jack with a questioning look.

He looked between the two of them. The song hadn’t hit him like the one at the concert, but he’d definitely been more focused on the way her lips moved around the words rather than the words themselves. He wet his lips. “I don’t usually listen to lyrics.”

“But?”

But I listened to yours. Jack shook his head. “I also don’t listen to this kind of music.”

Delia’s expression fell, and he wished he could take his response back. She sighed. “He doesn’t count because he’s not my target audience.”

Mary grinned. “How much time left?”

Delia rubbed her temples. “Probably a half hour or so? Why, do you want to do something?”

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