Page 22 of Flirting with the Scrooge

Do I tell her the truth? She hasn’t figured it out yet, which is refreshing. Instead, I go with the half-truth. “I’m in the music industry.”

I keep my answer vague. The moment people find out that I'm the guitarist and lead singer for one of the nation's fastest-growing rock bands, they swarm like flies on shit. That’s the last thing I want. So far, my beard has been a great disguise, that and I rarely leave the house. But coming back to Harbor Highlands is like being in a small town, especially when compared to LA. I knew it would be the perfect spot to hide out while I figure out my life. But shit would go south fast if word got out. Everyone would know in two point two seconds, and I would have to leave. Before she can pry further, I ask, “What about you? What do you do?” Then I inwardly cringe.

Dumbass. Why are you trying to get to know her more?

“I work as an event coordinator. With my sister, actually. She started the business and asked me if I wanted to work with her after my ex-boyfriend fired me.”

“Oh shit. That sucks. Did he become the ex and then fire you or vice versa?”

“Actually, it was more like a two for one special.” She presses her lips together into a firm line as her gaze drifts to the fire.

“No shit.” I take a swig of my beer. “So, is that why you do the whole neighborhood Christmas decorating thing?” I mentally scold myself.Why do I keep asking her questions? There is no reason for me to get to know her.She laughs and it’s so sweet, just like her. Fuck.

“Actually, no. I’ve been doing that on my own for years. I’ve always enjoyed Christmas and decorating and baking. As a kid, I was always in the kitchen or decorating with my nana. She always made Christmas extra special for me. After she passed, I make sure to put out two of her outdoor angels every year. You might have seen them in my yard next to Santa’s workshop.”

“Yeah. Also sorry to hear about your nana.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze drops to the floor.

“Those cookies you made were delicious.” She peers up at me, a small smile plays on her lips. “Except the nasty raisin things.”

She sits up straighter on the couch as her lips pull into a full fledge grin. “I love oatmeal raisin cookies! I can’t believe you don’t like those.”

“I can’t do them. Little shriveled prunes. It’s not right.” I shiver in disgust.

She laughs again. “So, when you moved in, I saw you had a guitar. Do you play?”

I take a long swig of my beer, swallowing the cold liquid. When I lower the bottle, her curious gaze meets mine. “I know a song or two.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip a moment before asking, “Would you play something for me?” When I don’t say anything, she continues, “Only if you want to, of course. But I would love to hear something. But no pressure. I know some people don’t like playing in front of strangers.”

The way she rambles is cute. Wordlessly, I rise from the chair and stroll across the living room to where my guitar case is. I sit on the other end of the couch, bend over, and lift the latches. Opening the case, I pull out my Gibson 1942 Banner acoustic guitar. I rest it on my lap as I contemplate what song to play. It would be easy to do one of mine but I fear it would give me away.

Tatum sits up on the cushion with all her attention directed at me. I strum a few chords to test the sound. I make a quick adjustment to the pegs. With my calloused thumb, I play the chords to “Don’t Let Me Down” by The Beatles. She inches closer to me on the couch. Softly, I sing the lyrics to the song as I keep my gaze trained on my fingers. I don’t dare spare a glance at her. Not because I’m nervous about playing, but because I don’t know what I’ll do if I see her expression. By the end of the song, her warm thigh presses against mine.

“That was so good. You should be a musician. Performing on stage.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious. I wish I could play an instrument. For a hot minute, I played the violin in middle school. But then I realized that wasn’t the cool instrument to play. Plus, I wasn’t very good at it.” She leans her shoulder against the back of the couch.

“I’m sure you were great.”

She laughs, and it’s the sweetest melody. “No. I was terrible, I promise.” She fidgets with her fingers resting in her lap. “Maybe you could teach me something?”

“Yeah? You want to play the guitar?”

She nods.

“What do you want to learn?”

She purses her lips, the corner of her mouth tips up to the side as she decides on her answer. “‘Love You Anyway’ by Luke Combs. I love that song.”

“Country?”

She bobs her head up and down.

“I don’t do country.”

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