Page 13 of High Note

Kirsten was going to be a friend, dammit.

Even if she didn’t usually find butch girls hot. Something about Kirsten made her eyes cross. Maybe it was because the first thing she’d seen the woman do was pick and sing. That was always enough to pull her if someone was good at it, and Kirsten could flat-out play. She was jealous, in fact, of how good Kirsten was with that guitar.

“Did you like painting? I think they both came out okay.” Kirsten was licking salsa off her fingers.

“I love them both.” Hers was like her: a little sparkly, a little funny, but still pretty creative, she thought. Kirsten’s was wild, with slashes of color and a churning energy to it.

“Cool. So… I have a confession. I’ve never written with someone else. Never.”

Kirsten’s cheeks were red, and she wouldn’t meet Skyla’s eyes. “I’m not sure how it works.”

“Oh, well, now this I have down.” She pulled her guitar case over. “If you want to keep that one you were working on for you, we can start with something I was noodling on last night…” She didn’t want to push. Well, any more than she had.

“I threw that one away, unless it’s in my pocket.”

“Okay, rule number one.” This one she knew like her own name. “Never, never,neverthrow anything away. You never know when a piece of shit can be polished, and that one is no piece of shit.”

“Oh, but?—”

“Nope.” She held out her hand. “Check your pockets.”

When Kirsten pulled out the crumpled napkin, she took a breath of relief. She had a pretty good ear, and would have been able to pick most of it back out, but to have it noted down was better. She looked it over, then settled her guitar.

“Is this the tempo you had in mind?” Skyla asked, playing a few bars.

“Yeah. I was thinking bluesy and low, just a little mournful.”

“I can feel that. Like with a thump behind it. Bass. Like a little uhn.” She made a stank face.

Kirsten nodded, playing along, riffing with her, the music wrapping around the melody she was laying down. Then it was just about adding words. Which was funny, because she usually came at it the other way. Someone would say something, and she would be like, oh. That’s a song. And then build the music.

The music begged for a folksy blues, so she kinda pushed that way and then let Kirsten drive, because that seemed like her wheelhouse.

Together they worked out a couple of verses, then they settled into the chorus, polishing it up.

It was strong and quick, and soon they had a solid song. Depending on who they sold it to, it might need polishing, but it was damn good for a first effort.

Kirsten sat back, a bemused look on her face. “We did it.”

“We did. That was a heck of a first session, honey. It doesn’t always come together like that.” And she was tickled as a pig in shit. “You want to do it again?”

“I do. You want another cup of tea? A beer? A Coke?”

“A beer would be grand.” She paused. “Though I might do Coke since I have to walk back to the rental.”

“You could have a beer, and then I’ll make sure you’re safe, fair enough?” Kirsten shrugged and smiled. “I can always call you an Uber.”

“Fair enough, one way or the other.” She’d loved the wine at the painting place, but beer went with leftover tacos. She looked at her phone, surprised to find three hours had passed. “Lord, girl. We’re writing fools.”

“Well, we’re totally fools…” Kirsten winked and unfolded herself, heading back for the kitchen. One of the cats immediately sat in the leftover space, purring loud.

“Hey, sweetpea.” She let the baby cat sniff her, then rubbed under the chin. Ears could be tricky with cats.

That earned her a long stretch, and a shiver. Oh, someone liked that.

She grinned, because she did love a happy, healthy animal, and that meant Kirsten was a good cat mom.

It didn’t surprise her—the house didn’t smell bad, the surfaces were cat-friendly, and the cat tree was vast and well-used.

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