Page 35 of Stormswept Colorado

Paul perked up. “Keeping secrets from us?” Beth’s brow creased.

I forced a laugh. “No, there’s nothing.”

“You almost got yourself arrested yesterday,” Cheryl said with a frown. “That’s not nothing.”

“Emphasis on thealmost.”

Cheryl looked at the window, as if she was calming herself by staring at the ocean view. A feeling I knew well. But I didn’t like to feel that I was the source of her anxiety. I had enough of that on my own.

Paul’s gaze remained directly on me, and I resisted the urge to squirm. “If anything else comes up, you’ll let us know, right?” he asked. “Anything at all. We care. We’re here to help you, Ayla. Helpushelpyou.”

How did Paul manage to make kind words sound so empty?

“I’ll let you know when I get to Hartley,” I said. “And I’ll see you when I’m back in LA on Monday. Bye, everyone!” I rushed to end the call.

Gah.

Cheryl looked out for me, and I had to be grateful for that. My whole team looked out for me. I just didn’t want to share anything about Teller, and certainly not in front of Paul. My record label didn’t need to know every last thing about me. Though they clearly felt entitled to that.

I didn’t want to think about Paul and his casual sleaziness.Teller could be infuriating, but he was ten times the man Paul Ruxton would ever be.

My impression of Teller had changed completely since yesterday. Especially after seeing him on the roof with his nephew. The love between them had been so clear. And it seemed especially poignant since Teller wasn’t Ollie’s dad. Instead, he was stepping in because Piper’s ex-husband wasn’t the father Ollie deserved.

If only every kid had someone like that.

It made me wonder why Teller wasn’t a dad himself. That was a deeply personal decision, of course. None of my business. Maybe he wasn’t interested in having a traditional family. Or maybe he had a girlfriend and was getting ready to propose to her. How would I know?

Except nobody in Silver Ridge had mentioned Teller having a girlfriend. There had been some kind of spark between us yesterday. Would I have felt that if he belonged to someone else?

“You’re ridiculous,” I said to myself aloud.

I pushed back from the piano, putting the cover over the keys and grabbing my laptop.

I barely knew Teller Landry. And even if I wanted to know more, what was the point? He lived in Silver Ridge. I lived in LA, and I traveled constantly. We barely had anything in common.

Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said yesterday on the roof.Let me take care of this for you.He’d been straightforward and sincere. Everything a guy like Paul Ruxton wasn’t.

I believed Teller. It feltreally goodto believe him.

Suddenly, music notes danced like snowflakes in my head. Pure and clear and just as fleeting.

That wasn’t half bad.

I rushed to the piano, pushed back the cover, and let my fingers move. At first it was a quick repetition of notes. The beginnings of a melody. And then, it grew. Took on shape and dynamics.

“There you are,” I murmured. “Stay with me.”

Reaching for the sheet music I’d been using earlier,I flipped it over. Shit, a pencil. A pen. I needed something to write with. Frustration itched beneath my skin because I had to get this out. When inspiration hit me, it was a physical need. Undeniable, even painful if I ignored it.

Wait, my laptop.Yes.

I opened the computer and launched my favorite songwriting software as I hummed the melody. The notes started to become words as I worked. A story about a girl losing someone irreplaceable and eventually opening up to love again.

I only had the very beginning. No clue where it was going. But I always had an instinct when a song might be something special.

This one had promise. I just had to follow where the inspiration would lead.

I stood up to stretch and rolled out my neck. How long had I been sitting there? It felt like coming out of a daze. But when I was in the flow, I was hardly aware of anything except the music. Sometimes I forgot to eat or drink or use the bathroom for hours at a time.

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