Page 38 of One More Time
Up front, Sonny nodded. ‘Got it in one. I’ll let you two off here and swing around in a bit. The fountain show begins every fifteen minutes.’
‘Thank you, Sonny,’ Lucy said as she hopped out of the car.
As Sonny rolled away, Lucy said, ‘He deserves a big tip.’
‘He does,’ Nicky agreed. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
Lucy and Nicky made their way, side by side, to the intricate concrete railing at the edge of the fountain. Its elegant curves and balustrades gave the impression of classical permanence, like a monument in Rome. Of course, as they had learned on their tour, nothing in Las Vegas was forever.
The water beyond them was still and dark. But the proximity of it made the air feel cool and misty. The perfume of light chlorination surrounded them; a smell that always gave Lucy a little thrill. The relic of a thousand happy summer days, their freedom and ease.
‘So, should we do it?’ Nicky asked.
There was a long list of things Lucy had thought about doing with Nicky Broome, so she wasn’t sure exactly which one he was referring to.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘like this.’ He leaned his elbows on the railing.
Ah, right. The movie.
Lucy followed his lead, rested her arms on the concrete and looked out over the water. Waited for the magic to happen.
The fountain began to hum and the first jets of water erupted, swaying and dancing.
Then, she heard it. Music. Not from the fountain show, but from beside her.
‘Clair de Lune.’ Debussy. Just like the movie.
‘God, this song,’ she moaned.
‘Pretty incredible,’ Nicky said quietly, stowing his phonein the front pocket of his T-shirt so that it seemed like the music was coming straight from Nicky. From inside him.
Nicky stared out over the water. But it wasn’t the fountain that had Lucy spellbound. She watched the dancing lights glimmer on Nicky’s eyes. Saw his mouth turn up – the whisper of a smile. So achingly beautiful that it took her breath away.
‘How do you do that?’ she sighed.
He turned to her. ‘Do what?’
Make me want to cry and laugh and jump headfirst into the water to escape and also let you crawl under my skin.
But she didn’t say any of that.
‘How did he put notes together that make a personfeel?’ she asked, then cringed internally remembering that she was asking a guy who had actual Grammys for songwriting tucked away somewhere. ‘I mean, these are the same notes used to make the “Happy Birthday” song, and a toothpaste jingle.’
Nicky hummed. A warm, fuzzy, philosophical sound. ‘It’s about focusing on a moment. A single, small moment,’ he said softly as he angled his body toward her. ‘If you feel it, the notes that come out are texture, touch, air. Theyarethe emotions.’ He leaned closer and whispered, ‘The secret isn’t in the notes, Lucy. It’s that despite all the evidence that makes us doubt it, the human experience is universal. Emotions are our common language. A songwriter is just someone who knows how to translate it into sound.’
Why does he have to be so damn amazing all the time?
Nicky turned back toward the water.
‘Hey, Nicky?’
‘Yeah?’ he asked, facing her again.
‘I want to kiss you.’
There was no hesitation as Nicky’s hand came to her face, cupping her jaw with the barest of pressure. He brought his lips to hers and Lucy dissolved into his kiss – his desire, his longing. It was a memory. A song.
Somewhere, far off in the real world, there were cheers and clapping. The Debussy swelled from Nicky’s pocket and floated off into the ether along with all of Lucy’s willpower and a chunk of her good sense.
