Page 30 of Resilient Rhythms
“How are your lyrics going?”
“Not bad. I’m working on a new song and…well, even if nothing comes of it, it feels good to get words on paper. It helps me clarify my thoughts and feelings about things.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, taken aback, again, by the seriousness in his tone. By how forthcoming he is with a topic he once felt too vulnerable to share. While Mav has always been deeper than the playful, life-of-the-party persona he shows the world, I’ve never sensed this level of measured earnestness from him before.
The silence that stretches between us is comfortable. We eat our pizza, chat about daily life, and watch the sun set. It paints the sky in beautiful strokes of orange and peach.
When I stand from my chair, I’m relaxed and at ease.
I smile at Mav. “Thanks for dinner.”
He stands and dips his head in a nod. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Want to.” He presses his fingers to the small of my back, indicating that I should go first.
I walk through the brownstone, envisioning the kitchen plans he showed me and explained in detail.
“This is going to be gorgeous, Mav,” I say as we descend the front steps.
“I hope so. I’m happy to have the project. It’s good to keep my mind busy. Between this and the new album, I don’t have time to consider my old vices.”
“Plus, there’s the bowling league.”
He chuckles. “And bowling. By the way, you’re incredible, beauty. I’m more than impressed.”
“Thank you.” I dust off my shoulder, grinning at him as I lift the latch to my gate. “If that strike impressed you, you should see me play the violin.” I laugh. “I was as far from popular as you could get in high school.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s the truth. I bet you were super popular.”
He smirks and dips his head. “I was voted class clown.”
“Hot and funny. A winning combination.”
Mav chuckles. “Sometimes.”
Turning to look at him, I bite my bottom lip. It’s still early, barely nine p.m., and I don’t want the night to end. Not yet. Not when it feels so organic and…easy.
Tipping my head toward my front door, I ask, “You want to come in for a…tea?”
He wraps a hand around the top of the gate, the tattoos on his knuckles winking. “Do you still have mint tea?”
I roll my lips together to keep from grinning and nod. “I do.”
“I’d love to.” He pushes the gate open wider and we ascend the steps to the brownstone.
Once we’re inside, I putter around the kitchen, putting on the kettle and grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.
When I glance at Mav, he’s studying me intently.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice quiet.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his eyes clearing.
I bite my bottom lip, giving him a look.
