Page 20 of A Country Kind Of Love
The chair in the corner holds four of her sweatshirts. She sniffs the underarms of the green NFL sweater, another hand me down from her brother. It’s got maybe a day or two left in it. Her favourite San Francisco hoody does not. She launches that in the wash basket. Finally, she settles for the cream-coloured Celtic’s sweater. Being the youngest sibling to two older brothers has its pros, getting their vintage sweaters is one of them, and she takes full advantage.
There’s a knock on her doorframe that startles her. She spinsto see Cleo.
“Hey, sorry, I was just passing by.” The corners of her mouth turnup faintly.
Peyton promptly pulls the sweatshirt over her head. “It’s okay. I just needed something a little warmer. This apartment gets cold at night.” She rubs her hands against her arms and makes abrrrsound.Why? Why did you just do that?Peyton cringes.
“That’s exactly what I said the last time I was here.” Cleo pulls at her hoody. “I came preparedthis time.”
“Smart move.” Peyton smiles. The tequila coursing through her veins wants her to compliment Cleo on her perfectly shaped head, which is currently holding her cap backwards. It makes her face even more irresistible, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Have you always been that good at quizzes?” Cleo asks.
“Only music related ones. My general knowledge is average at best.”
“I doubt that. I overheard you telling Drew about decibels, bursting eardrums,and death.”
“You’re making it sound gruesome. I was simply stating anything over 185 decibels can impact your internal organs and cause death.” She shrugs. Surely everyoneknows that.
“Huh, so likefireworks?”
“Exactly, or a jet engine flying directly past your ear.”
Peyton takes off her boots and swaps them for a comfier pair of slippers. Her posture is rigid. She’s conscious of Cleo watching her.
“Thank you, by the way...” Peyton falters. “For rescuing me earlier. You have an amazing voice.”
“You’re welcome.” Cleo smiles softly. “Will I ever get to hear you sing?”
“Maybe.” She looks around for a distraction. There’s a hair grip on the table; that will work. Cleo doesn’t fill the silence right away. She walks a step further into Peyton’s bedroom.
“Have you been to the Country Music Hall of Fame?”
“No, not yet,”Peyton says.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
She plans to search for every record label, music producer, publisher, agent, and artist in the business, and send them all the same generic email with a link to her uninspiring social accounts in hopes one of them is intoxicated enough to request to hear her songs.
“Nothing.”
“Would you like to go with me?” Cleo asks.
Is she asking her on a date? Peyton isn’t sure, but she can’t ask; that will make her look too eager.
“Sure.”
“Maybe afterwards you could show me a little something on that piano of yours.”
“Maybe.” Peyton smirks. “You can play, right?”
“Yes, but I was never taught how to sing and play at the same time; that part’s hard.”
Peyton nods her head. “It took me a long time to separate the two.”
Trying to play one thing and sing another is a challenge. It took Peyton years of practice alongside her mom before it became second nature.
“How did you do it?” Cleo observes one of the large paintings on the wall. Peyton can’t look at it for longer than a few seconds because the kaleidoscope swirls make her want to vomit, but it beats a giant fist shaped holein the wall.
