Page 27 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

“Luke played the song you sent him the other day while we were in the kitchen making dinner. It was amazing, Matt. You have so much talent. It can only be a matter of time before you catch a big break.”

Matt unlocked the door of their room and pushed it open before clicking on the light. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it’s only a matter of time until we run out of chances.”

“Holy shit.” Izabel looked around the room, slack jawed. He nudged her in so he could see what had her so astounded.

The room was grand. Like stately home grand. Long, sweeping drapes. Two tall-backed chairs around a small table by a large window with a spectacular view over the lake. A large bed sat against one wall with enough pillows for six people.

Izabel ran to the bed and flopped down onto it. She held her hands out to her sides as she fell, a beaming grin on her face. “Matt. Look at this.”

He was looking. Really fucking looking. Her T-shirt had risen over her ribs, and from his position, he could see a flash of the white lace bra she wore beneath it. Her jeans rode low on her hips, allowing him to see an expanse of her flat stomach. And her hair ... soft blonde waves framed her face.

Fuck.

“I booked twin beds,” he said.

Izabel stopped running her fingers over the cover on the bed and sat up. “Oh.Oh. Do you want to let them know and change rooms?”

Heshouldcall down. Fix things so there were two beds and half the temptation.

But he found he couldn’t. He wanted her to look at him just the way she had two minutes earlier.

“It’s fine. You can have the bed. I’ll pull something together on the floor.”

Izabel stood and walked over to him. Hurt etched her features, and he wanted to tell her just how easy it would be to fall into those sheets and do everything he wanted if she hadn’t slept with his brother. If she wasn’t the sister of his band mate. If he’d not made promises to himself and to Luke.

“You don’t need to sleep on the floor. You paid for the room. You should at least get the bed.”

“Call it a belated birthday present, Iz.”

“I didn’t get you a present.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

Izabel placed her hand on his cheek. “You said we’ve got this, right?” Her tone said she understood his struggle without explanation. The concern in her eyes said she’d let him leave if that was what he wanted.

But it wasn’t.

“Yeah, we’ve got this, Iz.”

5

There was only one bed.

One deliciously comfortable, supremely large bed.

And Izabel couldn’t make up her mind as to whether she wanted the problem solved or not. It clearly bothered Matt, and she wished she understood the source of his distress about it.

As she unpacked her clothes, she looked around the room.

Matt sat in the chair, writing notes in his phone. His head bobbed, his foot tapped, and occasionally, he’d drum on the edge of the table.

“So that’s how the magic happens?” she said, sitting down opposite him.

“Huh,” he said, his body jerking as if she’d just snapped him back into it. “Shit. Sorry, what?”

She nodded at his phone. “I wondered what it must be like to write a song. Like what inspires it and what the logistics of it are.”

Matt sighed and leaned back against the chair. “It comes when it comes. Sometimes it’s a word, a feeling. Sometimes it’s a line of lyrics or a drumbeat. Sometimes it takes weeks, sometimes twenty minutes.”

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