Page 48 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

“And you told me not to judge someone by their outfit.”

Alex took a large gulp of his pint; he had said that.

“Thanks to you and Ben for looking out for me though,” she continued. “Being an only child, I often wondered what it would be like to have brothers to back me up. This is the first chance I’ve had to experience a family like yours.”

Brothers? Good job they weren’t brother and sister or his thoughts about her would be criminal, as well as unwanted. The words friend-zoned might as well be flashing above his head. How could he ever deprive her of his family if something ever went wrong between them?

The river was still. The reflection of lights danced on the surface of the water, and they both sat quietly for a moment, sipping their drinks. The inky black sky had no moon, a smattering of stars, and for once, no rain.

Alex gently placed his hand on hers to get her attention. The warmth of her skin seeped into his palm. “Tell me about your family. How you grew up.”

She watched his lips and he loved her watching them. He’d left her room in the early hours of the morning after waking up to a dream where he rained kisses down her body. When he’d woken, her body had been snuggled up against his, his hand cupping her breast. It had been tempting to stay, but if he ever got the opportunity to wake up next to her, he wanted it to mean something to both of them.

“My family?” Zoe repeated, jolting him from his thoughts. “Grew up in Wigan, a place called Highfield. Went to a Church of England school and sang “Shine, Jesus, Shine” at just about every assembly.”

Alex grinned. “I went to a non-denominational school. So, no hymns.”

“Lucky. But I loved music. With a passion. I wanted to play everything, but Mum and Dad could only afford so much. I shoved dried black beans in a bottle to hear the rasp. Ran sticks along metal railings. Put lolly sticks in the rims of my bike to hear them catch on the spokes. Drove my parents mad because I would pat my hands on my thighs to every rhythm I heard. My parents got me piano lessons because my nana already had one I could practise on. But I loved drums. Xylophone.”

“Percussion.”

Zoe smiled. “Yeah. Percussion. It was only when I got to high school that a teacher named Mrs. Coysh realised what I enjoyed. The school had this old set of steel pans and she asked me to learn to play Christmas carols on them for the Christmas concert. Steel pans became timpani became xylophone led to marimba. I dropped piano lessons and played it for fun so I could focus on percussion.”

“You liked hitting things then too?” Alex teased.

“Perhaps there’s some truth to it. But I’ve always felt there is a universal connection to music and rhythm. If you listen, life itself is tempo and sound. From a baby’s first heartbeat to the clatter of a train, or the whir of electricity across pylons. Even though I can’t hear it the same, I can still feel it. The beat of the music through the floor, the whisper of the wind against my cheek, the way you tap the corner of your beer mat on the table.”

She looked down at his hand and grinned as Alex slapped the mat back down.

“Don’t stop on my account. You have a sure measure of tempo. Luke can get sloppy. Actually, it’s not that, but sometimes he lets Jase lead the tempo rather than setting it.”

Alex laughed. “Can I tell him that?”

Zoe pursed her lips. “No. But don’t you feel it too?”

“Jase speeding up? Totally.”

Laughter bubbled over. “No. That music is in everything.”

Alex sipped his pint as he considered her question. It was a good one. “I’ve never understood why people don’t hear the music around them. There was this old Dictaphone that sat in the cupboard under the stairs. Used to be my grandad’s. When I realised no one was using it, I took it one summer and recorded something everywhere I went. The slot machines in Blackpool, the car horn in our old Astra. Grandma King singing John Lennon’s ‘Woman’ one day in the garden. Bees. Birds. Following the bin men.”

“I didn’t catch all that. But you spent a summer recording sounds?”

“Yes. Nostalgia, meaning, and connection. Presence. Sounds that meant something. Sounds that didn’t.”

He couldn’t describe why music affected them both so deeply, just that it was a common foundation to build on.

“Sometimes I feel like I need to figure out what my connection to music is now. Because without it, I feel like a plant in need of water.”

Three girls at the next table screeched with laughter, and Zoe jumped, touching her hand to her ear. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You heard that?”

“Yeah. But not like you. It was like a short, sharp noise.”

“You want to go?”

Zoe shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”

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