The Duet(27)

He sat across from me so that we were separated by the coffee table. It was a smart move considering how much tension was brewing between us. He threw down the pen and paper onto the coffee table, adjusted his guitar over his lap, and then finally glanced up to find me empty handed.

“Did you forget to pack a single pen in all of your twelve suitcases?” he asked with an arched brow.

“Nope,” I answered. “But I don’t need one.”

He smirked. “Is that so?”

“I have a good memory.”

He grunted and then reached for his pen and pad. Silence hung before us and then he glanced back up to me.

“So I’m assuming they want us to write a love song.”

I laughed, a bark of a laugh, because the idea of co-writing a love song with Jason seemed like the funniest idea in the world.

“My thoughts exactly,” he replied, tapping his pen on the paper.

“We could write a break-up song?” I suggested.

He nodded, staring out beyond the porch. “That could work.”

“Are we actually agreeing on something?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason didn’t respond. He picked up his guitar, absentmindedly strumming the strings. I felt an instant pang of envy. I’d been taking guitar lessons for the past ten years, and I was good, good enough to play on stage, but Jason was a natural. His fingers worked the guitar strings like he was born to do it.

“Okay, let’s just start throwing out some ideas, things we’d want the song to sound like,” I suggested.

He arched a brow, his fingers eternally strumming the guitar. “That’s not how I usually write.”

I smiled tightly. “Well, we’re going to have to compromise.”

“Sounds good. You go in the other room and talk to yourself and I’ll just write the song by myself,” he said with a confident smirk. Oh, wasn’t he just the funniest thing ever.

“Let’s write a song about a guy who is an arrogant asshole,” I said.

He shook his head with a smug, unimpressed look.

There was a knock on the porch door and then a moment later, a perfectly coifed LuAnne stepped out wearing her standard preppy. Her hair was curled and poufy like she was hosting a southern dinner party, but she pulled it off well. In her hands there was a polished silver tray with tea and snacks arranged artfully on a china plate.

“How’s the writing going?” she asked with a wide smile as she glanced between us. Her smile faltered when she saw our matching scowls.

“Really well,” I lied, reaching for the glass of water.

“Great,” Jason said.

LuAnne’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? What do you have so far?”

Jason grunted, but I smiled at LuAnne, “We’re going the love ballad route, but I’ll have to write most of the song considering Jason has no heart.”

LuAnne laughed and shook her head at us.

“Good thing there’s still a month to get the song done, right?”

“Mhm,” I mumbled as I took a sip of water.

“Thanks for this, Lu,” Jason said, reaching forward for one of the apple slices.

“Of course,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys for dinner later,” she said, heading back for the door.

When the door was shut tight, and I knew LuAnne was out of earshot, I glanced back at Jason.

“One month should be plenty of time to get this done,” he said, turning back to his guitar. “Of course, if you’d let me work alone, I could have it done in a week.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Does your cockiness have a dimmer switch or is it always set to 'high'?”

“Guess you’ve figured me out, huh?” he asked, as the strumming of his guitar came to an abrupt halt.

I gulped down a comeback, feeling like I may have pushed our game too far.

When I didn’t reply, he pushed up off the chair and headed toward the door, leaving the food, drinks, and his paper pad behind.

“That’s enough writing for today,” he said, not bothering to look back at me before he slammed the door closed behind him.

I sat frozen, running the last few minutes over in my mind. The only conclusion I came to was the fact that Jason and I were a ticking time bomb, destined to explode over and over again. I sighed and pushed up off the couch, but the morning light highlighted the black scribbles written on the top of Jason’s notebook. Even though I shouldn’t have, I looked at it.

His penmanship was terrible, and the scratched out lyrics were distracting, but it was the first time I’d caught a glimpse of his writing process:



She never liked the way I tried to make her smile

But I said I’d change try harder