Jason sat next to me on the little outdoor couch. He placed the guitar on his lap and I couldn’t help but look over at him. What was he up to? His skin had a warm tone that reflected a slight cooper color in the glow of the bright fire in front of us. He was tan now and a completely different complexion from when he arrived at Sweet Treats.
I watched his fingers as he strummed the strings on the guitar. What was he doing?
“Tell me. What kind of music do you like?” He asked after he stopped playing with the guitar.
Was that a trick question? My music was everything that he was too young to have ever heard of.
“I like music you’ve never heard of.” I was just telling the truth. With two decades between us, my music and his music weren’t the same. Almost everything new had a sample from a past song and the remakes were a travesty of epic proportions. Don’t even get me started on the dismal state of rap and hip-hop.
“How do you know what music I’ve heard of?” He was giving me his intense brown-eyed glare.
“The music I enjoy was released before you were born.”
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t heard it.”
“No, it doesn’t but I can guess what kind of music you like.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes, I think I got you pegged.”
“Okay guess.”
“Taylor Swift. You probably like Taylor Swift.” I wish I could’ve taken my guess back when I remembered his hidden arm tattoo and that other faint wrist tattoo. I should’ve said, Post Malone. My son listens to him.
“She’s a really nice person. If you like nice.” Jason blinked a few times like he’d said something wrong. Huh, what did that mean? “I mean she seems nice. You know from seeing her on the internet.”
“I don’t follow her so I don’t have much of an opinion on her level of niceness.”
“Tell me, name an artist, a singer. Tell me, who do you like or love, tell me?”
I sighed. “Geez, the pressure.” I looked up in the air at nothing. I hoped to pull a name from the heavens above. “I like Steveland Morris.” I decided to be difficult.
Jason raised the guitar and cradled it in his arms. He propped it on his lap. He placed his fingers carefully on the neck and the flat part of the instrument. What was he doing? I waited with uncertainty and then it happened.
He sang the words— My Cherie Amour. . .
Whoa! And then another line from the song by Steveland Morris also known as Stevie Wonder. Lyrics came cascading from Jason’s lips, His tone, his pitch, and his delivery, all flawless and incredibly soulful. My mouth tumbled open as he crooned and played at the same time. I couldn’t believe that a powerful and melodious voice came from that kid. Jason was full of surprises.
I listened carefully and peacefully as he sang a few verses of what I thought was one of the greatest love songs of all time. He seamlessly moved to sing another Stevie Wonder song, Ribbon in the Sky, then Lately and then All I do. He did an entire medley of Stevie’s hits. I didn’t want him to stop. I was amazed. I was shocked. I was a whole bunch of adjectives. He ended with a slower, soulful version of Master Blaster Jammin’.
He opened his eyes, stopped singing and looked over at me. I happily clapped for him. He deserved it. He deserved a recording contract. Or at least an audition on one of those singing competition shows. His voice was magical. But I was about to take him to task.
“Jason, I heard you tell those teens you couldn’t sing.”
“Do you think I can sing?”
“Come on, I know you can sing and you know you can sing. Why did you lie to them like that? If you sing for them just like you did right now, they’d be in here every day buying candy.”
“It’s my secret. I can’t share my secrets with everyone.” His eyes were focused on me when he said this. I shifted in my seat.
“But you can share them with me?”
“Yes, I can. I like you. You’re special.”
My cheeks were on the road to forming a smile. I stopped my facial muscles dead in their deceptive tracks. This young man wasn’t flirting with me. He couldn’t be. I was just too old to know what flirting looked like nowadays. I had been married for twenty years. I didn’t know much of anything anymore.
“You are very talented,” I said to distract my thoughts.
“I’m all right, I guess.” One of his shoulders went up in a half-shrug.
“Bull. Do you have any other hidden talents?”
“Of course I do.”
“Tell me.”
“I can show you.”
“No, tell me first. I don’t want to see anything gross or weird.”
“I promise it’s not gross or weird.”
Jason placed the guitar on the side table. He scooted closer toward me. He took my laptop off my lap and placed it on top of the guitar behind him.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you one of my hidden talents.”
“Ah, you’re just staring at me. Are you trying to hypnotize me?”
“No, I’m not. Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Katrina Sweet, stop being so difficult. Just trust me.”
“Let me see your hands.”
Jason placed his hands out between us. I don’t know what I was looking for. I knew he didn’t have anything in his hands. Maybe this was a childish magic trick. He was probably going to pull a quarter out of my ear.
“Close your eyes.”
I pursed my lips and reluctantly closed my eyes. My heart picked up the pace while I waited. I didn’t have to wait long. I felt it. His lips were on mine. One of his hands was on the side of my face. The other hand was pressed into the back of my neck. He had me. I was trapped. I was stuck to
