Dylan slammed the fridge and turned around with a bottle of beer in each hand. He twisted the tops off, setting one on the counter as he took a swig from the other.
I reached for it with shaky fingers. Drinking wasn’t really my thing. I took a sip, surprised at the smooth apple taste.
“Apple Ale,” he said before tipping back his bottle. “Never had it?”
“No.” I shrugged, embarrassed for no reason. It shouldn’t bother me that I hadn’t tasted it before. I hadn’t tasted a lot of things. Or done a lot of things for that matter.
He stared at me for three beats, then he nodded toward the patio doors. “Come on.”
I followed him onto a large deck that overlooked the lake. It was beautiful in the moonlight. I could only imagine what it looked like during the day with the sun bouncing off the water and boats speeding from one cove to the next. Dylan sat on the wicker couch and put his feet on the glass top coffee table. He’d left plenty of room for me to join him, but I opted to sit on the edge of a nearby chair instead.
“Relax, Cam,” he said.
My back was ramrod straight and I felt more exposed than if I’d been naked. “Sorry, but... this is awkward.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He slouched until he was practically lying down. Only his shoulders and head were upright. The coffee table acted as a footstool. “But that’s fucking stupid.”
I chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” He took a swig of his beer. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got daddy issues.” He took another drink and stared out across the lake. “Despite what you overheard, he asked me to come to Branson to spend time with him. So I came.”
Dylan paused and when I realized he wasn’t going to continue, I decided to steer the conversation elsewhere, but what came out of my mouth failed to do that. “Why did you then?”
He shrugged and drained the rest of his beer. In a soft voice, he answered, “I don’t know.”
I nodded and glanced away from him, taking in the view. Dylan didn’t seem like the type of guy who would talk to just anybody. But I didn’t real know him either. A loud slap sounded and I turned. He’d sat up and had pressed his palms to his knees.
“Let’s go,” he said, nodding toward the patio doors. “There’s something I want to show you.”
As ominous as that sounded, I followed him back inside the house and down a flight of stairs to the basement. I stopped at the bottom, staring into the darkness. One entire wall was windows, but the moonlight outside didn’t show anything beyond a few inches inside.
“Ready?” Dylan asked somewhere in the darkness.
“Sure,” I muttered. The fact that I wasn’t ready resonated in my voice.
Dylan laughed softly and flipped a switch. The lights blared on to reveal a virtual music oasis. A baby grand piano sat in the center of the open room. Along the far wall were six guitars. A drum set sat in the corner. A couch ran along the wall by the steps. Dylan moved from the light switch and sat at the piano bench. His fingers tickled the keys, sending a soft lullaby into the air.
“I’m good at the guitar, but I prefer the piano,” he said.
I swallowed and walked toward him. Dylan played harder, the lullaby turning into an angry concerto. He closed his eyes and swayed to the music. Then it was soft again, sweet and innocent.
He began to sing. His voice was like red velvet dipped in dark chocolate. I wanted to drown in it. He sang “You Raise Me Up” by Josh Groban. I stopped at the edge of piano, mesmerized by his tenor voice. But what hit me the hardest was how innocent, how sweet, how lost in the music he was. His expression was angelic, peaceful. The tune changed to one I knew as well as my own heart.
“Sing with me, Cam,” Dylan whispered. His eyes locked on mine.
I held his gaze, and we sang “Amazing Grace” but it felt different. It felt as if I’d finally found my voice, like I finally knew how to use it. We harmonized so well together. I didn’t even realize I’d moved closer to him until I sat beside him on the bench. Until the piano stopped and it was only our voices filling the room. Not once did we break eye contact. I held his gaze as if it was my lifeblood.
Then we sang the final note, holding on to it until our breaths disappeared from our chests.
I leaned closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on mine.
But he stood from the bench and ran his hand through his hair. He paced away from me toward the guitars. I wanted to melt into the floor. If that wasn’t a rejection, I didn’t know what was. Dylan ran his hands through his hair again, as if trying to pull out an easier way to say he didn’t want to kiss me. That had to be it. That was the only thing that made sense.
“I should take you home.” He turned around with a grim expression. “I really need to take you home now.”
“Okay, but...” It was my mistake. I needed to cop to it. “I’m sorry for... It was the moment, you know? You don’t have to feel bad if you don’t want to do that with me.” I sounded like a blubbering idiot. “I mean, I understand why.”
Dylan crossed his arms and laughed. “Wait a minute, you think...” He shook his head. “Cami, I’m not a nice person. And you are. If I kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop.”
“Oh,” I said. “So you do want to kiss me?”
“Yeah, I do, but
