“Pretty.”
“Yeah. I always love the fireflies. There are some years they don’t seem to be around at all. But then others they’re here every night, lighting up the way.”
“There was a year when they were everywhere,” Gray said, his eyes drawn back to her. “I must have been sixteen, and I remember thinking if only they could stay until Christmas, it’d be like having our own living, breathing decorations. But they never did.”
Maddie smiled at him. “I didn’t know sixteen-year-old boys thought like that. I thought it was all girls, sports, and well…” she pulled her lip between her teeth.
“Sex?” he asked, biting down a grin.
“I was thinking more about solo fun.”
“You were thinking about masturbation?” His voice was low. “Don’t let a teenage boy hear you say that.”
“You have a dirty mind.”
“Not as dirty as a teenage boy.”
“You sure about that?” She tipped her head to the side, her brows rising up.
“You’re the one who brought up sex,” he pointed out.
“Oh my god,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re twisting my words.”
Yeah, maybe. But now he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Maddie Clark touching herself.
He took another mouthful of beer.
“Why don’t we change the subject?” Maddie asked him.
“Sure. What should we talk about?” he replied, his voice low. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, and yet so aware of a woman, too. His body responded every time their eyes met.
“Tell me about your next album,” Maddie suggested, leaning her head back as she spoke. And as Gray told her about the concept he had planned, he watched her expression. He liked the way her eyes lit up as he spoke about the music, the way her questions were so pointed and intelligent as he talked her through the latest song he was writing. But more than anything, he liked the way she looked at him. Like he was as big and bright as that plate moon hanging low in the sky.
And if a part of him wanted to kiss his teenage sweetheart’s little sister? Well, he was a grown man. He could ignore it.
Chapter Eleven
“Maddie? I just saw Rachel Garston pull up outside.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Rachel Garston’s son was a regular pupil, one Maddie had been teaching since he was five years old. He didn’t have any particular flair for the piano, nor did he want to. But he liked to please his momma by playing for her friends at Christmas and on birthdays, and Rachel never missed a payment for his tuition.
And he was a sweet
little kid, so there was that.
Maddie glanced at the message she’d been reading on her phone as she walked out of the kitchen. She hadn’t heard from Sarah Mayhew for months, not since they exchanged Christmas cards the previous December. Seeing her name flash on the screen had made Maddie’s stomach do a weird flip-flop. Sarah was the only person from The Ansell School of Performing Arts she kept in contact with, and seeing her name always reminded Maddie of those days.
Of what could have been and what wasn’t.
Walking down the hallway, Maddie thought about her message.
Can you believe it’s been five years since the Class of Fifteen graduated? We’ve decided to have a long-overdue reunion. Right now, we’re in the organizational stage – we’ve set up a Facebook page and are asking for suggestions of dates and locations. You should join us. I know you didn’t graduate, but you were still part of the class. Everybody would love to see you!
Maddie pulled the front door open and lifted her hand to wave at Rachel. Little Charlie ran up the pathway, clutching his music book. She grinned as he reached the steps.
“Come on in,” she said. “My mom’s made some lemonade. I figure we can have a glass before we start.”