Shy (7 page)

Jake tries to hide it, but I can tell. I've wondered if, given enough time, we might find our way back to each other. But then, that might not happen. It hasn't gone anywhere in a year. By contrast, things with Granville are definitely happening.

“Yeah, we play music.” If—when?—things get romantic with Granville, I'll let Jake know. He's my best friend and all. But I don't see the point in saying anything now.

“Didn't you say he's a science major?” Jake asks.

“He's a physics major, but he plays in a band, too. All the band members are science majors who are really into music. They call themselves the Neutron Stars.”

A long pause. Then he asks, “What does he play?”

“Keyboards. And he writes music and sings.”

“Just like you.” Jake knows about my aspirations, my songwriting and my desire to perform my songs for audiences. I think it frustrates him that I've never been able to sing in front of him. He knows it's because of my shyness, though, and he's always been very patient.

I have no doubt, though, that it would make him sad and maybe even jealous that I've sung in front of Granville—well, within earshot of Granville—and that I'll be hopefully singing with him in the room today. I'll leave that out. I don't think it's something we need to discuss. It'll only hurt him.

But it's simply the way it happened. I guess Jake never thought about having me sing while he was within earshot but out of eyeshot.

I need to get off the phone. It's a weird feeling, wanting to get off the phone with Jake. I don't
really
want to, but things could get awkward if Granville comes in while we're still talking. It would make Jake uncomfortable, and me even more uncomfortable. I still don't want to rush him off, though, because that would make things even weirder between us.

Even though Jake is the one who calls me Wildflower, it's Granville who makes me feel like a blossoming bud under his warm attention. He's good for me. He draws me out, toward his light.

“Well, be careful,” Jake says. “You don't really know this guy.”

Yes, that's Jake, suspicious of people he doesn't know. He can be very funny onstage as frontman for the Hickory Hollow Boys, but by nature, he's guarded, wary. Not shy at all, but he has some of what I think of as country reserve. Kind of clannish, I guess. But oh my goodness, his kindness and loyalty are second to none once you've earned his genuine affection and respect.

I feel a pang. It could have been Jake and me. Sometimes I still wish it could be us. But it just isn't working out that way.

“Granville is a really nice fellow,” I say. “We enjoy the music thing. Don't worry.”

“He might ask you to be in his band,” he says.

“I doubt it. I'd have a long way to go overcoming my shyness before I could even think about something like that.”

“I guess so.” Jake seems reluctant to get off the phone.

A knock sounds at the practice room door. I look at my watch. Eight o'clock. Granville is right on time. “I guess I'd better go,” I say. “He's here.”

“Oh.” He still doesn't get off the phone.

Granville knocks again. “Come in,” I call.

“Hi, Frannie,” he says, his gaze warm, his hair invitingly messy. He moves closer to give me a hug. We hugged when we said goodbye last time. Now, though, he stops short, his gaze falling on my cell phone.

“I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

I don't know why I feel so torn between Jake and Granville. It isn't like Jake and I are more than friends these days. I'm perfectly free to date Granville, and if I didn't date Granville, who knows when or if Jake would ever come back to me? And at this point, would I want him to? With the feelings I'm developing for Granville, I could possibly hit a point of no return.

Could that possibly have something to do with why Jake couldn't sleep last night, thinking about how I've been meeting a new guy friend in a piano practice room every morning for two weeks?

I swallow hard, wondering if his feelings for me run deeper than I imagine. “No, you aren't interrupting me. Jake and I were just saying goodbye.”

“We were?” Jake says, an edge to his deep voice.

I respond with silence. I can't believe he's making this so hard on me. He's acting like a jealous boyfriend. Nothing about this makes any sense and it makes my heart hurt.

He sighs. “Talk later, Wildflower.” He disconnects on his end and I put my phone on the top of the piano.

Damn
.

Before I can think too much about the dilemma with Jake, though, Granville gives me a wonderful, engulfing hug. Warm and solid. “Are you okay? Looks like you were having kind of a stressful conversation. I don't mean to be nosy, but if you want to talk about it, I'm happy to listen.”

“That was Jake. My best friend. We used to date, too, a while back. Not anymore, though.”

A shadow crosses Granville's face. “Well then, what's the matter?”

“Nothing really...” I pause. I don't want to tell Granville that Jake is jealous of him. I think Granville's interested in me, but what if he isn't? What if he's just a very enthusiastic, warm friend?

“It's okay,” he says, to my relief. “We don't have to talk. I just want to hear you sing. You know I love your voice, don't you?”

I nod. He does. I can tell by his expression every time we've talked about it. And today, I get to see his expression right in front of me as I'm singing, not just imagine him out in the hall listening. Can I really do this? I've gotten pretty good at singing while he's in the hall. But for somebody like me, having a person out of sight is a far cry from having him right in the room with you while you're performing.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and sit down at the bench. “I'm going to sing my new song, ‘A Little Bit of Home.’ You probably remember I've already played a little bit of it for you, but I worked on it some more, and I think it's ready to share.” What I don't say is that I wrote the song with him in mind, inspired by how, even though we've only known each other for two weeks, he already feels like a little bit of home. I love how he challenges me, gently and compassionately, to overcome the wall of shyness that keeps me from going for my dream as a singer-songwriter.

I've worried whether or not I'd be brave enough to sing the words for him. They're kind of hot and speak to my attraction for him. But if I'm going to be like Nikesha Sloane, I will have to sing songs that reveal me as a person—at least facets of my heart and feelings and what makes me tick. If I'm going to make it as a singer-songwriter, I can't hide behind walls of shyness and invisibility anymore.

Well, here goes.

I put my hands on the piano keys and close my eyes. Yes, I'll have to close my eyes for this first performance. I can't look at Granville as I'm singing. I've grown so fond of his face, his elegant lines, radiant smile, and brilliant hazel eyes, his ready laugh and his precise, brainy way of speaking, but I don't think I'm ready to watch him while I'm performing. I would probably freeze and the shyness would paralyze me. I've come too far with Granville for that to happen. I start playing the piano, playing the intro softly to warm up, then I launch into the song, playing the intro again with more oomph, building up to the singing and reminding myself that Granville has heard my voice every morning now for two weeks and there's no reason for me to feel nervous.

But I do feel nervous. I keep my eyes closed and manage to sing, though in a weak, quavery voice with an uneven tone:

Outside of time we ride

We ride the wind together

And it feels like

A little bit of home
.

I lengthen the musical interlude that leads into the chorus, doing some simple improvising, but since I'm so nervous, I can't really improvise with freedom, either. I just feel
SHY
. Hopeless, useless, constrained, and
SHY
.

I jerk my fingers off the piano and feel myself encased in what feels like a full-body flush. A full-body wall of shame. A misery that I'm helpless and hopeless to overcome.

Mom is right. I'm destined to fail at life.

Granville sits beside me on the piano bench and touches my shoulder. “It's okay,” he says softly. “You sounded wonderful. You have a gorgeous voice. With practice, the nerves will grow less. It's okay. It'll just take some time. It's like strengthening a muscle you haven't used much yet.”

I still can't look at him. My shame is total. I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being. Mom is right. I'll never amount to a god damn thing.

Granville takes my chin in his fingers. Gently, he nudges it around until I'm facing him. His expression is filled with kindness and compassion, and...

Can he possibly desire me after my failure?

He moves in closer, his gaze fastening on my lips. I feel his warm breath. He moves closer. I take a breath in anticipation. His lips brush mine and I sigh. I can't believe this. I failed miserably and he still thinks I'm worth something. He doesn't want to shame me, like Mom would. He still wants to help me, encourage me, and now, he even wants to kiss me.

The feel of his lips on mine makes me tingle all over, and I turn on the bench so that he can pull me close into his arms. The pressure of his lips on mine increases, and I feel a slow warmth coursing everywhere in me.

Then he gently pulls away. I meet his gaze. His eyes are alive with desire, but he says, “Now. Try singing now, sweet Frannie.”

I put my hands on the keys and close my eyes again. I play the intro and lengthen it just a bit, gathering my confidence, pulling together the energy and delight that flared up in me when Granville and I shared that wonderful kiss. I can do this. And I will do it. I sing the second verse:

Come into my warmth

And push me to my limit

Oh, it feels like

A little bit of home

I start out stronger, and it's only on the last line when I realize that yes, I sound pretty good, and yes, there's someone sitting here, watching me, listening to my words, coming into my warmth and pushing me to my limit—oh, the sexual double
entendre
, especially in Granville's incredibly hot and handsome presence!—do the nerves come back in force, and I finish the last line sounding like a frog, but hey, I sang most of it pretty well, and I only flaked out on the last line.

Better. Yes?

I turn to ask Granville if he thought it was better, but his lips immediately claim mine and his arms go around me, pulling me close. This time, his lips are hotter, more insistent, and I move mine under his. He teases my lips apart with his tongue. God. It's good. It's really good. We kiss for long, long moments, both of us reluctant to part, but when we do, we're breathing heavily.

“I want to hear the whole thing now,” he says.

I play it for him and sing it, too, with my ragged, aroused voice, and somehow, the feel and sound of my own voice when I feel aroused helps more of my shyness to fall away. There's only the slightest quaver as I sing all three verses, plus the chorus, and I repeat the chorus again, emphasizing it with some power bass on the piano:

Home is in your eyes and in your arms and in your touch

I never would have thought that I could need someone so much.

The song mirrors my feelings, how I feel at home with Granville, the tender way he looks at me, the kind and respectful way he treats me, and I marvel at how much I have come to need him to help me feel I'm more than just shy, fucked-up Frannie and that perhaps, with time, I can be somebody who can add to the sum total of awesomeness in the world.

I finish the song and sag sideways against him, blushing fiercely. He takes me in his arms and holds me close, kissing my forehead and the top of my head. Then he tips my face up towards his and his lips claim mine again. He murmurs against them, “You're amazing. You're absolutely amazing. Thank you for sharing your beautiful self with me.”

I can't respond because inexplicably, my eyes are full of hot tears. I keep kissing him, but I can't keep the tears from falling, and as we kiss, he feels them as they wet his cheeks as well. He pulls away from me slightly and looks into my eyes. “Are you okay?”

I pull him close. “Yeah. I'm more than okay. I feel as though I've turned a corner in my life. No, busted a hole in a thick wall that's always held me back. And you helped me bust it. You helped me walk through.”

He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, then my lips again. “You busted through with your own talent. I just showed you the weak spot in the wall.”

“What's my wall's weak spot?”

“Appreciation. Feeling appreciated for who you are. Encouragement. And consistency.”

“It makes sense,” I say. Jake's the only other person, other than Dad, who has ever appreciated me for who I am, but he hasn't been able to reach me quite like this since he's so enmeshed with Mom and all their drama. And Granville is a little older than Jake and me. He's twenty-three and a graduate student. Only five years older than me, but those five years must count for a lot with experience. I've found his patience and maturity incredibly helpful.

“Frannie, do you think you might be up to trying something?”

Fear fills me again, damn it. “What?”

“I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Old Grind Coffeehouse Friday night and do some karaoke with me.”

I stare at him, disbelieving. He's got to be kidding. Isn't he?

“You wouldn't be up there by yourself,” he says. “I'll be up there with you, and we'll sing together. Do a song we're both comfortable with.”

What a challenge, and a good opportunity, too. If I'm serious about becoming a singer-songwriter, I need to take this chance. Granville being up there with me will be a great help. I'll feel shy, yeah, but if I become frightened and my voice gets weak, I can lean on him. If I choke, he can carry things until I recover. And with his encouragement and kindness, I'm sure to recover. And hey, I might not even choke.

As scary—no, terrifying—as it sounds, I need to do this.

“Okay,” I say softly, still scarcely daring to believe I'm fighting back against my shyness like this.

“Okay?” he repeats playfully, kissing me tenderly on the nose. “You're adorable, you know that?”