Chapter Five

Warner watched Clara type a text message on her phone. Something was eating at her, but she’d yet to bring it up. One thing he’d learned in his life was to leave things alone. When she was ready to tell him she would. But he couldn’t help but feel that whatever was bothering her had to do with him.

He eased his beat up pickup truck into the parking space in front of the theater and Clara finally looked up.

“You don’t have your music and guitar with you do you?” she asked.

Warner winced. “Wouldn’t be a real musician if I didn’t, right?”

She nodded. “Do you have time to come in and work?”

Warner twisted in his seat to look at her. “Work? On music?”

She let out a sigh. “Listen, Randy got this gig for us. You and me.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. But it’s closing night at the theater.”

“Oh.” He saw the dilemma now. His stupid thought on her being the voice to sell his music was backfiring because she had a life. Everyone had a life and usually it didn’t include him or his music.

“He said Lionel Perry heard your song the other night and contacted Randy.”

“Lionel Perry?” His voice rose in pitch. “Lionel Perry as in the same man who has discovered some of the biggest names in this town? That Lionel Perry?”

“Yes.”

Warner ran his hand over his hair. “Wow. He heard my song?”

“You’re going to have to do this on your own, though.”

That phrase didn’t settle with him—nor did it surprise him. “Right.” He let out a deep breath. “Can’t we reschedule?”

She shook her head. “C’mon, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Someone to want to hear your music? Warner, you’re more than just the words on paper. You have some great talent.”

“You’ve never heard me.”

Her smile was back and lit in her eyes. “You Tube.”

Warner bit down on his lip. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“I’m not just saying that.” She reached her hand to his cheek. “You have to stop letting others get into your head.”

He knew that, but it certainly was engrained in him “So you can’t make it, but you’re going to help prepare?”

Clara dropped her hand to his and interlaced their fingers. “Yes, I’m going to help you. Isn’t this what you want? To perform your music for someone who wants to hear you?”

It was what he’d wanted more than everything. In fact until she’d said it out loud, he’d given up on wanting to perform and had settled to selling his music if the opportunity came along.

“I do want that.”

“Well, c’mon then. Let’s practice.”

The theater was still set up for West Side Story. Clara pulled two chairs to the center of the stage and then retrieved her guitar from backstage.

Warner looked around the streetscape and thought of Clara standing on the fire escape singing down to her Tony. It occurred to him that there were only four shows left and he’d heard her sing, but he hadn’t seen her perform. Perhaps he’d try to secure tickets for the show. And it was moments like that he wished he’d had a mother who’d like to accompany her son to the theater. Well, he swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, he didn’t have that so there was no reason to even let that get under his skin.

Clara returned with her guitar and sat down across from him.

“Okay, handsome, let’s make some music.”

There wasn’t much to her picking up the tunes he’d had tucked away in his head. She could read his scribble and adlib with the best. They’d run through one song and on the second round she’d harmonize against him.

He’d never felt so alive.

They were genius together. The theater filled with their sound. He recorded each song on his iPhone and each one sounded better than the one before.

This could happen. This could work. He’d been right, Clara Keller could be his ticket.

The moment overtook him as she shuffled the music on the stand before her. Warner rose to his feet, walked to her and pulled her to her feet. Each of them gripped the necks of their guitars. He slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him into a kiss that should have melted his shoes to the stage.

His tongue sought out hers and a moan escaped her throat. Colors danced behind his eyelids and his heart pounded in his chest harder than the vibrations from sitting too close to the speakers at a rock concert. No matter what happened with his music he had to keep this woman. Nothing had ever made him feel as alive and as whole as this woman did.

His lips were warm and his mouth so inviting. She had to focus on holding tightly to the guitar so that it wouldn’t fall to the ground.

Warner’s fingers worked through her hair and she raised her free hand to his chest and gripped his shirt in her fingers.

It was then, during the bliss of the kiss, when she heard the distinct sound of the theater lights being turned off.

Her eyes flew open and she clung to Warner, a scream was caught in her throat and threatened to choke her.

“Hello!” Warner called out.

Clara’s hands shook as she gripped him tighter.

“Hello?” He called again.

“Clara? Are you in there?” John’s voice called from the back of the stage.

“Uncle John, we’re here.”

A smaller light illuminating the back stage turned on and she could see him standing near the door.

“Sorry kiddo. I thought you guys left. It got quiet.” He took a step toward the stage. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her hands were still gripping the front of Warner’s shirt and her other hand had such a grip on the guitar that the frets were cutting into her fingers.

“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice shook.

Warner looked down at her. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m fine.” She took a step back. “I said I was fine.”

She let out a long breath and tried to steady herself. Her palms were sweaty and her hands still shook as she tried to gather the music off the stand as Warner tucked his guitar into its case.

John walked to her and placed his hand on her back. She winced and that bothered her.