Unexpected Harmony

5. New Job

Chapter 5

New Job

A spen danced as she cleaned the kitchen. It had been years since she'd done something so mundane, but she found the task soothing. Surprisingly, it was also unlocking a creative side she'd been missing for a while.

She definitely wasn't waiting for a particular woman to start working on her yard. As she predicted, her persuasion and charm—turned to the max when talking to Mrs. Erin Estrada—had paid off.

A smile played along her lips as Aspen recalled the conversation from nearly a week ago. It had been full of teasing and lightheartedness that unexpectedly had made her miss her mom terribly.

Erin was booked solid, but after a trip to Aspen’s yard two days prior, she agreed to let Zoey take the lead on redoing the area and even promised that this would be Zoey's only project. This had come after hours of gentle nudging and smooth talking from Aspen.

In a world where Aspen was used to people falling over themselves to work with her, she felt an odd sense of pride at having to work to get what she wanted. It was a skill she was sure was rusty, but when she signed on the line of the contract, a warmth filled her chest.

Twenty minutes. Twenty more minutes of silence was all Aspen had to endure before a bright distraction claimed her. A wisp of a song flittered through her brain, too small and delicate to try to wrangle into anything useful. Even a whisper was a positive sign; after the bout of nothingness, she welcomed the tendril of something.

She was on her hands and knees working out a smudge on the inside of the stove when the doorbell rang. She startled, hitting her head. Rubbing the sore spot as she climbed off the floor, she cringed at the yellow gloves she was still wearing. She was sure greasy crumbs were stuck to her hair.

Ripping the door open, she witnessed Zoey's eyes widen at her less-than-put-together ensemble. At least Zoey didn't reach for her phone to snatch a picture—if she had, she could have made millions off it.

“Sorry, I’m clearly not ready to receive company.” Aspen pulled her gloves off, motioning Zoey into the house.

“Oh, I don’t need to come in. I just wanted to let you know I’m here and am going to start.” Zoey’s blush reached the tip of her ears.

Following her gaze, Aspen looked down and saw what Zoey was staring at. Her white tank top had soaked through with sweat, giving Zoey a glimpse of the sports bra underneath.

Now convinced the world was out to get her, she jumped behind the door, craning her neck around the edge.

“You know there’s a window in your door, right? You're still not hiding much.” Zoey laughed as she hopped off the porch, pulling on her work gloves before turning to the tools laid out in the yard.

And so, her humiliation was complete. “Knock if you need anything.” Shaking her head, Aspen closed the see-through door.

After a quick shower, she wandered aimlessly through the house. The earlier wisps of music were gone; now, the buzzing nothingness threatened to pull her under.

Aspen's wet hair fell around her shoulders as she sat on the piano bench in her living room. A shadow caught her eye as she twisted on the bench. Zoey was outside, clearing the weeds from the bed. Erin had printed a rendition of the finished product, which Aspen kept on the counter. She'd looked at it so many times that she'd memorized each flower, stone, and path.

Gently placing her hands on the keys of the piano, she couldn't help but wonder why she was going through so much trouble with the landscaping of her beach house when the empire that she’d built was on the other side of the country. What was the pull to stay tucked in this slice of quiet? Morgan sure wanted to know, but it wasn't something Aspen could quantify yet. It was just in her heart; she knew this was where she needed to be.

Not feeling the pull of the piano, Aspen padded to her room, bending down to reach under her bed. The strands of her still-wet hair fell forward as she reached further until her fingers grazed against the rough stitching of her guitar case.

With a smile, she looked at the first sticker she had ever placed on the hard case: a cherry holding a bow and arrow with Archerry written above it. It was so random and encompassed the fleeting interests she’d had as a kid. Fleeting until she played this instrument for the first time, that is.

Aspen caressed the strings and smiled, feeling the same hum she first felt when her fingertips ran along the instrument all those years ago. She may have been known for the piano, but the guitar had its steel strings wrapped around her heart.

This one wasn't her stage instrument, all shiny and dolled up for concerts. No, this was the second part of her soul, a present from her parents. It represented their year-long struggle to save enough money to buy the secondhand guitar.

The guitar had been with her long before her fame arrived, when her parents banished her from the trailer to the backyard after they got sick of hearing the same notes repeatedly. She taught herself everything she knew on her tiny plot of land, with only the crickets as her audience and the wind cheering her on.

Setting the guitar, Drew, in her lap, she tuned the strings, surprised to find they only required a few adjustments. Plucking out her favorite chord progression, Aspen located the wisp of a song, but again, but it quickly disappeared.

She pulled herself from the ground and tried a different view—one of the many benefits of her beloved instrument being its ability to move with her, unlike the piano. The living room, kitchen, and entertainment room all failed to provide the right ambiance to capture the tune that was stuck behind the bars of the mundane. It wasn't until Aspen caught sight of Zoey's purple polo that she decided to try going outside.

With Drew in hand, Aspen walked outside, the breeze from the ocean brushing her cheeks as she enjoyed the sun playing off the water—a perfect setting to try and unlock this pesky wisp. Tucking a pillow behind her back as she sat down on the bench on her porch, Aspen warmed up with a few chords. The notes were drowned out by the waves and the buzz from Zoey's weed wacker.

It was perfect. This part was only for her. Humming a tune, she tried a few cords until one hit. That perfect progression solidified the wisp into something tangible. A tingle went up Aspen's spine, signaling she was on the right track. Closing her eyes, she tried a few different things. The song wasn't perfect, but there was something there, she could feel it. Instinctively, she sought out the sun to warm her cheeks as she played through a few notes.

The buzzing had stopped, but Aspen was still in the zone—just her, the breeze, and warm sun. Everything of the past months slipped away as she lost herself in the guitar. Her fingertips, having not played for a while, started to burn.

Slowly opening her eyes, she continued playing, noticing Zoey's arm moving along to the beat. A sheen of sweat graced her brow as she worked on pulling weeds from the overgrown area. Aspen wanted to offer her shade and a cold drink but didn’t think it would be welcome since technically Zoey was doing a job. Content to watch her work, Aspen kept playing as she watched Zoey.

A strength that wasn't readily noticeable enveloped Zoey, and Aspen found herself drawn toward it. She watched the progression as Zoey moved from the outer yard closer to the house. Aspen was mesmerized by Zoey's movements. Graceful, as if dancing to the music while pulling weeds.

Aspen’s fingertips throbbed as the last notes rang out. She'd need to rebuild her calluses. Shaking her hands, she placed the instrument next to her.

Zoey continued pulling weeds, and to Aspen's disappointment, her movements from before had ceased.

“Would you like something to drink?” Aspen asked. Now that the music had stopped, she couldn't handle the silence.

“No, that's okay. I brought some water.” Zoey waved behind her, flinging dirt that clung to her sweaty skin.

“A nice cool glass of lemonade? Are you sure I can't tempt you?” Aspen tried again, wondering why she kept pushing for more time with Zoey.

Standing from the flowerbed, Zoey stretched her back. “I'm sure you could tempt me with many things.” She tilted her head to the sky, taking in the sun's position. “I should go. I'll be back tomorrow at the same time.”

Aspen's head was still in the clouds, deciding to take the comment as a teasing remark, a cousin of flirting. She had no idea how to handle the situation and opted for, “I'll continue throwing things at you to see what will stick. For temptation. You know.”

Or maybe she should have kept her mouth closed. The echo of Zoey’s laugh teased her through the rest of the night.

Her whole body burned. Zoey's shoulders, face, and legs were angry at the sudden burst of manual labor. The shower had been torture, trying everything to scrub the dirt caked on her skin. Did she still have toes? Groaning, Zoey lifted her head a few inches off her bed. Okay, she still had toes. But her neck was now screaming.

Aspen's yard was coming along nicely, Zoey having gotten a few days of work in, but at what cost? At this rate, she wouldn't be able to walk down the stairs, let alone finish the flowerbeds.

Dropping her head back down, she blinked, but even that hurt. The air conditioning felt good on her overheated skin as she lay in bed, trying to sleep even if it was—Zoey closed one eye to concentrate on the blurry numbers—seven at night. Even knowing she had tomorrow off, she couldn't keep her eyes open.

The guitar notes played in her memory as she tried to fall asleep. Each day, Aspen had come out on the porch and played a beat-up guitar. The way she caressed the strings was nothing short of a miracle. If Zoey was different, she would have already taken a video. She was sure she could make a good amount of money from that. Just the thought filled her with shame.

She groaned, gathering her energy to roll over, being the side sleeper that she was. After ten minutes and nary an inch movement towards her preferred sleeping style, Zoey gave in, just letting her mind wander. Notes started playing on the ceiling. They had potential, but her music book was too far away. As she drifted to sleep, she hoped she could remember the first tune that had graced her mind since the incident.

Without the alarm to wake her up, Zoey squinted when the light from a small gap in her curtains splashed in her eye. It had been a while since she'd woken up after the sun.

The notes from the night before were still playing in her head. Sitting upright, she squealed, leaping to the book on her desk. Ruffling the pages until a blank slate greeted her, Zoey stuck the tip of her tongue out the side of her mouth in concentration as her pen flew across the music bars. She started with the piano piece as a way to draft out the song. Once the bones of the song were created, she began on the strings. They were always the part she had the most challenging time with, and tended to keep them for last, but now they flowed out of her. She could hear each piece as she wrote.

It wasn't an entire song, not yet at least, but a solid beginning to the first movement. The buildup created the foundation for the piece. As she pushed through, she wasn't sure if it would play out in real life. Her hands started cramping on the notes of the horns.

“Knock, knock.” The voice at her door interrupted the beginning of the woodwinds part.

“Hi, Mom. Come on in,” Zoey said without looking up from her work.

“Oh, you're up. Breakfast is ready, Zo. What are you doing?”

Zoey felt her mom lean over her shoulder. She fought the urge to throw her arm over the pages. This wasn’t her school dorm.

“As I drifted to sleep, a song played on the ceiling. I didn't think it would still be here when I woke up, but it's there.” Zoey tapped her head.

Erin's dad was a famous composer so she took the 'playing on the ceiling' comment in stride, and instead of checking her daughter’s sanity level, she squeezed her shoulder. “That's excellent, Zoey. I know it's been hard for you lately. Can you bring your book down, or do you want me to grab breakfast for you?”

Sighing, Zoey noticed there wasn't a not-to-eat option. Pesky things like food tended to slip away when she got in the zone, which was how she’d gotten into the mess in the first place.

“A plate would be great. Thanks, Mom.” She smiled, wanting to show her appreciation even if she had interrupted her.

“One plate coming right up.”

Zoey closed her eyes when she felt her mom kiss the top of her head like she did when she was little. She left and Zoey opened her eyes, getting back to work.

Back in the zone, she was startled when her mom came to the side of her desk, placing a hand on her arm. “I love that you're writing again, but Zoey, this is why you're here right now and not in school.”

At the words, Zoey's eyes landed on the cold, untouched plate by her arm. “When did you bring that?” Confusion spread through her as she tried to piece together the time. Crumpled notes littered her desk.

“It’s been three hours. I’m insisting you stop and come downstairs for lunch. Bring your book, but you need a break.” Erin’s stern Mom voice held no room for argument.

Grumbling, Zoey tucked her notebook under her arm and stood from the desk. A bout of lightheadedness hit her, making her legs crumple. Strong arms folded under her and helped her back up.

Her mom did not need to say anything; she just silently offered her support as they walked downstairs.

“There's my beautiful daughter,” Mateo boasted when he saw them come down the stairs. Theo was drawing at the table and didn’t look up when Zoey sat beside him.

“Hi, Dad. Lunch smells amazing.”

Smoked pulled pork and homemade slaw graced the table, along with mashed potatoes, corn, and homemade rolls. Seeing the food, Zoey's stomach worked overtime, growling at the spread. It was then she realized she'd forgotten to eat dinner, having come home yesterday and fallen into bed.

“How's our little harmonica doing this fine afternoon? You haven't been out of your room all morning.” Her dad filled the glass near her plate with homemade lemonade, a special treat usually only brought out for unique occasions.

“Fine. I’m working on a song. I think I got the bones figured out. Might try and play it out on the piano this afternoon.” At that, her brother looked up from his drawing with a frown. “Don’t worry, I know you have a standing appointment with that instrument at three.” Schedules were important to Theo, and she wasn’t about to break it. Plus, talking about playing gave her hives.

“That's great. However, you have to take care of yourself.” Her dad frowned at the untouched breakfast plate that her mom had brought to the kitchen.

“I know. I got in the zone. It's been so long since something's come to me that I didn't pace myself very well. I'll do better. I'm trying, I promise.”

“We know you are, Zo. Now dig in. Let’s not let all your dad’s hard work go untouched.” Erin waved to the feast before them.

“I'm glad you're writing again. I know how important it is to you.” Mateo sat across from her, pride shining in his eyes. “Your grandpa is coming to dinner tomorrow. Would you want to show him your work?” he asked, reaching for the potatoes.

Zoey gulped. Out of all her family, she had the most special bond with her grandpa, Marcus. However, that didn't stop her from shaking her head. “No, it's not done. Plus, I want to try standing on my own feet. I know he would help if he could, but then I would never know if I succeeded because of my talent or because I'm his granddaughter.”

“Nepotism isn’t always a bad thing. There are lots of people that use their connections to get further in life,” Erin pointed out before taking a bite of her pulled pork sandwich.

“I know. And if I'm desperate, I'll ask. But right now, I'm just finding my feet again. Also, I want to create movie scores. It's not like he runs in the same crowd as those folks.” Zoey moaned when she bit into the potato salad.

“You’d be surprised. The music industry is fairly small,” Mateo said.

“That's true, just look at how you're randomly working on one of the most well-known musician's yards. How's that going, by the way? She hasn't called and complained about the horrid job you're doing, so I'm assuming it's going okay?”

The change of discussion from her grandfather to Aspen caused a mental whiplash where Zoey lost her bearings. Aspen's playful smile and blue eyes, matching the ocean in the backyard, made it hard to concentrate on the job at times. “I'm keeping it professional if that's what you mean,” Zoey blurted out without thinking.

“It wasn’t, but that’s good to know.” Erin’s knowing smile was poorly hidden behind her diet soda.

“Ooh, do you liiiike her?” her dad asked goofily.

Zoey was sure her face matched the red flowers tucked in the vase in the middle of the table. “She's pretty cool but way out of my league. Like, she is pro, and I'm still in the pee-wee league.”

Erin tucked a napkin under her plate. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got a lot to offer.”

“Yeah, like a visiting pass to a mental hospital. That would be a fun first date, right?” Zoey tried to joke, but the words got caught in her throat. It wasn't too far from the truth; because of that, she needed to keep it professional with the famous Aspen Lake. She couldn’t even be friends with her. No good could come from that kind of scrutiny, especially for someone as mentally sore as Zoey. No, she'd finish her yard and move on. It was a moot point anyway since there was no way Aspen would even look her way as a friend, let alone a potential dating prospect. It was silly even to dream.