Fireworks 1 and 2

Chapter Sixty-Seven

    "You...want me to move in with you?"

    "You say that like it's a bad thing."

     Mia stepped back, pulling out of Drake's embrace. She turned her back to him and stared across the swimming pool. The thoughts in her head were jumbling over each other. "It's not...bad, it just feels like it's too soon for that," she said, choosing her words carefully.

    He stood at her back. "The alternative is you going back to Texas," he said. "I'm not good at long distance relationships."

    Just weeks ago, he'd been hesitant to be a part of a relationship at all, so she didn't take his words lightly. She wrapped her arms around herself. Her hands touched bare skin, a reminder that she was standing outside, very close to naked.

    "I understand if you need to think about it," he said, his voice quiet.

    She turned and looked up at him. She wanted to tell him that she would gladly move in with him. But she hesitated. Moving in with him meant uprooting her life. A tiny voice inside of her asked, So what? That voice sounded frighteningly similar to Bri's. She could only imagine Bri's response. "Bitch, it's DRAKE. Okay? Why are you hesitating? Drake asks you to move in. You move the fuck in. You disappear for a few hours and return with all of your luggage, okay? You don't take time to think about it. You don't take time to try to sort your life out and get it in order. Drake is life, bitch." Mia laughed at the thought.

    Drake's brows furrowed.

    She lowered her eyes and turned back to face the pool. "I don't want to live far away from you, either," she told him. "I don't know if moving in with you is the step I should take, but give me some time to think about my options."

    He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. "Done."

    She relaxed and leaned back against him, covering his arms with her hands and looking out over the water. Options? She didn't have any to consider. While she was in talks with a few different record labels, no deals had been inked yet. She had money she'd saved up over the past few years, but she'd worked as a temp. Those savings were dwindling by the month. Granted, Drake was paying her a large sum of money to work with him. Financially, she'd be okay. Not necessarily okay to buy a condo, but maybe she could get an apartment in California. She didn't know what she was going to do. Even though she knew she wouldn't figure it out right this moment, standing poolside with him, she still tried to figure it out. Classic Mia.

    Over the next following weeks, they continued writing and working on the album. With several songs completed, he took to the microphone to record. She watched him, in complete awe of the care he took in his art. The work dynamic between Drake and Noah was mesmerizing.

    The music from one song ended and the music from Mia's song started to play. In the recording booth, Drake stood behind a mobilized microphone with a huge, circular pop filter over it. Wearing a black hoodie, gray sweatpants, and Jordans, he held his Blackberry up in front of him. He read lines from it out loud.

    Noah sat at the sound engineering board. He cued up the section of the track right before Drake's verse started.

    Drake bobbed his head and adjusted the headphones over his ears. He continued to hold up his cell phone in one hand, and lifted his other hand to press one headphone muff closer to his ear. He started to rap his verse in Mia's song. His voice was smooth and melodic, even when rapping. While rapping into the microphone, his brows furrowed and moved in ways that were far too sexy, considering they were just eyebrows. His eyes zeroed in on the screen of his Blackberry as he delivered his lines into the microphone. When he was finished, he moved one side of the headphones off of one ear. "Play it back," he said into the microphone before turning his back to the recording booth window.

    Noah stopped the recording, rewound it, and played it back.

    The music started up, and then Drake's voice could be heard over the speakers. He bobbed his head while pacing the short length of the studio booth. When his verse ended, he returned to his spot behind the mic. "Again," he said into the microphone.

    Noah, from experience knowing what "Again," meant, rewound the instrumental and played it back.

    Drake repeated the verse over and over, listening to himself after each recording. He continued to record it until he felt that it was perfect. Then, he called for Mia.

    Noah wheeled around in his chair and looked at Mia, who was seated on the couch replying to text messages. "He wants you in the booth," he told her.

    Mia stood up and slid her cell phone into the pocket of her tight, dark jeans. She'd pulled her hair back into a curly pony, a simple hairstyle that complimented her red tank, black bomber jacket, jeans, and low heels. She crossed the studio and entered the recording booth. "Yeah?"

    Drake looked down at her, removed the headset from his head, and held them out for her. "Your turn."

    She looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Excuse me?"

    "I want you to sing your part on the track," he told her.

    "I'm not a singer, Aubrey," she reminded him, refusing to accept the headphones from him.

    He smiled and placed the headphones on her head, securing the muffs over her ears. "I love your voice," he said. He placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her behind the microphone.

    "This is another ambush," she muttered, glaring over her shoulder at him.

    "You had faith in me when it came to choosing your outfit for Party's performance, and for the VMAs," he said. "Have faith in me one more time, all right?" He raised a hand and signaled to Noah.

    Noah rewound the track all the way to the beginning.

    Mia shook her head at Drake. She had her own microphone and pop filter back at home, although the quality was nowhere near the microphone she was standing behind now. She'd used a similar setup to record the audio for her YouTube videos, so she knew how it worked. Knowing how it worked did nothing to calm her nervousness.

    He stroked her cheek affectionately. "You saw how many times I had to record, right?" he asked her.

    She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.

    "I'm used to this and I had to record it several times before I was happy with it. You may have to record a few times, or maybe more than a few times. There's nothing wrong with that."

    "Okay," she said.

     "I'm going to go out and sit with Noah while he records you." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

    She watched him leave. He closed the door behind him. She felt like a fish in a fishbowl, standing behind a microphone, behind a plane of soundproof glass. She missed her cue and Noah rewound the track again. Then, she heard Noah speaking into her ear. His voice came in through the headphones.

    "You're going to do just fine. I've heard you sing while you were writing. Relax, you'll be fine."

    She nodded, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She lifted both hands to cover the muffs of the headphones, and when it was time, she started to sing.

    She may not have had confidence in her voice, or her ability to sing. But singing always felt good. It felt good to belt out to a song that you liked; it felt good to make enchanting words flow to an irresistible beat. Noah had finessed subtle sounds into the music she'd written for the song. He'd given the music dimension. She soon forgot about her nervousness and opened her eyes while singing. She peered out of the glass at Drake who was seated next to Noah. When she looked at him, her heart swelled with happiness. Because as he looked back at her, he was wearing a facial expression that she'd never forget: one of pride.