Daydream [H.S. A.U.]

Ch.25*

Thankfully arriving at the house we find zero paparazzi cars outside of the gate. Harry grants access with the press of a button as we make our way up his winding driveway.

I love coming here since it's so peaceful and secluded. "I'm feeling a bit restless, think I need to write a bit." He mumbles to himself but loud enough for me to hear him. As we make our way through the foyer he grabs my hand gently and squeezes it. "I'd love if you sat with me."

I look up at him in shock, "really? You'd let me get to experience the genius first hand?" I tease.

"Ohhh. You think I'm a genius, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head now." I shoot back.

"Too late. Come on, you've got a calming presence. It'll help."

I set my bag down in the living room and run to the kitchen to grab two bottles of water for us. I then grab my book from my purse before following him down the long hallway to a room I haven't seen before, one he is slowly turning into a music room.

There's a large purple velvet couch on the far back wall and two cognac colored leather arm chairs across it. There are three different guitars settled in on their stands, all acoustic, a keyboard nestled in the corner on the left of him, and a few stands with blank sheet music placed on them, ready to be used.

The hardwood floors are covered in mix matched rugs, giving the room a warm and welcoming energy.

I kick off my boots, shrug off my cardigan, and plop down on the couch with one of the cozy Sherpa throw blankets he bought. Harry pulls out his writing journal and a pencil he sticks between his teeth, settling in one of the chairs across from me and dives right in.

*******

Before I knew it, I've put away my book within the first hour and have been silently watch Harry work ever since.

I glance down at my watch to check the time; we've been sitting in almost complete silence for four hours. There have been a few words exchanged, always initiated by him of course. I didn't want to interrupt him when he was in the zone.

Harry has since moved from the leather chair and stopped writing, a guitar now in his grip sitting at a music stand caddy corner from me. He's been lightly strumming, mumbling to himself, and scribbling on his sheet music. He's completely mesmerizing when he's like this. What an incredible privilege to be witnessing his process in creating music.

I've noticed he chews on his pencil every so often when he's deep in thought or seems to be stumped. He's been gnawing on it for about 15 minutes now, so I come up behind him and place my hands on his shoulders. "What cha got going there?" I reference the sheet music he's been destroying with the eraser. "M'not sure yet." He taps his head with the eraser end, "M'a bit blocked."

I know that feeling all well. When you've gone down the rabbit hole of creativity, it's almost counterproductive to continue.

"Want some help?" He turns and gives me a perplexed look. "Can you?" I take the pencil from hips fingers and grab the sheet music. It's been ages since I've attempted this, but I figured I'd give it a try.