Before we pick up where we left off last night, Conal grabs an acoustic guitar and sings what he wrote.
You’re a live wire
so much to admire
baby what you’re doing’s got my heart on fire …
It’s only a handful of lines, but the potential is clear. I suggest a couple more lines, and Rafe joins in, strumming a few chords.
This is typical for how we usually come up with songs, Rafe with the harmonies and melodies, Conal with the lyrics, and me filling things in where they’re needed. It’s almost always a collaborative process, but it’s not very common for us all to have the same energy for any particular song.
None of us speak Hazel’s name, but as the song comes together, it’s obvious she’s our shared inspiration.
We work on it until we’re all satisfied, and when it’s done, it feels like the most equal our songwriting has ever been. This piece belongs to all of us.
After just a couple of takes, the song is recorded, and everyone’s happy with the sound. More than happy, actually. There’s talk of it having the potential to be a big hit. I wonder how Hazel will react the first time she hears it.
Shortly after we move on to another track, the woman herself comes in to tell us she’s made lunch,and it’ll be ready anytime we’re able to take a break. When we make it into the kitchen, she brings out a big bowl and quickly tosses a salad with Caesar dressing. She’s also made chicken to go with it, and there are loaves of Italian bread.
There’s also another basket of muffins, and she makes a special point of showing them to me. The smile on her lips and blush on her cheeks make me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs, but that would confuse some of the folks here who only know her as Conal’s bride.
It’s fucking hot that she’s feeding us. I’ve never wanted a woman to play the little housewife, but thinking about Hazel in the kitchen, thinking aboutuswhile she cooks, makes me hard. I want to bend her over the counter and fuck her until she screams.
Instead, I settle for trapping her in the pantry for a few stolen seconds after most everyone’s done eating.
“Thanks for making the muffins.” After making sure no one’s looking, I nuzzle her neck and slip my hand under her shirt.
Giggling, she squirms in my arms. “I hope you liked the banana ones as much as the apple.”
“They’re both good, but not nearly as delicious as the one I ate last night.” I slide my hand betweenher legs as another reminder, and she hums deep in her throat.
After giving her a soft kiss, I reluctantly return to the studio. I have to suffer thinking about her all day, and now she can share in my pain. I’ll make it more than worth her while tonight, when we’re in bed.
We don’t usually see Roddy on a regular basis, but he just so happens to stop over again in the early evening, and he seems especially curious about whether Hazel’s making dinner again.
“It smelled good in the kitchen,” he tells us, before asking about our progress on the album.
It turns out Hazeliscooking again, and the risotto she serves us for dinner is incredible.
“I couldn’t serve you sandwiches again, so I looked for a recipe,” she says, much more humble than she should be after creating something so delicious.
After dinner, we have to get back in the studio, but we promise her we won’t work too late.
“Why don’t we take a break tomorrow and spend some time with Hazel?” I suggest to Conal and Rafe as we’re heading upstairs. It’s been a productive day, and we’re ahead of schedule.
“Great idea. We can work the morning and take the rest of the day off.”
I’m excited about the plan, but all thoughts of it fly out of my head as soon as I see what Hazel’s wearing in the bedroom.
HAZEL
I’m humming a Pythons’ song, arranging the clean comforter on the bed, and thinking about how I’m hoping tonight’s lessons go, when I hear the men approaching.
The comforter is the biggest item I’ve ever washed in my life. Thank goodness there was a commercial-sized washing machine in the laundry room down the hall, because there was no way I was going to let the housekeeper deal with the very particular kind of mess we made in here last night.
As I’m stretching across the massive bed, smoothing out some wrinkles, a hand palms my ass and doesn’t let go.
“Got you right where we want you, babe,” Conal says, giving my ass a shake.
