Page 49 of Christmas Trees & Weak Knees

“You coming?”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to help Mom clean up. Have fun.” She gives my arm a gentle pat, and my skin tingles beneath her palm.

When I walk toward the circle, the woman playing spoons shifts her chair back so I can sit next to her. Everyone keeps playing, and eventually I join in. It’s challenging, to play by ear and predict what everyone else will do, but it’s also invigorating. There’s a give and take, a push and a pull, a sharing of sounds and a bit of the soul. In this moment, I’m reminded of why I love music so damn much.

A good meal. Paisley’s company. Fantastic music. It all adds up to tonight being one of the best nights of my life.

Track 17

I Really Want to Kiss You Right Now

Paisley

November 23

I show up at the barn with my guitar just before nine a.m.

The tables have been returned to the storeroom, the chairs folded and put away. The pallets are in a pile out back and the floor has been swept clean. Everything’s returned to the way it was before the hoedown.

Everything but my heart. Which seems to have set itself on Kash Murray.

I don’t know when it happened exactly. It could have been when he gave me an encouraging nod during “Mockingbird.” It might have been when he grabbed my hand and pulled me out on the dance floor. All I know is that by the time he spun and dipped me, I was well and good on the way to falling for him.

Having these feelings for Kash is complicated in so many ways. Obviously, it’s not a great idea to get involved with someone you work with. If it goes well, then there’s the constant distraction of wanting to kiss and cuddle and make moon eyes at someone. If it doesn’t, well, that’s a whole other problem. Like it or not, the trajectory of both our music careers will be impacted by Kash’s demo. We need to stay focused on writing and recording demo songs and not get caught up in romantic entanglements.

And that’s assuming Kash’s flirtations mean something. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I misread the signs?

Still, there was a moment—when he held me in his arms as we slow-danced to Marla and the Magpies’ rendition of Kacey Musgraves’s “Golden Hour,” and he tipped his face toward me—I was sure Kash’s lips would brush over mine. My knees went the good kind of weak, and I had a fluttering of those pre-kiss butterflies in my belly. But he didn’t kiss me and my knees recovered and the butterflies flew away. Who knows, maybe I dreamed it all up.

It’s possibly, probably, definitely for the best that we didn’t kiss.

As I climb the ladder to the loft, my nerves buzz with anticipation and apprehension. I haven’t seen Kash since the hoedown. His grandfather drove up yesterday morning from Nashville so they could spend the day together, and I was busy supervising an afternoon reindeer “petting zoo” with Dunder and Blixem and then, later, helping out at the gift shop.

Kash is already in the loft when I arrive. He’s sitting sideways in the sleigh, legs stretched out across the bench seat, with his electric guitar on his lap. I take a minute to study his profile, the straight length of his nose, the soft part of his lips, the squareness of his chin.

He turns, eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Mornin’,” he says.

“Hi.” I set my guitar case down by the chairs. Thankfully, Mom and Dad decided to get the barn insulated and had a heating system installed a few years ago, when we started hosting regular holiday events and arts and crafts activities. I pull off my coat and hang it over the back of the chair. Kash slides out from the sleigh and settles himself into his usual seat.

“Do you want to keep working on the song we started last week?” I ask, pulling my guitar from its case.

“Sure. But first, listen to this.” He adjusts his guitar in his lap and then plays a C-G-D chord progression with the root note string played first before he strums the rest of the strings in a classic country strumming pattern that reminds me of the slow walking gait of a horse or an old Hank Williams song.

“Okay,” I say, letting my body sway to the loping, lazy rhythm. “What are you thinking for a melody?”

Kash shrugs. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“What’s the song about?” Sometimes knowing the theme helps with developing the melody. At least, that’s been my experience when I don’t have something solid in mind. What Kash has so far feels lighthearted and optimistic, the kind of song you’d write about the perfect fit of blue jeans or returning home after a long absence.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he says, his brow furrowed. “But I think it should be about looking forward instead of dwelling on the past.”

Kash might be plucking the guitar strings, but the theme is really tugging at my heartstrings.

I pick up my guitar and strum along with him. I add a few arpeggios to see if that inspires a melody. We play the chords over and over until we’re no longer thinking about them.

First I hum, trying to find the notes that feel right. Then I mumble nonsense sounds. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes writing music is less about theory and following the rules, and more about capturing a feeling in an organic way. Most people listening to a song aren’t going to think: “Wow, that E minor transition was really an interesting choice in the reprise.” They’re looking for a hook. Something to comfort their sadness, celebrate love, move their bodies, or even see the world in a different way. At the end of the day, a song can be technical as can be, but if it doesn’t sound good and make you feel something, it’s just a bunch of notes strung together. It’s kind of like the difference between a house (the structure) and a home (the feel).

“What are you doing?”