His stance relaxed and he uncrossed his arms. “I’ve been telling her the same thing for years.” He shook his head and held out his hand. “Fredrick Isaac, but everyone calls me Freddy.”

The name jingled something in the back of my head, but right now I was worried about Bay disappearing down the dark stairwell leading to who knows where.

Bracing myself for I-didn’t-even-know-what, I stared, barely keeping myself from wiping at my eyes when we walked through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. The walls were red and covered with pictures of musicians, and gold and silver albums. Hardwood floors flowed through the area, and there were dim lights around the exterior making the whole room feel like a club.

“What is this place?” I followed Freddy.

Bay was nowhere in sight.

“Only the best damn recording studio in Chicago.” He rattled off the names of musical acts over the past five decades that had passed through these halls.

Was Bay secretly recording an album? Part of me was torn with wanting those songs to be something only we shared, but also something no one else should be deprived of.

He stopped outside a doorway down a hallway filled with other doors. “What are your intentions with Bay?”

My mouth opened and closed. “We’re—she’s—my intentions are not to do anything that would ever hurt her.”

His gaze narrowed and he looked me up and down.

“She’s got an amazing voice.”

His eyebrows jumped. “She’s sung for you?”

“A few times.”

“Then I guess I can’t kick you out, if you mean that much to her. I haven’t heard her sing a note since her dad died.” A sadness clouded his eyes, but then was gone like a summer storm.

His words were like a dart thrown straight through my chest. ‘If you mean that much to her.’ The phrase rang in my ears as he pushed the door open.

Bay sat behind a huge board with buttons, levers, sliders, and a computer monitor. Her legs were tucked up under her in a rolling chair. Her gaze turned to the door before snapping straight ahead when she spotted me over Freddy’s shoulder.

“I’ll let Bay give you the studio tour.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “They’re riding through on their way to Chicago, so they won’t be here for another hour, Bay. I’ll check with their manager to see if it’s okay if he stays.”

“He’s leaving.” She rolled to the computer screen.

“I’ll check just in case he decides to stay.” His grin widened. “Good luck,” he muttered under his breath on the way out the door.

I took a deep breath and grabbed the chair by the door, flipping it backward and parking it beside her. “You’ve been sneaking out to work at a music studio.”

“Gee, how’d you piece together that mystery?” She didn’t look at me, only continued to tweak knobs and levels.

“It scared the shit out of me to think about you riding your bike on a dark, deserted street to get here every night.”