September 12th, 1988

Deacon was sitting on the porch staring out at the sunset, half a beer growing warm next to him—it was his first and only of the night. The weather cooled off exponentially in the past week, and he was grateful for that, particularly since August was on track to be the hottest month of the year. Chad sat next to him, working on his third beer. They'd lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"So, I kissed Rayna." Deacon blurted out, staring straight ahead.

"Where?" Chad asked around his beer and a smile.

Deacon turned his head to look at him, "What the hell do you mean where?" Deacon smiled and shook his head, "On the damn lips."

Chad laughed, and set his beer on the porch, "It's a valid question, man."

"Not when it's about a 16-year-old, it ain't." Deacon returned, picking his beer up and taking a swallow of it. He made a face, and then turned it upside down, pouring it into the bushes next to the house.

Chad rolled his eyes, "Oh, please. And, anyway, she's 17 today, right? You still going over to see her?"

Deacon nodded, "Yep. And I guess I should say she kissed me." Deacon shook his head at the memory, "I pulled away, and started mumbling the beginnings of why we couldn't… kiss."

Chad twirled one of his empty beer bottles around on the porch, the sound bouncing off the house, "Why? She ain't a good kisser?"

Deacon stared at him, "First of all, what did I tell you about saying 'ain't'? It just doesn't sound right when you say it, man." Deacon pointed at him, "And second of all, shut the hell up."

Deacon thought back to the brief kiss a few weeks ago, remembered the feeling of her soft lips, the feeling that spread quickly through his body at the contact; it was a quick kiss, but it was damn sure a good one, there was no doubt about that.

Deacon sighed, staring at the sun heading down into its bed, "She's just… too good for me, man."

"Ain't" With his use of the word, Chad looked pointedly at Deacon, "A woman around who isn't too good for you, Claybourne." Chad smirked, and then clapped him on the back, "Look, man, I know you have this whole tortured artist-songwriter thing going on, and it's cool and all, but…" Chad trailed off, pulling a face as he looked Deacon up and down.

Deacon turned to look at him, "I forgot to tell you," He snapped his fingers, like he was just remembering something, "Yesterday Whitesnake called while you were out. Told me to tell you they want their hair back." He looked down at Chad's tight pants, stretched over his skinny legs, "And their pants back, too." Deacon laughed, narrowing his eyes, "And, anyway, I thought you said me and Rayna was a bad idea."

Chad grinned, and shrugged, "What do I know?"

Deacon shook his head, "Not much."

Chad downed the rest of his beer and then turned to look at Deacon, "Look, I think what you need to ask yourself is this," Chad put his arm around Deacon's shoulder, "And I'm gonna get real serious here, man, so I want you to stay with me for a second," Chad leaned in closely to Deacon, speaking dramatically, "You need to ask yourself… 'Is this love… that I'm feeling? Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love… or am I dreaming?'" Chad finished, his face close Deacon's, staring at him intently.

Deacon narrowed his eyes, and then a loud burst of laughter erupted from him, "Did you just…" Deacon shook his head as his shoulders shook with laughter.

Chad removed his arm from Deacon's shoulder, and gathered the empty beer bottles up. He pointed at Deacon, "Expect another call from Whitesnake tomorrow, asking for their lyrics back," Chad said, standing up. He headed for the front door, and then turned around to face Deacon, "Look, when you first told me about this Rayna chick… yeah, I thought it was a bad idea. She's from a mansion in Belle Meade, and you're from… wherever the hell it is you're from," Chad said, "And hell, maybe it's still a bad idea, I don't know. But what I do know is that I've seen y'all sing together," Chad trailed off, turning his head to the side, "Yeah, probably shouldn't say 'y'all' either, huh?"

Deacon shook his head, "Probably not." He stood and turned to face Chad on the porch, "And what do you mean 'you've seen us sing together'?"

"I mean," Chad said, pulling the front door open, "That I might dress like I just stepped off a Cheap Trick album, but I know that what the two of you do up on that stage? It's not normal." Chad smiled, "That type of chemistry might be worth exploring no matter how bad of an idea it is," Chad clicked his tongue, "No matter how scared of it you might be." Chad walked inside, closing the front door behind him.

"I ain't scared!" Deacon shouted at the closed door. "I ain't scared." He mumbled to himself, leaning against the support beam of the porch. As the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared, he wondered if repeating a lie made it more or less true.

With a heavy sigh, he went inside to retrieve his guitar, and the small gift he had for Rayna.

. . .

Deacon stopped at a grocery store on the way to Watty's house and purchased a balloon and a cupcake. By the time he got to Watty's house, he considered leaving one or both of them in the car, feeling a bit silly.

Instead, he stood at Watty's door with his guitar in one hand, a balloon and cupcake in the other, and a small package tucked under his arm. He reached out, precariously balancing the cupcake, and pressed the doorbell. He felt suddenly nervous, which was so outside of his default state that the realization made him even more nervous.

Things between them had been relatively normal for the last three weeks, if a little more subdued. He could tell she was embarrassed, and he was, too, but he didn't know what to say that wouldn't make the situation worse—the only things he wanted to say were the things that would lead them into dangerous territory. In fact, the things he wanted to say would lead them, he suspected, into the exact territory he'd promised Watty he wouldn't even be interested in… entering in the first place. They'd played three more gigs since then, two of them paid—one at a small fair on Labor Day, just last week, and Deacon felt himself becoming more and more in awe of her.

Her voice was beautiful, but it was the way she lit up the stage that really struck him—the way she took the stage, like it was the only place in the whole world she ever wanted to be, like it was the only place in the world she was ever meant to be. Deacon had never really been one to believe in fate; it's a little hard to have that sort of a romanticized view of the world when you grew up the way he did, but the more he saw of Rayna Jaymes, the more he thought there just might actually be something to the idea.

However it was he ended up on this porch tonight, armed with a balloon and a cupcake, Deacon wasn't sure he much cared. He reached out and knocked again, trying to will his stomach to steel.

When she swung the door open, his stomach lurched, and he knew it was no use. Deacon saw the shock cross her face—she wasn't expecting to see him, but then he watched a smile spread across her face as she took his presence on Watty's doorstep in.

She was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, and her hair was tied into a ponytail at the back of her head. He could clearly see the freckles dotting her nose, and the word 'adorable' came immediately to mind, unbidden.

"Happy birthday," He grinned at her.

"Hey," She said, laughing as she held the door open, "Thank you."

He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. He set his guitar case down, and turned to face her. He stuck out his hand with the cupcake in its little container. She took it, and then he handed her the balloon; laughing, she took that too.

"It's white cake with chocolate frosting," He told her, then, "The cupcake, not the balloon."

Rayna laughed, "I figured." She peered at the cupcake, "That's my favorite kind."

Deacon took the present from under his arm and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "Yeah, you, uh, mentioned that once."

She looked at him, and her eyebrows shot up, "Did I?"

Deacon nodded, and she led him over to the sectional couch. "It'll fit right in with my theme for the night," She said, pointing to the coffee table. Deacon's eyes followed her hand, and he laughed when he saw that the table was filled with popcorn, candy, chips, and a plethora of other junk food.

Deacon looked at her and smiled, "A birthday feast."

Rayna blushed slightly, "Yeah." She shrugged, "Tandy took me to the spa today, and then to an early dinner, but she had to get back to Vanderbilt for a test tomorrow, and Watty's at the studio, so I thought I'd need some snacks." She sat on the couch and popped an M&M in her mouth. She gestured to the TV, "The perils of having your birthday fall on a Monday," she sighed, smiling. "I'm glad to see you, though." Her voice was quiet.

Deacon smiled, suddenly aware that they were very much alone in this house. He glanced at the TV, where Sixteen Candles was paused on a frame of Molly Ringwald. "The Breakfast Club is better," Deacon nodded at the TV, sitting down on the couch next to her.

Rayna laughed, "Actually, I agree." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, "There's just something about Judd Nelson in that one." She chuckled, "I like a good bad boy." Her eyes were sparkling, a small smile playing on her face.

"Is that right?" He asked, smiling.

She nodded, "It is." She noticed the wrapped package he was holding a bit awkwardly in his hands, "Is that… for me?" She asked, reaching for another M&M from the bowl.

Deacon looked at the package in his hand, "Oh, uh, yeah." He stretched his hand out to offer her the package, "It's just… a little something, not anything special."

She took the package and looked at him, turning her head to the side as she considered him, a strange look in her eye. "Thank you," She said, bringing the package into her lap. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, and the edges were jagged as she slid her finger underneath to pull it open.

Deacon watched as she carefully peeled the paper back and unwrapped the present. He saw her face change as she took in what it was. She opened the leather-bound notebook, and flipped through the pages. Her eyes were bright when she looked at him.

He ran his hand through his hair, "You probably have a million nicer ones, I just… I made this for you, for songwriting."

Rayna's eyes widened, and she looked down at the notebook again, "You made this?" She asked, looking back up at him.

Deacon nodded. "Yeah." Growing up the way he did, he had to find ways to occupy his time—outside of the guitar; he'd always loved working with his hands, so he found various hobbies that kept him at school for as long as possible.

"It's beautiful, Deacon." She said, her voice full of awe, "Thank you so much." She closed the notebook.

Deacon shrugged and smiled, pleased that she liked the gift. "You're welcome. That's part one." He said, grinning.

Rayna eyed him, "What's part two?"

Deacon stood from the couch and retrieved his guitar from where he'd set it by the front door. When he returned, he made a little room on the coffee table, opened his guitar case, and took out his guitar.

"Part two… is a guitar lesson." He held the guitar out to her.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, setting the journal on the couch next to her, "Oh, Deacon," She laughed as she took the guitar from him, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into." She pulled it into her lap, and positioned it.

"Apparently not," Deacon chuckled, "Ray, you're going to want to flip that thing around." His shoulders shuddered with laughter.

"Okay," She said, flipping the guitar around, "But just remember… I warned you."

He handed her a pick, "Do you know all the chords?"

Rayna smiled, "I know two." She bit her lip, "Well, one and a half."

Deacon went through the chords with her, watching as her hand made the changes—or, kind of made them, anyway. She strummed the guitar, but it wasn't smooth, and she kept forgetting where her fingers went. G, she said, was the hardest, and Deacon watched her slender fingers try to press the steel down into the fretboard. With anyone else, he would have been frustrated; it turns out she wasn't even remotely lying when she said she wasn't very good with guitars. But with Rayna, Deacon found he had a reserve of patience he was not previously aware he even possessed. When an hour passed and her fingers were red, he decided to call the lesson for the day.

As he took the guitar from her and put it back in the case, she looked at the tips of her fingers, and then back at him, "Playing guitar hurts." She said, rubbing her fingers together, "And you do this all the time?"

Deacon clicked the case closed, "Doesn't hurt as much as a lot of things do," He said, setting the case on the floor next to the couch, "You do get used to it, though." He looked at her, and then reached forward and grabbed a handful of M&Ms. He popped a few into his mouth.

"You get used to it?" She asked, leaning back into the couch.

"You get callouses." Deacon said, putting the rest of the M&Ms into his mouth. He held out his palm, there were colorful streaks on his skin as he showed her his hand, "It's not true what they say about these things," Deacon nodded to the bowl of M&Ms, "They definitely melt in your hand."

Rayna laughed as she looked at his hand, "Wow," She exhaled, looking at his fingers. Gingerly, she reached her hand out, and ran her fingers over his.

Deacon shifted in his seat at the unexpected contact, at her small hand in his, he noticed, significantly larger one. Her palm was so smooth and soft as she ran it over his, her fingers lightly skating over his own—such a contrast to the rough callouses on his hand. He smiled as she looked at him.

"I'm not sure I want callouses," She considered him, "They suit you though." She concluded, placing her hands in her lap.

Deacon laughed, "I actually don't think you're in any danger of that, Ray. I thought you were exaggerating, but..."

"Shut up!" She reached out and swatted him on the arm, but she was laughing, "Anyway, I did tell you."

He smiled, "So you did."

Rayna looked at the clock on the wall, "Oh." She looked at him shyly, "I have to go outside." She looked at him, "Can you give me five minutes? You can come out there after that." She nodded her head, indicating Watty's patio.

Deacon didn't understand, but he nodded, "Sure."

Deacon watched her walk out of Watty's sliding glass door; he grabbed a Frito from the coffee table, and then made his way to the kitchen, washing the rainbow from the M&Ms off his hand. He couldn't get the feeling of her soft, warm hands fluttering over his palm out of his head.

He knew it from the first night they met, but he was sure now more than ever that he hadn't met anyone quite like her before. And somehow, he knew he never would again. Deacon thought about Chad, about his Nashville sensibilities in his big city pants. Deacon hadn't told Chad everything about where he came from; in fact, he hadn't really told anyone. But Chad knew enough, and still, Chad told him that maybe it would be worth it to see what Deacon Claybourne and Rayna Jaymes could be together.

But Deacon's past told him a different story, told him what kind of blood he had in his veins. His past tattooed on him the knowledge of the infinite ways you can hurt the people you love the most, even when you don't mean to. Deacon shook his head, if he didn't stop thinking about Rayna Jaymes in the same breath as 'love,' he was going to be in very serious trouble.

Shaking his head, he checked the clock, and made his way to the sliding glass door. When he opened it, he saw Rayna sitting in the dark on the porch, staring up at the sky. He couldn't make much of her out since the moon was only 2 days old, but in that moment, he didn't need to see much of her to know that he was already very much in trouble.