September 21st, 1988

The sun had been up for three hours now, and the sunlight was casting shadows throughout the rustic kitchen that admittedly didn't get much use. Rayna was sitting at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in front of her.

She pushed the cereal down into the milk a couple of times, "You sure you don't mind me staying with you, Watty? I could start looking for a place." She'd had three paying gigs since that first one, and she had another one lined up for this coming weekend.

Watty, standing on the other side of the counter, smiled at her, "Nah, I like having you around; you can stay as long as you want. It's a big house, I might as well share it."

Rayna considered him as she brought a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. "Why'd you never get married, Watty?" She questioned, before she took the bite.

He stared at her, amusement in his eyes, "What was it you were saying about looking for a place again?" He chuckled and shook his head, "You ask too many questions; anyone ever tell you that?"

She laughed, "Once or twice." She crunched her cereal, "So, why didn't you?"

Rayna watched as Watty got a faraway look in his eyes, "I loved someone once." He replied, smiling wistfully. His eyes were soft, and Rayna thought he looked at least ten years younger.

Rayna dipped her spoon into her bowl and pushed the cereal around in the milk, "Just once?" She asked, curious.

Watty looked at her, his blue eyes staring gently into hers, "Sometimes once is enough." Watty shook his head, and it seemed like he was trying to dislodge a memory, or maybe he was trying to hold on to it, "Have you heard from Deacon today?"

Rayna dropped her spoon, her appetite suddenly gone, "Yeah." She said, picking up her bowl and bringing it to the sink. "He's going to come over later and we're going to try to write together."

Watty raised his coffee mug to his lips; peering at her over the edge of the cup, he smiled, "Be careful there." He took a sip, and then set it on the kitchen counter.

Rayna dumped her cereal into the sink, turned on the water, and watched the remnants of her breakfast swirl down the drain. "What are you talking about?" She asked, shutting the faucet off.

Watty smirked, "You know what I'm talking about."

Rayna rolled her eyes, "Oh, please. I'm pretty sure Deacon thinks of me as his annoying kid sister or something." She turned the faucet back on.

Watty laughed, "Yeah, okay." His tone was incredulous. He pointed a finger at her, "Be careful. I've seen you two together, I don't want to see you get…"

Rayna flipped the switch for the garbage disposal, drowning out the end of Watty's sentence, "What?" She shouted over it, laughing as she looked at him.

He pointed his finger at her again and shook his head, but he was laughing. "Be careful." He mouthed, picking up his coffee cup and moving into the living room, heading for the stairs.

Rayna turned the disposal off. "Thanks, Watty." She called after him as she washed her bowl and spoon in the sink.

"Yeah," He threw over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs.

Rayna set the bowl on the counter, and then turned around and leaned against the sink. Things with Deacon had been weird lately. She'd sworn he was going to kiss her outside of the bar that night before Tandy interrupted them, but then he'd never mentioned it again. Then, she was sure he was going to kiss her on the night of her birthday, but he'd just kissed her on the forehead—which seemed, to her, like the kissing equivalent of ruffling someone's hair. She just couldn't get a read on the situation, or on how he actually felt about her.

Of course, she didn't have the most experience with guys, but she thought it really should be easier to figure out.

Turning around, she picked up a dishtowel and began to dry the bowl and spoon. As she reached into the cupboard to put them away, something her momma used to tell her came back to her—"Don't worry about everyone else. Focus on how you feel." She'd told her.

Rayna might like to do that, except for one problem: how she felt about Deacon scared the absolute hell out of her.

. . .

Deacon showed up at noon, right on the dot. Rayna swung the door open and greeted him with a wide smile.

He took his sunglasses off and slid them into his shirt pocket, "Hey." He greeted her, smiling.

"Hey," She held the door open as he came in.

She closed the door and turned to face him—he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, what she had come to think of as his usual attire. The t-shirt was a blue color that really brought out his eyes. Rayna skated her eyes over his chest, noticing how his muscles were visible through the shirt. She colored slightly at the thought, not used to noticing those sorts of things. He was holding his guitar case and a large brown paper bag.

When he saw her looking at the bag, he held it up, "Lunch." He explained, smiling at her.

She smiled, hoping he hadn't seen where her eyes had gone just a moment before they landed on the bag.

"Watty's gone, but I was thinking…" She bit her lip, "It's such a beautiful day, maybe we could write outside?"

Deacon nodded, "Sounds good."

Rayna gathered a blanket and some lemonade and they headed out to Watty's backyard. Walking down the would-be horse trails, they stopped at a spot just underneath a Scarlet Oak. Deacon took the red blanket from her and spread it out over the Kentucky bluegrass that was in desperate need of a mow. He set his guitar case next to the blanket, and then tossed the lunch bag on the blanket. Rayna set the bottles of lemonade next to the brown paper bag, and situated herself on the blanket. Deacon followed suit, sitting down next to her and tucking his legs underneath him.

Deacon held his hands out, one over the guitar, one over the lunch bag, "Lunch or song first?"

Rayna felt her stomach grumble and she laughed, "Lunch, I think."

"Good choice," Deacon said, reaching for the bag. He reached inside and pulled out two sandwiches and some napkins, "Turkey or ham?" He asked.

Rayna smiled, "Turkey, please." She reached to take the sandwich from him.

She unwrapped the sandwich, and lifted the bread, peering inside.

Deacon paused mid-unwrap to look at her, "Everything okay?"

Rayna nodded, and then slid her fingers into the sandwich, gingerly plucking out the tomatoes and setting them on the sandwich wrapper.

Deacon finished unwrapping his sandwich, "Not a fan of tomatoes?" His voice was amused.

Rayna shook her head. Deacon chuckled, and took a bite of his sandwich. Rayna picked up a napkin and began dabbing it at places on the inside of her sandwich.

Deacon swallowed his bite, "Rayna? What are you doing?"

She stopped moving the napkin, and pulled it out from the sandwich, holding it up so he could see. Seeds and tomato juice dotted the napkin, "They leave behind their guts." She explained, setting the napkin down and closing her sandwich.

Deacon twisted the top off a bottle of lemonade, watching Rayna as she brought the sandwich up to her lips and took a small bite. "You got all the tomato essence out of there?" He teased.

Laughing, she nodded as she chewed.

They talked and ate their sandwiches, enjoying the feel of the cool weather, the 70-degree day a very welcome break from the heat that August wrought.

"I can't believe my sister's wedding is already next weekend." Rayna said, taking a sip of lemonade.

"I can't believe I have to go to that wedding," Deacon shook his head, smiling as he popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.

Rayna set her sandwich down, suddenly not very hungry. The idea of spending a night with Deacon somehow tended to do that to her, she was learning. The thought of him at all, actually.

"I'm supposed to give a toast." Rayna said, shuddering a bit, "I'm the maid of honor, but I don't know what to say." She sighed, "I'd rather do a song or something. But, that wouldn't go over too well, what with Daddy..."

Deacon shrugged, gathering his trash and stuffing it in the brown bag, "Rayna, trust me, you singing will always go over well. Maybe not with your Daddy, but it ain't his wedding." He winked at her, "If you want to sing a song, sing a song."

Rayna laughed, "That motto's gotten me this far, I guess." She sighed, stretching her legs out in front of her, "Speaking of songs…"

Deacon's eyes ran over her legs, the expanse of them afforded to him by the cutoff shorts she was wearing. They came down to just above her mid-thigh, but it was enough. He shook his head, then looked at her face, grateful to find she hadn't caught him staring.

"You done?" He indicated her sandwich. At her nod, he scooped it up and put it in the bag, tossing it off to the side of the blanket. He leaned over and opened his guitar case, pulling the guitar out and situating it in his lap, "I think I'll take care of the guitar part this time," He said patting his guitar and grabbing a pick from his case.

Rayna laughed, tucking her feet underneath her on the blanket, "Oh, very funny." She said, reaching behind her to grab the notebook he'd given to her.

Deacon tuned the guitar, strumming lightly on each string individually. "Have you written anything in it yet?" He looked at the journal in her hands.

Rayna smiled shyly at him as she ran her hand over the soft leather of the cover. She shook her head, "No, I wanted to save it for something special," her voice was quiet.

She couldn't remember which of them had suggested writing together first, but they'd been talking about it for weeks. When he'd given her the journal, she'd wanted to fill it with her songs, with her thoughts, with any and every thing. But, as she sat on her bed at Watty's house, pen poised over the paper of the journal, it just didn't feel right. The journal was so special, she felt like she should save it for something special. When they'd made their writing plans, she figured that would be the perfect thing—the perfect thing to christen the thoughtful present.

He plucked a few notes on the guitar, "Ready, Rayna?" He asked, smiling at her.

She nodded, then considered him for a moment, her brow slightly furrowed, "How come you call me Rayna now, instead of Ray?" She surprised herself by asking the question, but she'd noticed that since a few days after her birthday, he'd stopped calling her the nickname. She was a bit embarrassed she even noticed, but when he'd first come up with it, she'd loved the way it sounded falling from his lips—and, truth be told, she missed it.

Deacon shrugged, "Oh, Ron told me you asked him not to call you that. He said you didn't like it."

Ron was the bass player that played with them at most of their gigs. She remembered telling him that a few weeks back—they'd been going over something for one of their gigs, and he'd called her Ray. She'd politely told him that she didn't like to be called that, and that actually she preferred Rayna. Of course, that wasn't exactly true these days, though it had been for much of her life. Somehow, when Deacon called her that, she didn't mind a bit—she liked it.

Rayna felt the color grow in her face, and she looked out at the pasture in front of her, "I…" She trailed off, "I like it when you call me that." She felt the sting behind her eyes, the vulnerability of what she just admitted making her feel on edge. She couldn't look at him.

"Oh." He breathed the word out, and she heard the smile in his voice, "Okay." He propped his guitar up and ran the pick down the strings, "You ready, Ray?"

She smiled then and turned to look at him, nodding.

Rayna had never really written with anyone before. It was usually a solo exercise for her, a private venture she mostly kept to herself. She'd only ever written a bit with Watty, but she already knew that writing with Deacon was different. Very different—she felt nervous, and excited, and a bit terrified. Songwriting could be so damn personal, she knew, and she was terrified to get personal with Deacon, despite the fact that she'd found herself wanting very little but to get personal with Deacon these past few weeks.

So as the melody carried on the wind, she felt so many emotions swirling inside of her. When silence fell, she looked down at her paper; they'd written the first verse, but suddenly they found themselves stuck, unable to move forward.

Deacon turned the guitar over and placed it in his lap, staring at her, "Ray," he said, his voice belying a bit of his frustration, "I feel like… You're not being honest here." He gestured to the notebook, where the lyrics they'd written stared back at them.

Rayna eyed him suspiciously, "What?" She narrowed her eyes, and ran her hand through her hair, thinking about it, "Well… you don't strike me as being particularly honest here, either."

Deacon shrugged, "It's your song."

She scoffed, "I thought it was our song." She'd come up with most of the first verse, but she thought this whole thing was a joint effort.

"It is, but…"Deacon plucked a string with his finger, the note floating up into the air. "Tell me something about yourself."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, "Like what?"

Deacon plucked the next string down, "Something true. Anything."

Rayna chewed her lip, thinking. "Hmmm…" Settling on a thought, she smiled, "I used to be scared of everything."

Deacon's surprise registered across his face, "You?" He shook his head, laughing a little, "I can't imagine you being scared of anything."

She nodded, "I was." She smiled at a memory, "We went to an apple farm on a field trip in kindergarten. We all got to drop an apple into some sort of grinder to make juice or pies or something, I don't know what. All the other kids were excited as we stood in that single file line. Me? I was crying." She chuckled, rolling her eyes a bit.

Deacon tapped his fingers on his guitar, the hollow sound echoing, "Crying?"

Rayna nodded, smiling, "They gave a warning before we got in line—something like 'make sure you don't get your fingers too close when you drop the apple in, because the grinder could get your fingers.'" She shook her head, "Every other 5-year-old just shook it off, but I was so scared. I cried the entire time we were in line, I cried as I was dropping that apple in, and I cried for a good ten minutes afterwards."

Deacon turned his head to the side and considered her, "What changed?"

Rayna shrugged, "My worst fear happened." Rayna felt the emotion sweep over her and she shook her head to keep it at bay, "I guess things don't seem so scary after that."

Deacon stared at her, his gaze soft as he ran his eyes over her face. Rayna felt her heartrate quicken, felt her stomach start to churn. The way he looked at her sometimes set her on fire and soothed her all at once—she was still working out how one look from a particular person could do both of those things at the same time.

His voice was soft, pensive; "You ain't scared of anything anymore?"

Rayna considered him, taking in the way his eyes seemed endless as he looked into hers, but dropped her gaze to her lap as she spoke, "Maybe some things." She whispered quietly.

Deacon watched her, his eyes never leaving her face, "Like what?"

Rayna brought her gaze back to meet his eyes. She watched him for a moment longer, her eyes running over his face, "The way you're looking at me."

Deacon chuckled softly, amazed that he was able to make any noise at all after Rayna had just stolen his breath, "That scares me, too." He admitted, simply. He flipped his guitar back up into position, "Maybe we should write about that."

Rayna nodded, her throat suddenly dry, "Maybe we should."

They scrapped the first verse, and came up with a first line together. After that, Rayna was amazed at how easily everything flowed—at how easily everything flowed between them. They finished the song, and as Deacon placed his guitar back in his case and closed it, Rayna decided that this was her new favorite song. The Other Side of Fear was a bit long as far as titles went, but they couldn't imagine calling it anything else.

After his guitar was put away in his case, Deacon turned to look at her, "That's…" He sighed, and stretched his legs out in front of him, nudging her shoulder with his, "A really great song."

Rayna beamed at him, adrenaline still running through her, "Yes, it is." She stretched her legs out in front of her, and leaned her shoulder into him, smiling when he didn't pull away.

He turned his head to look at her, "So… what is on the other side of fear?" He asked, his voice low.

Noticing how close his lips were to hers, Rayna's voice was serious when she spoke, "Everything." She whispered.

Rayna froze as she watched Deacon's eyes flicker down to her lips, and then back to her eyes. She tried to discern what he was thinking, but she couldn't read him. Her stomach worked itself over, and she couldn't look away from him. Last time she's closed her eyes in this moment, sure he was going to kiss her, he'd kissed her on the forehead. So, she watched as he inched closer and closer to her. She licked her lips in anticipation, and saw Deacon watch her tongue as it moved across her lips.

Next, his mouth was on hers, and she slammed her eyes shut. Rayna felt her breath hitch in her throat at the feel of his lips against hers—his lips were softer than she'd expected them to be, and the light scruff on his face was somehow rougher than she anticipated. She kissed him back, enjoying the way his mouth opened against hers, the way she felt his breath start to pick up as he kissed her. Without thinking, she ran her hand up his arm, her fingers tangling in the back of his brown hair.

Suddenly, his tongue slid into her mouth, and she ran her own tongue over it. She was surprised at the contact—she'd only kissed like this twice before, but it had never felt like this. She'd never been kissed like this before. The other times had been awkward and a bit sloppy. This time, she somehow felt like she knew what to do; like it was the only thing she ever wanted to do.

Deacon swirled his tongue around hers and she heard herself make a noise against his mouth. As the noise briefly hung in the air between them, Rayna gasped a little as she realized it was a moan. Embarrassed at the sound she just made, she froze, and started to pull away from him. But Deacon, spurred on from her sound, gently grabbed the back of her head with his hand and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers into her hair. When she made a little noise and kissed him back, he slid his hand from her head to her back, easing her gently on to the blanket as she slid her knees up to help transition down. When her back was flat on the ground, he situated himself so he was propped over her, their upper bodies grazing lightly against one another. Rayna was amazed to notice that he never stopped kissing her, and her fingernails scraped through the hair right above his ears, and she hummed against his mouth.

Deacon pulled back and smiled against her, before kissing her again, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, tasting her.

She was breathless as he kissed her, and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Her brain, for its part, was trying desperately to catch up to and process what was happening to her. Deacon placed his hand on her calf, tickling the smooth skin there a bit before sliding his hand to the outside, where he trailed his fingers with a feather-light touch up the outside of her thigh until his hand rested on her hip. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She twisted her hand further into his hair, holding him closer to her as they kissed.

She felt her stomach tighten, felt it grow warm as his thumb gently caressed her hip bone through her shorts—she could feel the heat of his thumb even through the denim. She heard a faint beeping in the background, but it was cloudy, buried under whatever madness was happening to her brain right now.

Suddenly, Deacon pulled away and stared at her for a moment, his breath coming raggedly, before he dragged his eyes down to his watch.

In the back of her mind, Rayna guessed that was what had made the beeping sound.

Deacon smoothed her hair back from her face, his eyes searching hers, "I have to go, Ray." He breathed, and then he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

When he pulled back from her, she smiled, still feeling a little dazed and wide-eyed, still on her back on the blanket. He stood up, and she watched his eyes slowly travel from her feet to her head before he reached his hand down and helped her stand up.

He picked his guitar case up, and then tipped her head up, his finger resting gently under her chin. He kissed her lips, twice.

"Bye, Ray." He whispered.

She didn't trust her voice to speak, but she wanted to try anyway, "Bye, Deacon." Her voice was raspy, and she thought it strange to realize as her voice hit her ears that she didn't sound exactly like herself.

Deacon smiled, and then walked up the dirt trail, exiting Watty's backyard from the side. When he was gone, Rayna sat back down on the blanket, pulling her knees to her chest.

She ran her fingers over her lips, noticing how they felt swollen, how they felt thoroughly kissed. She closed her eyes and smiled, thinking of what had happened only moments before, thinking of Deacon's lips on her own, of his hands on her body.

She tried to figure out the feeling in her stomach that still lingered—it was nervous, but it was something else, too—something new. She dropped her legs, and pressed a hand to her stomach, thinking about how when he kissed her, she'd felt the fire in her belly grow until she felt hot all over, her entire body tingling. Realizing where exactly that feeling had traveled, she felt her skin flush—realizing for the first what she'd felt when Deacon kissed her, what she was discovering she felt when he even looked at her.

She pushed her hair back from her face, running her fingers through it as a light breeze slid by. She was finally able put a feeling to a word she'd heard so many times, to a feeling she'd imagined and wondered about for years. She smiled; so, that was desire.