“Now you’re thinking like a guitarist.”
“I want to learn everything.”
“Everything takes time.”
“I have time. I’m ten. I have years and years.”
Before I can respond, the bell above the door chimes. A woman walks in and freezes when she sees us. Dark hair pulled back, wearing jeans and a worn denim jacket that’s seen better years. The late afternoon sun behind her makes it hard to see her face for a moment.
Then she steps forward and I see her clearly.
Rye.
Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. She stands there taking in the scene—me teaching someone, a kid with a guitar, both of us in the middle of what’s clearly a lesson. I see her eyes go to Lily, then to me, then back to Lily. The moment she puts it together is visible on her face.
“Mom!” Lily doesn’t look up, too focused on the pull-off technique. “Listen to this!” She plays a combination of hammer-ons and pull-offs, creating a little melodic run. “Darian taught me. Isn’t it cool?”
Rye’s eyes meet mine over Lily’s head. I see the moment she realizes what’s happened. Benny asked me to cover a lesson. That lesson was her daughter’s. Neither of us had any idea. There’s no anger in her expression, just complete surprise. Maybe something else too. Something harder to read.
“Very cool, baby.” Her voice is careful, controlled.
“Benny had an emergency,” Lily explains, still playing. “So Darian’s teaching me instead. He’s way better.”
“Lily,” Rye says quietly.
“What? He is. He actually teaches music, not just notes. He showed me harmonics and hammer-ons and pull-offs and how to make chords sound like they’re talking instead of just existing.”
Rye moves into the shop, still processing. Each step is measured, like she’s buying time to figure out how to handle this. “We should let Darian get back to his day.”
“But the lesson’s not over. We have twenty more minutes.”
“Lily—”
“Mom, please. This is the best lesson I’ve ever had.”
Rye looks at me, a question in her eyes. I shrug slightly. Her call entirely. I’m not going to push either way.
She watches us for a moment, sees Lily’s enthusiasm, sees my casual position across from her daughter. Nothinginappropriate, nothing concerning. Just a guitar lesson. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it.
“Ten more minutes,” she says, moving to lean against the counter where she can watch.
“Fifteen?”
“Ten.”
“Fine.”
“Okay,” I tell Lily. “Let’s put it all together. Play your G-C-D progression, but use everything we worked on. Dynamics, bass runs, harmonics, hammer-ons. Make it yours.”
She starts tentatively, just the chords with some dynamic variation. Then she adds a bass run between G and C. On the repeat, she throws in a harmonic on the 12th fret. By the third time through, she’s incorporating hammer-ons and pull-offs, creating melodic lines within the chord structure.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s it. You’re not playing someone else’s song now. You’re playing music.”
She grins and keeps playing, adding new variations each time through. I glance at Rye. She’s watching her daughter with an expression I can’t quite read. Pride, definitely. But also something like worry. Or recognition.
“Okay,” Rye says when Lily finishes another run through. “Time’s up.”
Lily starts to protest, then sees her mother’s face and stops. “Okay.”
