“Actually,” he said, glancing up at me, “since we’re clearing the air and all… I’ve got to confess something.”
I paused. “What is it?”
“I haven’t really played since that night,” he said. “Barely touched my guitar in the last two years.”
I blinked. “What? Why?”
He smiled softly. “Things got complicated back home. Life happened. I didn’t really make time for it anymore.”
“Oh.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it. I wanted to ask more.
What kind of complicated, how bad, whether music had stopped meaning something to him.
But before I could open my mouth, his expression shifted, lighter now.
“So,” he said, sitting a little straighter, “you’ll have to bear with me. I might be a little slow. Might take some time to get back into it.”
I snorted. “I doubt it’s that bad.”
He raised an eyebrow and held up his fingers. “I don’t even have calluses anymore.”
I leaned forward without thinking and took his hand, turning it palm-up and inspecting it. His skin was warm, and softer than I expected.
“You’re right,” I said solemnly. “This is tragic.”
He laughed and tugged his hand back, and I noticed very clearly the faint flush creeping up his neck.
“It’ll come back,” he said quickly. “It’s just like riding a bike.”
I tilted my head. “Which is it, then? Should I be worried because you haven’t played in forever, or relieved because you’re confident you’ll pick it up fast?”
He laughed, easier this time, like the tension between us had loosened. “Why don’t we play something and find out?”
“Deal,” I said, reaching for my guitar again.
Mark paused. “Oh. I thought you’d be on drums.”
“Usually,” I said, settling the strap over my shoulder. “But for a duo, it works better if we’re both on guitar. Gives it more balance. Better chemistry on stage.”
That, and I didn’t want to hide behind my kit this time.
Mark studied me for a moment, a thoughtful look flickering across his face. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
I grabbed a folder from the shelf by the amp and flipped it open, pulling out a few sheets. “Let’s start with this one. It’s upbeat, crowd-friendly, easy to latch onto.”
“Alright,” he said, fingers settling on the strings. “Let’s do it.”
I strummed the opening chord, and we fell into it together. His timing was solid, his touch lighter than I remembered.
It wasn’t bad, really, until he stumbled on the transition into the second chorus. His fingers hesitated just long enough to throw him off, and he winced, trying again.
“Hold on,” I said, moving closer. “That chord’s tricky if you don’t set your hand early.”
I leaned in behind him, brushing my shoulder against his back. “Here, like this.”
I placed my fingers over his on the neck of the guitar, guiding the chord into place.
