“You’re kidding.”
“Sadly, no. I have to start over on the tree I just did.”
He gestures to the drums. “Sounds like a good time to take a break.”
“You talked me into it.” I cross the room and sit on the drum throne, picking up the sticks. “Okay, tell me what tempo you’re thinking.”
“Oh no.” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “You’re the expert.”
We catch eyes as sparks ping between us. His t-shirt makes his eyes pop blue today. He flashes a crooked grin that takes me right back to junior high. Oh, how I used to swoon over that grin.
“This is what I was thinking.” I start drumming, light but steady.
He nods as if committing the rhythm to memory. “Okay. Let’s try it.”
He starts again, and I follow, improvising as I go. To my delight, the faster pace works wonders. The song comes alive.
When he finishes, he lowers the trumpet. “Well?”
“Much better.”
His lips twitch. “We’re a good team.”
“Don’t push it,” I joke.
“Should we run it again?”
“Sure.”
The second time flows even better. When we finish, he smiles. “I like that. It feels right. Do you remember what you played?”
I make a face. “Of course.”
“I mean, could you play it again from memory?”
“You bet I can.”
He sets the instrument down. “I’m still working on the lyrics. Wanna hear them?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to hide how much I’m enjoying this. The synergy between us is visceral. I never would’ve thought that. It would do me well to remember why I’m really here.
He grabs a notebook, reads a few lines, then grimaces. “Does that sound cheesy?”
“A little.” I grin to soften my bluntness. “The part about moving on right after saying your heart’s still broken is contradictory.”
“Good point.” He writes something on the page. A lock of hair falls over one eye. He pushes it back with an unconscious gesture that’s way too attractive.
“Maybe tweak it to show the struggle.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Any other suggestions?”
“Not at the moment. I’d have to give it some thought.” I can hold my own where poetry is concerned, but I have to put some effort into it.
He sets the notebook aside. “So tell me more about you. You’re good on those drums. Where’d you learn to play?”
Uh oh. Here it comes—the part where I have to lie. It’s better to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I started in junior high when I joined the band. I’ve been playing ever since.”
His eyes widen. “Really? I also joined the band in junior high.”
