“I’d appreciate the effort.” There’s only a slight tease in his voice, and I hear the gentle strumming of his guitar.
I’m momentarily silent, straining to hear what he’s playing, but my phone speakers are tinny and distorted.
“Did you call to take my song request?”
“Anything you want.”
You. In this car with me. Duh.
Three days is too long without my emotional support human. I don’t care if he only sits there and breathes. “Surprise me.”
“Can I make you cry?”
“Why would you do that?” I say playfully. He has no idea I have no tears left.
“You’ll like it.”
“Okay, fine. Rip my heart out. Get it over with.”
His soft laugh fills my car and calms my nerves. “I got you, drama queen. Just trust me.”
“Always.” I brace myself to be emotionally assaulted by his voice and guitar.
“I’ll play a couple. I’m setting the phone down. Stay with me.”
“Yes, sir.” We’ve done this before when I have a long drive. Obviously, I have him on speaker, but he sits the phone next to him to distort the sound less. I can hear him, but he can’t hear me.
He’s probably going to play some post-grunge-era rock like Goo Goo Dolls or Tonic. He’s so good at it, even though that stuff wrecks me, which is silly, I know. But everything about him is a lesson in masochism at this point.
He starts strumming again.
Oh, my heart.
Whatever he’s playing, I could get drunk on it. Which would be bad, even metaphorically, since I’m driving. It’s not what I expected. The unfamiliar pattern of chords starts tentatively, then swells and retreats with the most thrilling push and pull. I feel it deep in my music-obsessed little soul. But then it slows, quiets, and eventually shifts to a familiar favorite.
I wish I wasn’t driving so I could safely close my eyes and soak it up. Once he sings it through, he pauses. I assume to switch guitars. He begins to strum the gorgeous, unfamiliar song again. Then he transitions back toanothersong I know.
I’m positive he has started an original song then changed his mind twice, which is odd. He’s usually so deliberate. It’s not like him to second-guess himself. Still, my entire being relaxes while I listen to him play.
“Gah …Marry me now,” I mumble to myself with a deep sigh, waiting to hear him pick up the phone.
“That’s all it took? Wish I knew that sooner.”
Welp. He heard me. And his reply was a little more sarcasm than humor.
“Jude?”
“Yeah?” he says.
“What were you playing before ‘Name’?” I ask.
“I … changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“It’s not quite ready.”
“Just give me whatever’s in your heart.”
