“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s childish.”
“Nothing is childish.”
Tucker’s eye twitches as he considers me. A few beats go by before his shoulders lower. “Lessons are fifty dollars per session. Minimum once a week.”
I can clearly see on Tucker’s face that he’s charging me thefamous-quarterback price. But I’m sure it’ll be worth it. “How about twice a week?”
Tucker startles slightly. “Why?”
“So that I can learn faster.”
Marcia returns just in time to hear the end of our conversation. She grins widely and claps. “There you go, Tuck! And I know a church on the mainland that could use someone for Wednesday night services if you’re interested?”
“Yeah! Will me being gay be an issue?”
Marcia sighs dramatically. “Kid, I’m not going to send you to one of those churches. You’ll be fine. I’ll send them your information.”
“Oh. Thank you, Ms. Marcia. Do you need help with the lantern festival? Pop told me to ask.”
“It’s a blessed day for me!” Marcia sits behind the counter, takes a sip of her coffee, and sends a wink both of our ways. “Now I have two strong men volunteering to help. What a day.”
Tucker sighs loudly. “Awesome.”
“Great,” I say, but with much more enthusiasm.
Tucker leaves the store without another word. Cupcake and I quickly follow after him, out into the burgeoning afternoon sun. The crisp cool breeze slaps me when I step outside, but it’s easy to find Tucker despite the glare of the sun. His bright blond curls bounce as he heads toward the ocean on the other side of the street. I chase after him in the least threatening way possible. At least, I attempt to.
“Tucker!”
Tucker pauses at the edge of the wooden walk that leads down to the sparsely populated beach. I reach him, thankful he stopped since Cupcake isn’t allowed on the public beach in this area.
“You don’t have to actually do the guitar lessons, you know,” Tucker says with his teeth gritted. “It’s okay if that was just for show for Ms. Marcia.”
Oh boy, he sure does think I’m a piece of shit. Maybe it’s not me specifically, but someone somewhere along the way made him feel like that would be an absolutely normal thing to happen, and I find it a bit depressing. Sure, I can be a typical asshole sometimes, but that’s next-level assholery.
“I really want lessons,” I tell him sincerely.
Tucker sighs yet again, a sound I’m getting far too familiar with. “Okay. Twice a week, still?”
“Yeah, fifty per session. An hour each?”
“Yes. I assume you have a guitar?”
Now it’s my turn to look sheepish. “No. I don’t.”
Tucker looks like he might sigh again, but he holds himself back, probably at the appearance of my shoulders inching up to my ears. “All right. I can help you find one. I only brought one of my guitars with me. The rest are still back in Boston.”
“What’s in Boston?”
“Hell,” Tucker replies far too quickly. “When do you have time? There’s a music store on the mainland. We can go and get you a guitar prior to the start of lessons.”
“I’m free now.”
“Uh.”
“Too soon?”
