“Callum, that is beautiful,” she exclaimed.
I stopped playing, a heat creeping into my face and up my neck.
“I-I didn’t realize I was even playing,” I said, attempting to shake the humiliation from my face.
“Don’t stop,” she begged quietly, sending my blood to an ultimate boil. She moved to sit in one of the other swivel chairs next to me.
I coughed into a fist. “Um, okay. Any requests?”
“Well, since you’re actually familiar with Barcelona. Could you play Please Don't Go? If you know it, that is?”
I smiled. I did know it and immediately start singing it to her, strumming the strings softly. The melody is simple but beautiful. It incited waves of intensity to roll off Harper and they hit me like a hydrogen bomb. My fingers almost stilled from the shock of it. She’s ridiculous extraordinary, I admitted to myself. She closed her eyes and grinned at the lyrics.
While most people act awkward and uncomfortable when others sing to them, Harper surprised me by letting it be what music was, natural and beautiful. She moved her eyes with mine and it seemed to be the most unfeigned, unpracticed thing in the world. She even sung harmony with me for the chorus and I was completely taken by her by the end of the song.
She leaned in closely with glinted eyes. “Play another,” she whispered.
And I did. Four more, actually and Harper Bailey made me feel like a freakin’ rock star instead of the nobody I really was. She wrinkled her nose adorably and sang along, scrunched her eyes closed and bit her lip to prevent herself from beaming a bright smile at her obviously favorite parts, and raised her hands, dancing and twirling around during songs with an accelerated beat, her hair fanning around her.
When my fingers could take no more, I set the guitar down and slumped into my chair. Realizing I was tired, Harper turned on a few tunes through the soundboard.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing me by my hands. A shot of pleasure that she reached for me sent me reeling with an unreasonable need to bring her close. “Dance with me?” She asked, giving me the out I would have paid a million dollars for at that moment.
We threw our arms out and shook our heads as we screamed the lyrics of three songs at the other, yet exhaustion never took me. Harper gave me energy enough to last for weeks. Despite the unusually dark room, I felt like I could decipher the smallest lines of her face. That’s how attuned to her I’d become in those few hours and I studied every expression, memorizing what notes made her happiest.
What are the odds? I thought, as Barcelona’s ‘Please Don’t Go’ suddenly played softly, magnifying our loud breaths caused by the effort of dancing around. I held out my hand to her, my face sobering quickly. She hesitated for only a second before sliding her hand into mine. I brought her body close and my breath sped up even more but not from the earlier exertion, no, this was from proximity.
Harper laid her head on my shoulder as we swayed back and forth to the resonating piano, the long, low strokes of the violins, and the soft, meaningful words. We sang the lyrics to each other, letting the impact of their words sink into our hearts.
And when the last note rung through our ears, and the music stopped altogether, a deafening silence filled the room. We stilled, neither of us wanting to remove one another from our embrace. It’s not you she wants, Callum, I chided myself for believing for even a moment that it was me she wanted. Me, a complete stranger. We’ve been neglected all our lives. Hugs are a rare commodity, I reminded myself.
“You’re warm,” she said gently, breaking my train of thought.
Not able to stop myself, I inhaled her hair again.
“Uh, Callum?” She giggled.
“Yes,” I said, a grin hitting my reddening cheeks. I purposely kept her cheek to my neck to avoid her stare. You’re the king of humiliation.
“Are you-Are you smelling me again?”
“No,” I said, before breaking out into laughter.
I felt her chest shake in amusement before I hear the chuckling. She tried to pull away and I hugged her tighter but instead of pushing harder against my chest to break free, she held tighter and my stomach dropped to my feet.
I have perfect timing because I decided to yawn embarrassingly loudly.
“Tired?” She teased into my chest.
“I might be,” I conceded. I cleared my throat. “Uh, Charlie keeps egg crate foam in here,” I said, pointing to a closet she couldn’t see. Doofus. She said nothing to that so I broke away from our hug, still avoiding eye contact. I reached into the closet and start pulling out clean sheets and the egg crate. “Sometimes Charlie stays so late he doesn’t feel like cabbing it home so...” I trailed off.
I unrolled the foam and it came spilling out in one large square, taking up most of the little studio booth. The studio is large but compartmentalized, leaving a series of medium to small rooms. The soundboard booth was the smallest besides the voice recording booth but it was the only one with an air conditioner to keep the expensive equipment cool. “So,” I continued, “he keeps all this junk here. I secretly think he keeps it here to help me more than to help himself. I called him on it,” I rambled, setting out the clean, folded sheets, “but he insists that he’s a selfish jerk who thinks only of himself and that I should watch my mouth because he has a reputation to uphold.”
“But why would he make sure the sheets are clean if it was only for him?” She stated.
“Exactly.”