Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(35)
“You don’t sound rusty to me.”
Again that dimple dented her cheek and I figured that was as close to a smile as Aly ever got. I turned back to the song and messed around with the melody for a bit when a thought came to me. “Who decided on this song?” I asked, guessing I knew the answer to that question.
“Your mom,” she said, moving away from me when my elbow brushed her arm.
“Ah.”
“What does ‘ah’ mean exactly?” There was a mildly panicky tone to her question, one that had me glancing at her to see if she was freaking out.
The smile I gave her was part charm, part attempt at calm and I hoped it didn’t look forced. Me and panicky women? Yeah, that never ends well. “Relax, Aly. It’s just a general question.”
“No, it’s not.” She scooted closer, as though she forgot that her normal M.O. was refusing anyone inside her personal bubble. “Tell me what you’re thinking because I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Okay. Fine.” I stopped playing and turned my body toward her so that only my knee separated us on that bench. “My mom is a bad ass. She handles old rock stars who still think it’s the 60’s and cool to screw with women for being women. She’s racked up Grammies and made a lot of cash writing about cheating *s and women kicking butt without anyone’s help.”
“Wi. Stuff I already know.” That dimple got deeper but I didn’t pat myself on the back. Wouldn’t do that until I saw an actual smile.
“Well, for all the badassery she manages, sometimes she forgets that the world isn’t in tune with her brain.” My mom had a process when she worked. It was one that you didn’t follow too closely. The best idea was to just sit back and watch her work her magic. Better yet, let her work and get out of her damn way.
“Modi, you’re saying she was wrong?” Aly’s smooth forehead became lined when she frowned. “About the song?”
“Maybe. I don’t think she got that this is a college audition and not a talent contest. Maybe it should be handled a little differently.” I closed the lid over the keys and moved my finger against the shine on the ebony wood until it smudged. In the reflection, Aly watched my face, as though she wanted to shake me a little to hurry up with my explanation. “I think sometimes Mom forgets that not everyone is a seasoned vet.” Aly blinked at me, making me feel like a jerk. After all, she was good. But even I could tell there was work to be done. “I just mean she hasn’t had to teach anyone for a long time.”
“You saying I need teaching?”
“Well, no.” I shrugged, feeling stupid, and moved my leg to the far side of the bench. The Hummingbird was just sitting there, still beautiful, still shiny, but the neck was worn with deep grooves from how much it had been played over the years, making it appear even older than it actually was. My mother had inherited the guitar from her father when he died, and despite a few dings and breaks over the years, it was still the guitar she used to compose with when the piano wouldn’t do.
I hadn’t touched it in months. Picking it up, cupping the neck and strumming along the strings felt like running into a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. There were so many memories tied up in that guitar, so many tears and so much worry caught up in every string and fret.
The Hummingbird had a warm, crisp sound. The reverberation of the strings tickled my fingers like the practiced stroke of fingernail over my skin. It was comfortable and sweet, and I started to play a song I hoped Aly would recognize, moving through the melody until a hum bumped around in the back of my throat.
Two chord changes and I leaned over the guitar, closing my eyes. “I sort of picked up all of this on my own.” When she didn’t speak, I shot a glance up at her, stilling my fingers at her head shake. “What?”
“Is there anything you can’t do? Football, learning Kizomba after seeing it once, music.” She looked down when I smiled and started to strum again. There was no dimple on her cheek then, but her features had softened as I played. “You’re kind of intimidating.”
“Me?” I laughed and Aly looked up at my face, searching for what I might have found so funny. “Please. I just have a lot of energy to burn. That tends to make me focus when I’m learning.”
She made a chuckling sound deep in her throat and suddenly, it was Aly that I was focusing on. She had full lips, the bottom just a bit wider than the top and as I watched her, it was those full lips I thought about.
She didn’t shy away from me then. Still no damn smile, though, she seemed stingy with that. As I got caught up in the mesmerizing way she moved her lips together, Aly cleared her throat, and dropped her gaze to my fingers on the strings.
“So you think your mom was teaching me the wrong song?”
“She might have been too ambitious,” I stopped, returning my attention to the guitar and a different song. “You don’t have a lot of experience singing, right?” She narrowed her eyes at me and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Your pitch is natural, but not clean. Your voice is strong, but not that well supported. That tells me you haven’t had any lessons. Am I right?”
Aly shrugged yet again and distracted herself by picking up the cord to the amp coiled on the floor. She fingered the silver tip and kept her eyes down. “Everything I know I had to teach myself. Dance, music…”