Page 58 of The Muse
He chuckles. “How can you not remember what kind of car it was?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t focused on cars.”
“What were you focused on? Boys?”
“No.” I squeeze his leg, but he doesn’t flinch. “I spent a lot of time riding horses with my dad and nurturing my love of music. I had a music obsession from an early age.”
“Really? That’s cool. What did you play? The piano?”
“I play a lot of things. Yes, piano is one of them.”
He slows at the stoplight and glances over at me. I like the wonder in his eyes. “What was your favorite instrument?”
“Cello.”
Flynn wrinkles his nose. “Cello? Isn’t that like a really big violin?”
“In theory, but not in practice.”
“Why did you like the cello?” The light turns green and he makes a left onto my street.
“It’s a sizable piece of wood between my legs that vibrates.”
“Jesus …” he rubs his temple like he’s hiding his blush.
I giggle. “The cello has such a fun personality and wide range, and I think it has the most beautiful, lush sound. You can play it with the bow or pizzicato which is plucking the strings. You can play two notes really fast. That’s called trills. Or spiccato or ricochet, which is bouncing the bow on the string. And …” I take a breath and realize we’re parked, the engine is off, and Flynn is watching me with a huge grin.
“Anyway”—I clear my throat and feel embarrassment over geeking out—“I’m obviously a big fan of the cello. Highly recommend.”
“I only played one instrument,” he says.
“Which one?”
“Can’t remember what it was called.”
“What? How can you not remember the name of the instrument?”
He opens his door. “Probably the same way you can’t remember what kind of car you drove.”
Good point.
Just as I start to open my door, he’s around the car, doing it for me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping onto the sidewalk. “Was it a brass? A string? Percussion?”
He grabs the caulk from the back seat. “I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, guiding me by my hand across the street.
“Trumpet? Trombone? Drums? Saxophone?”
“I blew into it.”
“Did it have a reed?”
“A what?” He stops at the lower door, and I pull out my key.
“A reed. It vibrates as air moves across it. Like a saxophone.” I unlock the door, and he pulls it open.
“I don’t know. I just blew into it and it made a weird noise. I think I’d recognize the name of it if I heard it. It has a funny name.” He follows me up the stairs.
