I considered his words, finding truth in them. “I would agree with that. So I guess a better question would be what doyousee in this picture?”
He looked at the print, tilting his head slightly to one side. “I see a message about the barriers we face each day. Some of them are impenetrable, while others have gaps and holes. How good are we at telling which are which? How often do we underestimate our ability to break through them?”
Looking back at the print, I did what I always did before a show, and let my thoughts go. I wanted to see what would come to me on instinct rather than through rational analysis.
“I see someone straining to break free. The chains are taut against the surface, almost digging into it…as if they’re being pulled on from outside the frame. Anything can be chained and bound, no matter how strong it seems.”
Potent light from the afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating amber streaks in Silas’s warm-brown eyes when I turned back to look at him.
“I think I see that, too,” he said while watching me. His voice was slightly hoarse, and I let this new version of it wash over me. We were sitting close enough for me to pick up on his scent—subtle hints of leather and spice. I wanted to reach for a strand of his drying hair and curl it over my thumb.
Instead, I leaned back and cleared my throat. “Should we get started on the song?”
We grabbed our guitars and entered the second bedroom, which Silas had converted into his music room. The walls were lined with soundproof panels, the gray foam rippling in jagged waves. A two-person love seat was propped against the far wall, along with two folding chairs and a guitar amp by its side.
Silas pulled out a second guitar amp from below a wooden shelving unit and dragged it to the other side of the loveseat.
“Let’s get you plugged in.”
Once we were all set up, he began to lightly strum the intro portion of the second song. I watched him in wonder, noting how he made the complex melody seem so simple to play.
“Show me what you’ve got.” His gentle smile pierced right through my heart, making my insides flutter.
I played the song for him in its entirety, noting the parts I was still screwing up.
“Let’s work on the bridge,” Silas said, coming over to sit beside me on the loveseat. His left hand reached for mine, covering it on the neck of the guitar.
“You’re gripping too hard when you get to the fast part. Remember to keep the hand relaxed.” He pulled on my palm, digging his finger into the center and massaging it in circles.
I didn’t dare move. The air was suddenly hot and heavy in the small space. When Silas let go of my hand and moved back to his chair, I let out a quiet breath, feeling sweat start to pool at the small of my back.
We went over the bridge over and over again. Whenever I began to feel frustrated, Silas offered words of encouragement.
“You’re so close, Adeline. It’s going to sound just perfect after a few more tries.”
His absolute confidence in my ability to nail these parts made my insides feel like mush. When I finally got the bridge down, I wanted to leap out of my seat and pull him into a tight hug.
Instead, I settled on giving him my biggest smile. There was chemistry between us, and hugging him, feeling the contours of his flawless body against mine, might have made me combust. I couldn’t risk that. Getting involved with him would only lead to heartbreak and confusion. After all, he would be gone in three weeks. They wouldallbe gone in three weeks.
Silas wore a triumphant expression. “Great work. Let’s play together now and see how we both sound.”
We dove into the song, the melody and the rhythm parts tangling together like old lovers. The song was called “Mid-flight,” and I thought the name was apt, because I really did feel as if I was flying. I soared through the parts I had just learned, amazed at how easily they came to me now.
When we were done, I gaped at Silas. I couldn’t believe how good a teacher he was proving to be.
“That was incredible.”
He nodded, looking at me with a similarly stricken expression. I tried to puzzle out how he was feeling in that moment. Moved? Inspired?
Slowly, he placed his guitar on a stand before reaching for mine. Our fingers brushed in the handoff, the touch sending electricity up my arm.
Our eyes met again, and this time, I knew exactly what I was seeing in them. I knew, because it was what he was seeing in mine.
Desire.
I needed to put some space between us. I stood up, but he mirrored my movements, inadvertently blocking my escape. He reached for my face. Calloused fingertips made contact, stroked my cheek, my jaw, before tracing my lips. I was frozen before him, dazed.
What are we doing?
