Page 91 of Strum Me

“Did I decorate it myself?”

“Yes. You have a good eye.”

“I had good advice.”

She wanders around, touching every surface. Smiling as she notices little figurines of musicians on the mantelpiece, and pictures of my family that she peruses one by one while rubbing her hands over the fireplace, warming them.

“Do you like it?”

“I…I love it.”

“I want to show you something.”

I point to a frame on the wall by the door and we walk toward it. It sits on a small shelf with an under light, and in the dark room, we can still see it.

She looks at it from afar, the whips her head around and stares at me. I just smile.

She moves right up close to it and peers at it from mere inches away.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“How…”

“How did I get it? I have all of them.”

“You do not.”

“I’ll prove it.”

I stroll over to the bed and pull an album out from the bottom drawer of the bedside table. I bring it over to the dining table and lay it on top of the heavy wooden slab, flipping it open to the front page.

It’s a scrapbook of all her articles, clipped from newspapers and magazines. The first page is the very first article she wrote for a national paper, a duplicate of the clipping on the wall. She flips through the album, periodically looking up just to stare at me, her mouth open, her eyes soft, glistening.

“I lied. I lied when I said that after I heard you were coming on tour I read some of your pieces. I’ve been following you for years,” I finally admit to her.

“Did you know I was going to be at the press conference that day?”

“No.”

“Are you glad I was?”

“More than I am for life itself.”

“Brad.”

“Sweet, sweet Emily.”

And then it’s like the elastic tying us to one another tires of being stretched, and retracts.

She springs up onto her toes and runs to me, and I catch her, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms around my neck. Her lips on mine.

The kiss is desperate but tender. My mouth continues to devour hers even as I carry her to the bed. Laying her down, her legs refuse to let go of my waist and I fall, fall, fall, on top of her. Falling like I’ve been falling for her my entire life,

“Omfffff.” She lets out a soft grunt as our chests meet.

“Sorry, are you okay?”