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The man gives us both a curt nod. No hug from him.
Luna nods back, appearing satisfied with the stony man. I’m tempted to grin wide and hold my hand out for a fist bump. But that might cause the guy to short circuit. So I just nod too.
And wonder about the one percent of times he’s accepted a hug from Violet.
The singer turns to the final member of our group, who’s stayed on the periphery until now, her attention on an instrument laid out on the counter. “And this goddess of guitars and other stringed instruments is Cassandra, owner of the shop and repair extraordinaire. I’m not lying, am I?”
Cassandra glances up, removing a set of glasses before acknowledging Violet.
“I can re-fret it. But with these classics, I charge more. And they take longer.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m not touring until the summer. But I'd love to take my Daddy’s banjo with me. Never had her on the road before.”
The shop owner nods. “I’ll finish long before that. Let me get my work form, we’ll talk the repair details and have you sign off, then you’ll be good.”
Violet turns big eyes to Luna. “Do you mind waiting a bit? This is why I had you meet me here. Wasn’t sure how long this would take.”
Luna shrugs. Her neutral stance about spending more time in the shop reveals my wife doesn’t fully appreciate the treasure trove of music we’re standing in.
Leaning down, I place my hand on her back and my lips closer to her ear. “You mind if I browse around?” I ask.
Luna blinks in surprise. “You want to buy something?”
I shrug. “More like window shop. Spent a lot of time with my Mom’s band.”
Confusion twists her brows before they shoot up her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot.” She mimes banging her forehead against my chest. “You didn’t need my talk about how to act, did you?”
Her embarrassment makes Luna irresistibly cute, and I give into the urge to press a kiss against her forehead.
“A reminder never hurts.” I step back. “Now I saw a 1961 Jazzmaster I’d give both my kidneys for. You can find me jamming over there.” I gesture toward the front of the shop.
Already I can feel the strings under my fingers. The relief and joy of playing something beautiful. Hopefully, that’ll take some of the edge off the fact that I can’t strum pleasurable noises out of Luna like I’ve been longing to since we first met.
ChapterNineteen
LUNA
“He’s pretty good.” Violet walks with me down an aisle of guitars toward Charlie, Manuel following a few steps behind.
My fake husband sits on a stool, his body curled around an old electric guitar. That’s my extent of knowledge when it comes to identifying these instruments. I’m not musical in the slightest.
Love listening to the stuff, but I couldn’t even master the recorder in elementary school.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say. Whatever Charlie is strumming sounds pleasant, but I couldn’t have said if the song was the easiest thing to learn or a master-level arrangement. Before we reach him, his long fingers stop their talented dance as he converses with a young guy in torn jeans hovering next to his stool.
“…and you see here, this has had a beautiful restoration. I mean, look.” Charlie holds up the guitar at eye level for both him and the stranger he’s talking to. “A lot of Jazzmasters have a neck angle problem. People try to correct them with a shim, but then that causes bowing in the neck. This one has a nice straight line. And the frets are all perfectly level. Just gorgeous.”
“Man. I never knew,” the guy says, eyes flitting between the instrument and Charlie, tinged in awe.
“Yeah. Each of these has its own quirks and history. Are you interested in a classic?”
“Totally. I’m all about vintage. Are you buying that one?” The young guy has the look of a hipster. People often use the moniker with disdain, but I’m a fan. Where hipsters congregate, there’s usually excellent beer and tasty food trucks. Plus, they’re bringing back an interest in nutritious, unprocessed ingredients, which helps with my business.
“Oh, no. I wish. Not in the budget right now. Besides, I have three beauties at home I haven’t touched in ages. Can’t make a good argument to buy more until I get back in the playing habit.” Charlie sets the guitar back on the display stand. “But whoever adds this one to their collection is a lucky SOB. They’ll have some envious glares when they bring it out onstage.” My fake husband runs one more loving gaze over the instrument, then lifts his head and finds us all watching him. “Hey! Sorry, are you ready to go? Didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“Don’t apologize!” Violet waves a hand. “Love to hear a man compliment beautiful craftsmanship.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the almost imperceptible tightening of Manuel’s mouth. I wonder if Violet was aiming a well-aimed dig at the guy, or if he just doesn’t like it when his client goes around complimenting men.
