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"You like me?" I whisper.
He nods. "I've been working on it all week actually. I just haven't known what to write." He looks up at me. "You made it easy."
"But… but…" I'm at a loss for words, when he leans forward and presses his lips against my damp, cold cheek.
My heart stops.
My world stops. Everything stops as Roman's warm, soft lips press against my skin. He lingers for a moment, the air from his nose rushing against my cheek. My chest hiccups like a huge leap that I can barely contain from falling out of my chest.
Finally, he steps back, staring at me with an uncertainty but a need that I feel in my own blood.
"You mean it? You're not lying to me?" I ask, my entire body thrumming with excitement. Anticipation.
"I do. Now come on, let's go home and get warm." He wraps his hand around mine and pulls me home.
I'm no longer cold, though.
I'm so, so warm.
"Luna, you ready to go?" my mom shouts from down the hall.
"Coming!" I prop Roman's card up on my dresser after reading it for the millionth time. Since he dropped me off earlier, I haven't been able to stop reading it. Touching it. When the phone rang a short while after I got home, I ran to it in hopes that it was Roman wanting to play.
It was his mom.
I forgot that Roman's dad, Cypress, got home from tour yesterday. I was going to eat dinner with them, but Goldie actually wanted our entire family to go over so he could meet all of us. She told my mom we're basically family at this point.
I walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. It's smoky from their most recent joint that my dad is stubbing out into an ashtray. My dad is dressed in blue jeans and a button-up shirt. My mom is wearing one of her many dresses. She doesn't own much else besides her dresses that she makes herself. Harper sits in the kitchen, her hair in a tall ponytail and she’s wearing jean bottoms and a matching jean top.
I'm wearing a dress as well, though mine brushes just below my knees and it's matched with a pair of long socks and Mary Janes. We all bundle up in our coats and make our way up the hill to Roman's house. Their outside porch light is on. My dad holds a bottle of wine while my mom knocks on the door. My parents aren't rock fans, they're more folk fans. But they're still meeting a celebrity of sorts, and they've been raving about it since Goldie's phone call.
Nora opens the door, a bright smile on her face while she takes us all in. She's in jeans and a dark gray sweater. "Luna!"
I wave at her, pushing through my parents to get in the house. "Hi." I look around for Roman, but he's nowhere to be found.
"Oh, hi, guys!" Goldie walks into the kitchen with an apron on. "Come on in." She gives my mom a hug and smiles at my dad. "You did not have to get anything! I told you that earlier."
"We just had this lying around." My mom waves her hand in the air to brush off her lie. Harper snorts, clearing her throat to cover it up. She actually made my dad rush out of the house to go buy one of the nicest bottles they had at the store. I think Goldie knows this, too, from the smirk on her face.
"It smells good in here. Can I help with anything?" Mom compliments as she follows Goldie into the kitchen.
"Oh, thank you. It's just a pot roast with some potatoes and carrots. If you want to slice the bread, that would be great."
My dad takes our coats to hang them up, and Harper walks to the living room with her cassette player and headphones. All she does is listen to music nowadays. She can't stop listening to The Ramones and Aerosmith.
I look around for Nora, but she's nowhere to be seen now.
And where's Roman? And Cypress?
I can feel a low hum on the bottom of my feet, like the floor is barely vibrating. Curiosity gets the best of me. I look over my shoulder, seeing my dad talking to Harper, and my mom and Goldie laughing and giggling in the kitchen. Turning around, I walk through the living room with their davenport, striped chair, and television. Opening the door to the basement, the sound of humming has turned into a low thrum of music—a guitar and what also sounds to be a voice singing.
As quietly as possible, I make my way down the stairs and walk toward the music studio. I've only been in here once, one of the first times I came in their house and Roman showed me around. He said this is where his dad records and practices with his band members. The door is shut, and I press my hand to the cold brass knob and as slowly as possible, turn it and pull it open.
My steps falter as I watch the sight in front of me.
Roman sits on a stool as he fumbles through the notes. He strums most of them perfectly, save for a few times when his finger squeaks down the guitar strings. His dad stands at his side, belting out the lyrics toHighway to Hellby AC/DC. He sounds just like the main singer, and Roman sounds like he could be the guitarist.
They are perfection.
