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1
Nine Years Earlier
“Dammit,” I muttered, throwing the useless guitar pick across the barn.
I had told my parents I was studying but I was back in my little hideaway, heavily absorbed in my music. I had borrowed my brother’s guitar while he was away at university, and was determined to teach myself how to play. If I was going to get any better at writing music, I needed to conquer it.
I was in my final year at school, but wasn’t doing well academically. Not badly, just not great. I did the bare minimum I could to pass, but I wasn’t enthused to excel at anything my curriculum had to offer. All I wanted to do was sing. And that wasn’t a subject.
Nate was living and studying agriculture in the city, so I didn’t have the constant brotherly banter stifling my confidence. I was free to focus on what I really wanted.
I had dreamt of leaving town since I was little. Although I lived on a magnificent and successful cattle farm, I felt no real connection to our land. I wanted to see the world. Experience it. Write about it. Sing about it.
My boyfriend Jake had already escaped and was living in Melbourne after scoring himself a carpentry apprenticeship straight out of high school. Although he could only make it home every other weekend, I knew I just had to tread water until I could join him.
Surprisingly, I hadn’t missed him as much as I thought I would. Without Jake around, I wasn’t distracted by his charm, his piercing green eyes or his wandering hands that wanted more than I was ready to give.
As I sang the last few bars of my latest song, I glanced up to find my brother’s best friend leaning against the doorframe. His muscular arms were folded across his chest and he was smirking at his discovery.
I had grown accustomed to seeing Luke floating around our property. He lived across the road with his Nan and would often help my dad out on the farm whilst my brother was away.
“Wow,” he remarked with his eyebrows raised. He ambled into the barn, unfolded his arms and rested them on his hips.
My face turned red with embarrassment. “Wow what? How long have you been there?”
He ignored my question. “You’re good. I mean really good.”
As I scanned his grease covered face to try and read if he was teasing, my gaze met his earnest blue eyes and I caught my breath.
“Shut up,” I laughed nervously, looking away to slow my heartbeat.
“Blue…I mean it.”
“Thanks,” I replied timidly, knowing he did.
Luke bent down and picked up my discarded pick from the pile of hay between us. He took a few steps closer until he was almost standing over me. His dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes as he peered down.
“Does Nan know you’re playing guitar now?”
He knew very well that my music teacher never liked girls playing guitar. I could already hear her lecturing me. “Natalie dear, I know you love your music, but guitar is no instrument for a lady. Piano is the more dignified choice.”
I snorted and placed the guitar down beside me with a frustrated sigh. “Well, I wouldn’t call it playing.”
Luke chuckled. “Well, if she heard you, she might change her tune,” he replied with a wink that caused my stomach to do an unexpected backflip. I could see why all the girls loved him.
Luke eased himself down beside me and picked up the guitar. He twirled the pick between his oil stained fingers, before meeting the strings.
I hadn’t seen him play in years, but by the sound of it, he still did. Luke was entirely self-taught and played with ease. The guitar was merely an extension of his body. A natural gift that grew from a place of love and loss.
When Luke was only ten, he was the sole survivor in a horrific car accident that claimed the lives of both his parents and his baby sister. In the midst of his grief, Luke picked up his dad’s guitar and never let go.
His grandparents, John and Dawn, our closest neighbours, took him in and raised him as they did their own son. John passed away a few years later from cancer, so Dawn and Luke only had each other.
Luke’s hands intuitively glided over the strings, and I watched in admiration until I recognised the tune. I couldn’t help but sing the words that belonged to it.
Once the song came to an end, Luke gazed at me in amazement. “You should really do something about that.”
“What? Was I flat?” I replied, horrified I had sung in the wrong key.
