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“Why is your dog staring at me like he wants to eat me?” Sebastian carefully asks.
“Oh, he likes pizza,” I laugh, patting the side of my leg. “Henry, be nice. You’ll get your dinner in a little bit.”
Henry comes to me, nuzzling his head under my palm, so I scratch him between his floppy ears.
“You let him eat pizza?”
“Just a little bit and only as a special treat.” As if he knows we’re talking about him, Henry lets out a soft whine. “He shouldn’t really be eating people’s food, but sometimes when he makes noises like that, I can’t resist.”
Henry’s whining dies down, and suddenly I can feel his head move.
“Did you just give him some pizza?”
“Maybe. Do you think he’ll like me better if I feed him things he shouldn’t eat?”
I shake my head, at a loss for words. Instead of answering, I grab another slice of pizza. Which is a mistake, but I force myself to finish it and let out a loud sigh.
“What?”
I lean against the back of the couch, my stomach protesting the movement. “I should go home, but I don’t think I can move.”
“So what? Stay a bit longer. I’m not kicking you out.”
“I should kick myself out. I have some schoolwork to finish.”
“You can do that tomorrow.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Didn’t you know? I’m a bad influence.”
The strum of the guitar accompanies his words. I suck in a breath and just listen to him play. The melody is softer than what I’m used to hearing from him, but not less beautiful. I hold my breath, not wanting to say anything, afraid that I’ll burst this bubble in which we’re wrapped.
It feels surreal listening to him play like this, and by the sound of it, it’s a completely new song.
Something he wrote when we were together in the music room? Is it selfish of me to hope that I’ve somehow influenced him in writing this? Probably. But I couldn’t help this giddy feeling building inside of me.
“What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful,” I say honestly.
Sebastian uncommittedly hums as he continues playing, switching things a little bit.
“You’re so good at it. I mean, I heard you play piano, so I know you’re good, but listening to you play guitar is an entirely different experience.”
“Guitar has always been my favorite. Ever since…” His voice trails off suddenly, and I can hear him gulp audibly.
I hold my breath, trying to give him a moment to compose himself. I think he’ll change the subject, but he surprises me. “Ever since my dad taught me when I was a kid.”
I knew that tidbit. His father used to play guitar in the band, too, so it made sense it would be the instrument the two of them connected over. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him to lose his dad when he was so young.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whisper.
Sebastian lets out a quiet huff. “Your fan is showing, Birdy.”
I duck my head at his light teasing, which only makes him chuckle.
“Do you play?”
