Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an acoustic guitar sitting by the TV. “Who plays the guitar?” I asked to quickly change the subject.
“I do,” Luke said.
“Cool,” I said.
He walked over to his guitar and took it from the stand. He brought it over and handed it to me. I looked at him in confusion.
“Here, play that song you were playing last night,” he said.
“You heard that?” I asked.
“Yeah, see my couch right there? That’s where your bedroom is.”
“Oh, I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“You didn’t; I was up anyway. Now, why don’t you play that song?”
I took the guitar from his hand and set it on my lap. I positioned my fingers on the strings and began to play. He took my empty coffee cup and filled it back up. He set the cup down in front of me as I strummed the song he wanted to hear.
“Who taught you to play?” he asked as he leaned up against the wall.
“My father,” I answered as I strummed the last chord.
“What song is that?”
“A song my father used to sing to me. It’s called ‘Little Girl of Mine’.”
He looked at me with a blank expression. I handed his guitar back to him.
“Your turn.” I smiled.
“No! I’m not playing right now,” he growled and walked back into the kitchen.
I didn’t know what to say or think. One minute he’s being nice and the next he acts like I’m bothering him. He’s like a woman with severe PMS. I got up from the stool.
“Thanks for the coffee, and tell Sam I stopped by,” I said with an attitude.