“I didn’t know you played piano,” she said, eyeing the ramshackle home music studio.
He shrugged. “I dabble.”
“I’m not that good. Guitar is my main thing.”
“So play the guitar.”
“Thing is, I burned my finger when I was cooking yesterday. Too painful to play.”
“You could play me a recording?”
“I don’t think I can. I feel kinda vulnerable sharing my creative side.”
At that, she melted – she’d had no idea he was so sensitive. They never did.
His investment was paying off. And maybe, eventually, he’d actually learn how to play one of his instruments.Follow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com