Page 19 of Heart Strings

There’s something about the way he loses himself in the music, a vulnerability and passion that he rarely shows in other aspects of his life. It’s a side of him that never fails to make my heart squeeze a little.

“You’re up early,” I comment, taking a bite of my breakfast.

He shrugs, his fingers still moving deftly over the strings. “Woke up just after 4 and couldn’t get back to sleep because of this melody in my head. So here I am.”

I nod, understanding. Music has always been his refuge, his way of making sense of the world. “Sounds great. What’s it about?”

He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I’ll let you know when I know,” he says with a grin, setting his guitar aside. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, like a rock and no hangover,” I reply, taking a bite of my bacon. The food is delicious, and I make a mental note to thank him.

He smiles, satisfied, and leans back, his eyes still on me. “Got plans for today?” he inquires, a hint of hope in his tone.

I shrug, enjoying the simplicity of this moment. “Not really. It’s Saturday, so the bookstore is closed. I was thinking of maybe just hanging out here, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, it’s okay. I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, his smile widening. “I’ve got some new songs I’ve been working on. Maybe you can give me your brutally honest opinion?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Brutally honest, huh? Be careful what you wish for.”

As he picks up his guitar again, I continue to watch him, the familiarity of this scene wrapping around me like a warm blanket. This cabin, with its cozy rooms and the sound of Connor’s music, has become a sanctuary for both of us.

“Connor?” I say, breaking the silence.

He looks up, his fingers stilling on the strings. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for this. For breakfast, the music... for just being you.”

He laughs, a sound that fills the room with warmth. “Always, Tink. You know I’ve got you.”

And I believe him. In this moment, with the soft strumming of his guitar and the gentle rhythm of his voice, I’m reminded of the depth of our friendship, of the bond we share. It’s a connection that’s weathered storms and celebrated victories, one that’s grown stronger with each passing year.

As I finish my breakfast and take my plate to the sink, he changes what he’s playing to something familiar. The melody Connor picks up on his guitar is one I’ve heard countless times, a song that’s floated through the background of many of our hangouts.

Yet today, the lyrics hit differently, each word echoing with a new significance. It’s as if he’s chosen this song deliberately, a message hidden in the familiar chords. Usually this song wouldn’t make my heart skip a beat, but the lyrics suddenly make me pause.

We’ve listened to this song at bbq’s, it’s one of those background songs that you recognize easily.. So why does it sound like he’s playing it to me? Why now? Why this song?

Baby, the best part of me is you…

My hands tremble slightly as I place my plate in the sink, the sound of running water unable to drown out his voice or the rapid beating of my heart. I chance a look at him, finding him completely absorbed in the song, but as he finishes the verse, his gaze lifts to meet mine.

The look in his eyes is intense, almost questioning, as if he’s asking, “Do you feel it too?”

For a moment, we’re locked in this silent conversation, everything unspoken yet understood.

And lately, everything’s making sense, too.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed knowing what the next line is, I turn away, my heart pounding so loudly I’m convinced he can hear it. “I, uh, I need to get ready for the day,” I stammer, eager to escape the intensity of the moment.

Last night, in the back of his truck, we came dangerously close to crossing a line that’s always been blurred but never breached. There was a moment, a single heartbeat, where everything seemed to hang in the balance—and then we both pulled away, scared of what it might mean.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, I’m torn. Connor and I are best friends; the only constants in each other’s lives. But what if there’s more? What if Connor’s confession the other night wasn’t just drunken nonsense?

I bury my face in my hands and groan, trying to steady my breathing. The thought of crossing that line, of changing everything between us, it’s.... scary. Yet the thought of not exploring this, of letting fear hold us back, is somehow worse.

The sound of his guitar has stopped, replaced by the soft creak of the cabin as it settles. I wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s as conflicted as I am. The thought of facing him, of trying to act like nothing’s changed, makes my stomach twist in knots.

I hear a soft knock on the door, and my heart leaps. “Gracie?” Connor’s voice is gentle, hesitant. “Can we talk?”

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