Page 29 of Secondhand Smoke
Barrett led her to the same sofa as last time and offered a seat. He placed the cookies on the table. “You want something to drink?” he asked and gestured with his thumb over his shoulder.
Her parched throat from the ride over answered for her. “Some water would be nice. Thank you.”
The corner of Barrett’s mouth lifted. “My pleasure.”
Nell crossed her legs and folded her hands politely in her lap, looking around the room again—like she had the last time she was in there—while he rummaged in the kitchen.
Something green caught her eye, and she blinked at a guitar she hadn’t noticed when she walked in, and which had certainly not been there last time.
It looked exactly like a guitar one would expect Barrett to have: long and slender, with a sharp, angular body a rockstar would play on stage. That must be why he had it.
It was nothing like the soft, rounded acoustic one KC had, but Nell quite liked the way this one looked anyway. She shuffled over to it from the couch.
Up close, she could see that it wasn’t just green. It had a crackled black pattern that reminded her of the dried-out salt flats she’d visited once in Utah with her family.
To think she’d be learning to play on something like this was almost overwhelming. It seemed far too valuable for her lack of knowledge. What if she ended up breaking it?
Despite herself, her hand brushed down the rightmost string, and she listened to the soft scratching sound it made.
“The love of my life.”
Nell jumped and pulled her hand back as though the instrument had stung her.
Barrett beamed and held out a glass of water. “She’s my most prized possession.”
Nell accepted and smiled sheepishly as she clutched the cup in two hands. “Sorry. I should’ve asked before touching.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said and picked up the instrument by the neck. “You just couldn’t resist. Like me.” He shot her one of his contagious smiles.
She smiled nervously, glad for the second time in the past five minutes that she hadn’t offended him. But it shouldn’t surprise her that he was hard to put off. Probably his entire life, he’s had people say things to him or around him. After that long, you got used to things.
She, herself, was still working on growing tough skin.
“How long have you had it?”
“‘It’ is a ‘she’,” he corrected playfully. “Sandra. And I got her back in high school. Saved up for years after I saw her in some catalog.”
“Was it . . . I mean, wassheyour first guitar?”
“No. My second.” He strummed the strings lightly, making a tinny sound that differed from acoustic. “But she’s my match made in heaven.”
“Well, you look perfect together,” Nell complimented.
It tied the whole Barrett look together: black Judas Priest shirt, ripped dark jeans, tattoos running up his arms, and a sharp green and black guitar that matched everything about him.
“Did you bring your stuff?”
“Oh, right.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the bent, water-logged book Barrett had “given” her and one folded-up piece of paper she hadn’t had the heart to open yet. She held them out.
His attention went directly to the piece of paper, skipping right over the beginner’s guide.
“What’s that?”
She pursed her lips and took a deep inhale. “KC’s song.”
Barrett’s hand was reaching out for it, but when he heard her words, he paused. He glanced up at her through dark lashes, an unsurety in his eyes. “Can I?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
