Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
"Is that what's going to happen later?" she asks. "DEX, MUSIC, WATCHING. It's very cryptic."
"No more cryptic than the rest," I say, although I don't know for sure. We didn't discuss what we were going to write, but I know they used the same format. Name, date, a hint at the kink.
"Don't worry about eating dinner. I'll pick you up at eight pm."
"Sure." Kyla's smile is bright, but there is something about her eyes that doesn't quite match the rest of her expression. A wariness or an attempt to hold something in. It settles inside me like the gray of fog, but then she's turning around and disappearing back to reception, and I shake my head, telling myself that it's all my imagination.
I arrive fifteen minutes early, eager to see Kyla and keen not to be late. She's ready early too, so I drive us out to my favorite place up a road that snakes up the curve of a steep hill until it reaches the top. There's a small layby there where a few cars can park to take in the view. There's a bench too, and at this time of night, it's nearly always deserted.
Thankfully, we're the only ones present. In the trunk of the car I have our takeaway, staying warm in a thermal picnic bag wrapped in a blanket. I know Kyla loves Middle Eastern food, so I bought us kebabs wrapped in soft bread and filled with fresh salad and a yogurt dressing.
Passing her the light bag, I reach for the other bag containing drinks and my guitar.
"You play?" she asks, cocking her head to one side.
"Did you think I was going to play you my record collection?"
"I guess I thought I would have known something like that by now."
"I used to play a lot, but I don't find the time so much these days."
Slamming the trunk closed, I lead Kyla to the bench. It's dark, but the town is spread out beneath our feet like a glittering carpet.
"Do you play an instrument?" I ask her.
"Air guitar while I'm singing in the shower count?" She takes a bite of her kebab and rolls her pretty chocolate eyes with deep satisfaction.
"No," I grin, "But I'd still like to see that."
"My shower antics are strictly a one-woman experience."
"Shame."
Kyla nods at the guitar case resting at my feet. "So, what do you play?"
"A little of everything. I've never found I wanted to listen to or play music from only one genre. It's the melody and the lyrics together that touch me. It has to be something that I can bring to life."
"So have you decided what you'll play for me?"
I shrug because I haven't truly decided. There are so many songs that I could play for Kyla. Some to tell her about the way she makes me feel, the way her softness touches me. Some because the melody gives me that aching feeling inside that only things of real beauty achieve. Some songs that got me through tough times, and some that made me think about love. "Do you have a song you'd like me to play?" Turning the tables is a cowardly move, but I don't fight it. Maybe it's right that Kyla should lead. It'll be less like I'm performing and more like I'm carrying out a service for her.
"I think I'll leave the decision to you," she says, raising her eyebrows. There's a little challenge in her expression. A challenge that tells me I need to get this right. What will Kyla like the best? She doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who wants to be romanced in a traditional way. If I sang her a love song, I think it would embarrass her. No, I think she understands emotion and pain. She understands weakness and uncertainty. Honesty and truth are what Kyla needs.
"Did you ever listen to The Civil Wars?" I ask. "They broke up a while back."
"Oh my God, I love them. I'm still holding out that they'll make up and get back together. The world needs more music like that."
"Remember when they did that cover of The Smashing Pumpkins' track?"
"Disarm?"
"How about that?"
She lowers her half-eaten kebab to the bench. "Forget about eating, Dex. You need to get that guitar out of its case and show me what you can do."
"Are you always this demanding?" I laugh, placing my food next to hers. Taking a napkin, I wipe my fingers clean before reaching to unsnap my well-worn guitar case. Pulling it into my lap, there's such a comfort in the way it feels against me. The wood warms to my body temperature, and my hand wraps around its long, elegant neck. A cool wind blows from behind us, ruffling Kyla's hair and making the sky feel closer around us.
The first pluck of the string sounds so loud in the echoing silence, but as I craft the melody, the sound created fills the atmosphere perfectly. The first words fit with the way I felt when I first saw Kyla. Disarm me with your smile. It's what she did that first day. There was an innocence in her that seems to be missing from people these days. It made me take a step back.