The second I hit the top of the staircase, music floated through the air. The melodic tunes of a guitar wrapped around my senses and propelled my feet a little bit faster, even though I’d yet to have any coffee.

I didn’t know the tune, but I knew my ears liked it. It was a little haunting, a little melancholy, but at the same time, it held an undertone of hope.

There was something about music, wasn’t there? No matter what kind you listened to. It just had this indescribable way of making you feel something.

The second my foot hit the bottom of the steps, I was almost transfixed. My footsteps were soundless as I went in search of the music.

I knew Nate was a songwriter. But I had no idea he played guitar. I didn’t know much about him at all. His melody made me hungry for the information. For any detail I could garner. I wondered if the piece was something he wrote. Something autobiographical. If it wasn’t, I wondered where he got the inspiration.

Just as my foot hit the top step into the living room, a quiet voice began to sing.

“Sometimes it feels like you were just a dream,

“A wish floating through reality.

“At night, I wait for sleep to claim me,

“To hear your voice, remember your face,

“But when I open my eyes, you’re gone without a trace.”

I swallowed. My throat was dry, my eyes oddly damp. That was beautiful. And his voice…

“Shit,” he swore and stroked the strings, then lifted his hand.

I moved into the room, unable to hang back. Unwilling to pretend I hadn’t heard. I wasn’t normally very polite. I wasn’t about to start now.

“Play it again,” I said, padding across the large plush rug toward where Nate sat on the hearth.

He’d built a fire. The sound of the wood crackling and popping behind him only added to the atmosphere.

His head came up quickly. Red locks fell onto his forehead, and he shoved them away, making it all stand out around his head. “You heard me?”

I nodded, drawing closer. Gesturing with my hand, I urged, “Play it again.”

His eyes flashed with a little bit of shyness, and I sank down on the brick ledge beside him. I bumped my knee into the side of his leg.

He didn’t glance at me, only down at the guitar balanced in his lap. Music filled the room again, and I watched his fingers nimbly move over the strings. He sang the lines again. Then when his voice fell away, he played what I assumed what was left of the chords.

I picked up where he left off.

“Lost in the past, nonexistent in the future.

“Which is worse? I’m just not sure.

“Looking in the mirror, a reflection gazes back,

“But it isn’t me.

“It isn’t me.

“It’s how I know you weren’t a dream,

“A wish floating through reality.

“Memories are hard to keep,

“But you’re always there, aren’t you?

“Buried down deep,

“Always there when I’ve had too much reality.”

When my words fell away, so did his music. The final chord ebbed away softly, leaving nothing behind but the crackle and hiss of the fire.

Nate’s emerald eyes lifted, glittering like precious gems. “That was amazing.”

The rise and fall of my chest was heavy, just like the air between us.

“It’s like you knew what I was saying. You understood.” He went on.

I did understand.

“Who did you lose?” I asked, not holding back.

He set aside the guitar, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “My mom died when I was a little kid.”

I reached out without thought, sliding my hand over his clasped ones. He stared at where we touched for long moments, then parted his grip and tugged my hand between his. “What about you?”

Pain lanced through my chest. “My grandmother.”

“You’re a lot like her, then?” he asked, the corner of his mouth kicking up.

I smiled, thinking of her. Then my smile faded away. “She was much more than I will ever be.”

His hands tightened around mine, and he looked over. “I don’t think that’s true,” he replied, soft. “Looking in the mirror, a reflection gazes back. It isn’t me.” He repeated my words. “You see her in you.”

I wished I did. But really, when I looked in the mirror, I thought of how disappointed in me she probably was.

Tugging my hand slowly out of his, I was sort of sad when he let me go. But I pushed the feeling back and stood. “Have you had coffee yet?”

He shook his head. “Are you kidding? I got lost twice just trying to find this room. I was afraid if I went in search of the kitchen, you’d never see me again.”

“The house isn’t that big.” I scoffed.

“Where’s Cheeto?” He wondered, as if he just noticed I wasn’t holding the kitten.

“Curled up in my bed. I didn’t want to bother him, he looked too cozy.”

“If I was in your bed, I wouldn’t want to leave it either.” He wagged his eyebrows at me.

I gave him a forget it look, then turned away, hiding the smile trying to take over my face. “I’m gonna need some coffee to put up with you today.”

He appeared soundlessly behind me as we went, leaning over my shoulder. “Does that mean I’m not leaving?”

“I haven’t decided.” I sniffed.

“You like me.” He teased.

“I do not.”

“Like me,” he whispered.

I ignored him. He was annoying.

But as we entered the kitchen, an insistent little voice spoke up in the back of my head.

Maybe I do.