Baker invited me over to listen to music and hang out. Spending the evening with him changed my Sunday from blah to something I was sure to cherish. Nervous about what the future held, but pleased at the growth we were both making, I sat cross-legged on the floor with my eyes closed and listened to the cleanliness of the music.

When the record stopped, I opened my eyes. “I’ve never enjoyed listening to the Rolling Stones until now. Holy crap. Listening to them on vinyl is awesome.” I opened my eyes.

Sitting on the floor in front of the turntable, he looked cute barefoot and in jeans. His head was bobbing ever so slightly, and his eyes remained closed. “Exile is a great album on vinyl. It’s got to be one of my all-time favorites.”

“Tumbling Dice was great, but I really like that Sweet Virginia song. You could tell they were really having fun with it. Music has changed so much.”

He opened his eyes. “Where’d your love of music come from?”

“Boredom. I started with an old-school cassette player that my dad had. I listened to his box of cassettes over and over.”

“Cool. What was in there?”

“In his cassettes?”

“Yeah. What did your dad listen to?”

“Everything. Velvet Underground. David Bowie. Van Morrison. Bob Dylan. Stuff he really had no business listening to.”

“How old was he?”

“He was born in nineteen seventy,” I said. “He was a January baby.”

“That’s an interesting assortment of music.” He crossed his legs and rocked back and forth. “I started with vinyl. I was always fascinated with it. That nothing more than a groove in a piece of plastic could reproduce sound.”

I widened my eyes. “I still don’t understand it.”

“It’s a mechanical representation of sound waves. Grooves are cut in the record. The depth of the groove is developed based on the changes in atmospheric pressure caused by the sound waves while recording. When it’s played, the turntable’s needle does the opposite. It sends the measurement of the groove to something that turns it back into a sound wave. Viola. Music.”

“Who turned you on to records?”

“My aunt.”

I had a mental pause when he responded. I found it more than coincidental that his aunt introduced him to music, and my aunt raised me after my father died. I didn’t want to ask, but eventually the girl in me exposed herself.

“Were you and your aunt close?”

He grinned. “She raised me.”

“Is she still alive?”

“Alive and well in Montana. She lives an easy life. Last time I was there, she had no television, no internet, and no desire to embrace technology. I used to walk from her house to town. It was five miles. Run is more like it. I did it in Chucks.”

“You ran five miles in Chucks?”

He raked his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Pretty much every day.”

“What brought you here?”

“Me and a bunch of friends decided Southern California would be more receptive to our way of living life than Great Falls Montana. I was a pretty wild kid, and spent a lot of time in trouble. Doing dumb shit in Montana gets a kid arrested every time. Doing dumb shit in Southern California gets overlooked.”

“So, you and your friends moved here?”

He nodded, sending several strands of hair falling over his eyes. “Four of ‘em. Right after high school.”

“Are they still here?’

“Yep.”

“Do you get to see them?”

“They work for me.”

“Oh wow. That’s cool.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. Friends can get annoying. They tend to hold your past over your head just to remind you of it.” He stretched his legs, stood, and extended his arm. “Coffee?”

I smiled and reached for his hand. “Sure.”

When I stood, I looked at the Grandfather clock that sat beside the turntable. It was almost one o’ clock in the morning, and I had to work the next day. I didn’t want the night to end, but I felt coffee might not be in my best interest.

“Does that clock tell accurate time?”

“It sure does.”

“It’s almost one.” I gave an apologetic look. “Maybe no coffee.”

He glanced at the clock, and then sighed. “Would you want to…” He brushed my hair behind my left ear. “Do you want to sleep over.”

Until that point, I was sure the night couldn’t have been any better. It wasn’t the first time in my life I’d been wrong.

“Stay all night?” I asked excitedly.

He did the same thing in the left side of my face. “Yeah.”

“I would. I have to work in the morning, though.”

“Well.” He gestured toward his bedroom. “We better get to bed.”

He must have been expecting to ask me, because he had a brand-new toothbrush for me to use. When we were both done with our end of the night rituals, he walked into his closet and quickly returned with a pair of sweat shorts and a tee shirt.

He handed them to me. “Might not fit great, but you can wear those to bed if you’d like.”

I was hoping to cuddle naked, but I accepted his offer. “Okay.”

I changed into the clothes, and while I did, he went back into the closet. When he came out, he was wearing a pair of similar shorts and a different tee shirt.

“Are you going to sleep in that?”

“I am.”

I’d wanted to ask for a long time, but I hadn’t. I reached a point that curiosity got the best of me, though. “Why don’t you ever take off your shirt?”

He pulled back the comforter. “Let’s say there’s something underneath there I’m not quite ready for you to see.”

He’d seen me from the inside out. I took offense to the statement. “A scar?” I asked.

He climbed onto the bed. “No.”

“A tattoo of your former lover?” I asked jokingly.

“Close, but no.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What?”

“You’ll find out some day.”

“When?”

He patted his hand against the bed. “When I’m ready.”

He turned out the lights, but left the blinds open, allowing the light from the street to filter into the room. The same cool blue glow that filled my home at night filled his.

I got in bed beside him, not angry, but not as happy as I’d been during our music session. I played the pouty role for a few minutes, but it did little good. About the time I decided to accept his decision to tell me when he was ready, he repositioned himself.

“Lay your head here.” He placed his palm on his shoulder.

I did as he asked, scooting so close to him that every inch of me that was able to be was touching an inch of him. He searched the top of the nightstand blindly, and eventually lifted something. Then, music began to play softly in the background.

“My playlist,” he said. “It’ll play for an hour. Is that alright?”

I couldn’t fall asleep without music. I tilted my head to the side and smiled. “It’s perfect.”

I guessed we weren’t going to have sex, and I liked it that he hadn’t tried or suggested it. I closed my eyes and let his choice of music entertain me while I considered what a life with a man in it would be like.

The Wind, by Amos Lee started playing.

My eyes opened. It was the song that played the night he hugged me in front of my door. For me, it was a turning point. I wondered if it was for him, too. Before I had a chance to mention the song, and how I would always associate it with that night, he rolled his head to the side and kissed me.

“Good night, Andy,” he said.

“Goodnight, Baker.”

I closed my eyes and grinned. When the song stopped, I decided when Helen grew up, I’d want her to meet someone like Baker.

Just like Baker.