paper rings (l.h.)

6

Luke came in the front door after me, his eyes immediately found itself emerged in the southern charm my family's home provided. The walls were covered in new portraits of my cousins and siblings, and older ones which were shades of black gray and white. My Grandfather smiled as a young soldier before his deployment, beside a portrait of my great-grandparents. I was glad I spent the time to individually dust each portrait, I had spent so long staring at them myself I thought they at least deserved that.

The front room was decorated in floral print sofas — which matched the comforter in my bedroom to a T — mixed with dark oak rocking chairs with handmade blankets draped along the back. It smelled like a Grandmother's house would smell, old and dusty, but Luke doesn't mind. A piano sits in the corner of the room, dusty and untouched. He holds his coffee in his pale hand as he pulls the sunglasses off of his head. "Do you play?" His first words were, once I turn around to open the curtains.

"No," I place my purse on the sofa beside the piano, watching how he makes a b-line towards the neglected instrument, probably far past it's prime. A layer of dust lays across the bench, as well as the fall board, and I mentally make a note to clean it the next time I get a chance. "My Uncle used to, he's a music professor up in New York."

"Yeah," he turns to me before sliding onto the neck, placing his hands on the keys as he begins to play a melody I've heard before. A classical tune, his fingers moved diligently across the keys. He looks over at me, and I realize that I had slight smile on my face as he played. I wasn't looking at the piano, or his hands that danced across it. Instead, I found myself watching every twitch of his nose, or tremble of his lower lip as it parted in concentration. He realizes that I'm staring about a second after I do. I smirk before crossing my arms.

"Why did you stop?"

Luke looks away for a second, shrugging as he glanced back down at the piano. "I don't remember any farther than that."

"Well, play something else," I sit at the rocking chair directly beside his perch on the piano bench. Folding my hands across my lap, and resting the back of my head against the soft blanket that laid behind it.

"What do you want to hear?"

I think for a second, my brown, almond eyes accentuated with a few strokes of jet black mascara focused on the ceiling as he patiently waits for my answer. "Something sad."

"Sad?" He laughs, straightening his back as he turns towards the keys once again. He hesitates for a second, and his hands take position on the keys. I'm sure my Grandma can hear us all the way upstairs. "Alright."

His melody fills the empty house with a melancholy song that I didn't recognize either. He peeks over at me as I keep my eyes off of the pianist. My personal pianist. I close my eyes as I listen to the melody end faster than I had wished.

He places the fall board back where it belonged, looking over at me as my eyes portray more disdain than I had wished they did. "Who taught you that?"

"I did," he shrugs. "Most of the time, anyway. My Mom hired instructors and they came over once a week until I was in high school. I figured it out from there."

"I could listen to you play all day," I look over at him as he places himself in the old rocking chair beside me. The only light throughout this house during the day comes from the sun shining outside, and I feel it's warmth through the glass behind us.

He smiles as he rests his head back, too. Looking over at me as I rock gently in the chair. "I would play for you all day."

I feel my cheeks begin to redden as he says this, my freckles being engulfed in the blood that rushed to my face. my heart skips a beat when I realize how much I am genuinely enjoying my time.