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My gaze settles back on the screen, and I adjust to a better position to read the poem.

Then read it again.

And again.

It’s clearly meant for me, and each pass lands deeper, igniting vague melodies in my head. For not being a songwriter, she naturally writes in lyrics.

“How was I supposed to know your smile was only a distraction?

How am I supposed to feel, stuck in veiled conversation?

Because you never let me in, now I have to watch you drowning.

Quiet suffering, speak!

I’ll stay here, don’t look down.

There’s nothing waiting for you on the ground.

You’re stronger than you’re feeling now.

I’ll stay here.

I’ll stay.”

I pick up the guitar to play with some of the melodies tickling my brain. A few stick, but my mind keeps going back to the mirror song Callie and I were working on yesterday. That one is going to be something special. I feel it.

I’m so engrossed in the music, I don’t even notice Luke until he’s practically in front of me.

Dampening the strings, I watch his gaze cut to the kitchen, the hall, and back to me, like he can’t decide what to do next. I know the choice he would have made the first time I visited a couple weeks ago, and it’s a testament to how much things have changed that I honestly don’t know what he’ll do now.

When he moves forward and drops beside me, I keep my shock and inner middle-school squeal locked down.

“Is that the song you’ve been working on with Callie?” he asks.

“Nah. Something else. She, uh, wrote me something last night.”

He snaps a look at me, and I shrug.

“That it?” He nods toward the coffee table.

“Yeah. It’s got a natural chorus. I’ve been playing around with some progressions.”

I return to absent strumming as he leans forward to scan the screen. After a few seconds, he sinks into the couch and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Did you know Elena asked me out first?”

My fingers stall on the strings. I glance at him, but he’s still focused on the ceiling.

“I thought you askedher,” I say. “Wasn’t your first date that weird lawn party at your aunt’s house?”

To my amazement, a smile cracks his severe expression.

“Aunt Gina was trying for a Kentucky Derby vibe.”

“Yeah, well, without horses, it was just Uncle Nestor in a green tux that never should have been invented and whatever the hell your aunt was wearing on her head.”

He snorts a laugh. “I’m convinced that entire thing was just to give her an excuse to wear the hat she found at the estate sale.”