Page 7 of Hard Rock Muse

3

Icouldn’t remember the last time I’d been in a music studio. I hadn’t known my last time was going to be just that. I’d walked out the door, fully expecting to be going back in the next day.

It hadn’t happened that way.

This room was the same style as I remembered. Multiple instruments strewn about, guitars and drums, piano and keyboards, along with some comfy seating.

“Been a while?” Julian asked.

I realized I’d stopped in the doorway, looking around, taking in the sight. A pang of something almost like homesickness hit my gut.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat and stepped in. “It’s sort of nostalgic, being here.”

Julian followed me into the room. “Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully.

Being here hurt, like a blow to my chest, but there was also a sweet ache of familiarity.

There had been a time, once, when I would have called a place like this my home.

“How long has it been?” Julian asked.

“A while,” I repeated his earlier words. I picked up a small metal instrument laying beside his keyboard. “You still play the harmonica?”

He took it from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. A small spike of heat zapped through me. I quickly pulled my hand away.

Julian met my eyes and put the harmonica to his mouth. He played a short little ditty, something I remembered from the old days, but I hadn’t heard it in years. It was such a happy little tune, a contrast to his usual somber expression. It always used to make me laugh.

“Let me try,” I asked.

He handed it over, making sure to avoid touching me this time. I put it to my mouth and blew hard. A terrible sound emitted from the instrument. Julian tried to hide a wince.

“I guess harmonica still isn’t my thing,” I said, handing it back. I wandered over to the microphone, running my hand up and down the stand, caressing it like a lover.

“You miss it?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“I never thought I’d see a day where you’d give up the limelight,” Julian said.

I stilled, that homesickness amplifying, turning into grief.

“People change,” I replied.

He gestured to my pencil skirt and blouse. “I can see that.”

“You haven’t.” I nodded to his all black clothing. “Still allergic to color?”

His lips twitched upward in the barest of smiles.

“I like black,” he said. “It’s slimming. Shows off my figure.”

I couldn’t help huff out a laugh and shake my head.

“And it looks like you haven’t cut your hair since the last time I saw you, either,” I continued.

“I’ve had a few trims.” He eyed my outfit again. “You can’t be comfortable in that.”