Page 47 of The Deviation
“You, too,” she says as we shake.
“So… Calum’s mentioned me, huh?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Once or twice.”
A spark of delight lights up inside me, and some of the glow must escape through my pores or something, because Hannah gives a smug snort. “I do believe I’ve made your day.”
“What?” My eyes widen in panic. “No, I mean…” Shifting on my feet, I try to think of a way to cover my mistake. “We work together. Well, he works for my band.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “By telling you all what to do?”
Huffing out a laugh, I nod. “Pretty much, yeah.”
Those shrewd green eyes study me before she says, “I was about to put on the kettle. Join me for a cuppa?”
“I probably shouldn’t.” I glance behind me, as if Calum could appear on the stairs at any moment. Which is actually true, so…
“He won’t be home for at least a couple of hours,” she says, before opening the door wider in invitation.
I absolutely, positively should say no. I mean, technically I’m not breaking any rules by being here, but I know Calum wouldn’t want me in his home, spending time with his sister. Still, standing here with the one person who knows Cal best, the person he loves above all others, I find myself helpless to say no. “I can stay for a few minutes,” I say, walking through the doorway.
“Great.” Hannah grins and, in that moment, she reminds me so much of her brother, my heart actually skips a beat.
“How did you know I was out there?” I ask as she closes the door.
“I heard weird noises and looked through the peephole. Watched you dance about looking for the perfect place to put your offering.” She gestures to the gift before bending to put it under a small, but brightly decorated, Christmas tree. “It was pretty funny.”
I hang my head. “I’ll bet. I hope I didn’t scare you.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have a serial killer vibe.”
“That’s good to know.”
“You seem more like the stalker type.”
My eyes close on a groan. Hannah definitely knows the full extent of my weirdness. “I was not stalking your brother,” I say,lifting my arms into a defensive position. “I followed him for a short distance, to see where he ended up.” She stares at me. I stare back. “Like a total stalker.”
We both burst out laughing.
“Don’t worry,” she says, heading into the kitchen. “Your secret is safe with me.”
While Hannah’s busy in the kitchen, I wander around the living room of their tiny apartment, hoarding every detail. An old cork board on the wall is covered with takeaway menus, concert flyers, and photos of Calum and Hannah—together and apart. No photos of them with their parents, though. A small television is flanked by two bookcases. One is filled with books. The other houses a wide collection of CDs, some vinyls, even a handful of beat-up cassette tapes. In the corner, beside the music collection, sit two acoustic guitars, dust free and gleaming.
I turn to look at Hannah, gesturing to the instruments. “You play?”
A multitude of expressions cross her face as her mouth works in a prelude to actual words. “The one on the right belongs to Cal,” she says, finally.
My hand reaches out, a single finger stroking the top of the neck. “Do you think he’d mind, if I…”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Pluck his strings?”
Warmth rushes into my face, and Hannah snickers with wicked delight. “Go ahead. He won’t mind a bit.”
Lifting the guitar from its stand, I sit on the couch with it propped on my knee. I run loving fingers over the body before my hands fall into position. I pick out a simple melody, testing the strings. Of course, they’re perfectly in tune. I switch to something more intricate, eyes closing as my fingers move of their own accord. The knowledge Cal plays these same strings, makes music with them, has my fingertips tingling. It’s pathetic,the lengths I’ll go to, just to feel close to him. I’ve long since given up caring. My feelings for him are real, even if our involvement is a thing of past.
“What are you playing?” My eyes open to see Hannah sitting in the armchair to my right. Two steaming mugs sit on the large, wooden coffee table before us. “I haven’t heard it before,” she says, her gaze focused on my hands.
I hadn’t even noticed I’d switched gears again. “This is new,” I tell her. “The melody is set, but the lyrics…” I grimace. “They’re a work in progress.”