Spaces Between Notes

by Kristina M Sanchez

  “I don’t have kitty stuff.”

  He pointed to the stack he’d brought from the store.

  She screwed up her nose, studying the kitten again. He mewed, waving his paws at her, wanting to cuddle. She stroked her fingers down his front. He was a mostly black kitten with a stripe of white down his chest.

  Niko got up, waddled back and forth a few steps, and pointed at the cat.

  Carys laughed. “He does look like a penguin. You know that’s pretty close to the sign for penguin, too.” She moved the cat to her shoulder, put her hands down by her waist, and waved her hands in an approximation of a waddle. The kitten, startled to be on high, uneven ground, gave a frightened squeak.

  Bringing the ball of fur down off her shoulder, Carys looked at him again. “I think he looks like he has a conductor’s coat on.” She looked at Niko. “Maestro?”

  He smiled, knowing Maestro had found a new home.

  Niko didn’t even make it home before his cell buzzed with a text message. He’d given Carys his number to soothe her minor anxiety attack at being left alone with Maestro. He’d had the hardest time not laughing at her and her endless list of “what if” scenarios.

  He parked and dug his phone out. No sense in getting out of the car if she needed him to turn around and head back.

  Carys: Help! He’s sucking on my ear!

  Niko grinned at the selfie she sent. Sure enough, Maestro was perched on her shoulder like a fuzzy black-and-white parrot, his mouth latched onto her earlobe while Carys made an adorable scrunched face. He got out of the car, already tapping a reply.

  Niko: He thinks he’s going to get milk out of it.

  Carys: Does that mean he’s hungry again? He just ate! Should I feed him? One of my friends overfed a kitten once. It died, and its eyes bulged. It was disgusting. And sad.

  Niko: No. It’s instinctual. He’ll be fine.

  The rest of the evening was peppered with texts and questions. Carys sent him so many pictures of Maestro that it should’ve been annoying. Instead, Niko was charmed. Carys was almost childlike in her adoration of her first pet, and it was sweet that she was so nervous about doing the wrong thing.

  At her prompting, Niko found himself telling stories about the pets he’d had growing up. So many pets. He told her about his favorite dog, Hurricane, and their adventures when he was young. He told her about when one of his cats had kittens and they followed him around the lawn like a tiny, furry army.

  Carys: Oh, man. This little guy’s cute enough. I can’t imagine a box full of cute. I’d probably die.

  Niko: Don’t you have the internet? The internet is for porn and kitten videos.

  Carys: Oh, god. Did you just turn me into one of those people? That’s it. You’re friending me on Facebook. I’m not going to torture the rest of my friends with random people’s cats.

  Niko responded by tracking down all of his favorite fuzzy-creature videos and inundating the chat screen with them. He could imagine her voice perfectly when she responded. He could hear that pleased, somewhat high-pitched squeak women get when they’re very tickled by something.

  Niko slammed his head back against the couch.

  Jackass. Don’t start that shit.

  Carys was attractive. It was easy to understand why he wanted to see what she looked like in only her skin, to imagine how good it would feel to have her legs wrapped around him. It only took a passing glance and mild curiosity to spark attraction.

  But this was different. This was the part where making her laugh brought a smile to his face. Only a few weeks ago, he’d been pissed as hell he had to do all this work for free. Now he was disappointed the weather was so bad that there was no reason for him to see her the next day.

  It wasn’t that Niko thought the idea of a girlfriend was dumb. It was the moon-eyed shit he could do without. He didn’t mind charming a girl, though he’d been left looking foolish a few times in his life.

  Now, though, what was the point of even thinking about it? If he’d met Carys a year ago, it’d be a no-brainer. He’d sweet-talk her, take her out, show her a good time, and sing her a sweet song. She’d be putty in his hands. Then he’d get to hear her laugh all he wanted, at least until she started yelling at him and ended up crying about how he never talked to her.

  He’d heard that one often enough in his romantic life.

  You don’t let me in, Niko. You don’t talk about anything real. Talk to me.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t talk; he just didn’t say the things they wanted to hear. It was overdone, this thing people had about sharing things that were private or didn’t really matter. What did it matter if he was in a bad mood one day? His moods, like everyone else’s, changed based on whatever was going on. He’d be in a better mood the next day or even the next hour. What was the point of drawing it out?

  Good thing he’d been single when this accident happened. If they all thought he didn’t talk enough before, it would’ve been unbearable to deal with him now.

  Carys wouldn’t be interested. Not like that, anyway. They could be friends because she pitied him, what with the disability and all.

  The word left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Niko climbed into bed and was about to put his phone down when it chimed again.

  Carys: Any plans for tomorrow?

  Niko toyed with the idea of offering to assess the inside of her house for upgrades. She’d made vague comments about at least knowing what could be done, seeing as so much work was going into the house already, but there was still plenty to do outside and he had no obligation whatsoever to help her with the interior of the house.

  Niko: Just lying here looking pretty, I suppose.

  Carys: Oh. Well, you should come over here and do that.

  Niko blinked at his phone. For a few crazy seconds, even though the words were in front of him, he was sure he’d read them wrong.

  Carys: That didn’t come out right. I just mean you should come over. I’ve got nothing to do, and you’ve got nothing to do. Come over, and I’ll teach you how to play the guitar like we talked about.

  And then…

  Carys: You can look pretty here if you want to. Anyway. You could make sure I’m not accidentally torturing this cat.

  Niko slapped a hand across his eyes, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips in spite of himself.

  Niko: Yeah. Okay.

  Oh, this was a bad, bad idea.

  It was raining when Niko got to Carys’s house the next day. Too bad. Despite the weather report, he’d half-hoped it would be dry enough that he could get some work done. Even though Carys was the one who’d invited him over, he still felt like he was barking up the wrong tree. He wasn’t the type of guy who persisted after people who weren’t interested, but this wasn’t about that.

  Carys answered the door before Niko knocked, took his hand, and dragged him inside. “Get out of the rain,” she said.

  She didn’t let him go. Rather, she led him into the kitchen, laughter in her voice as she spoke. “You have to see this.”

  There, she pointed to the table where Maestro lay asleep while curled up on her open laptop.

  “He was watching me type for a while, and then he pounced on my fingers.” She showed him the tiny scratches on her hands, the mark of every kitten owner. “Then when I gave up and walked away from the computer for a minute, I came back to this.”

  Niko tapped on the edge of the laptop and signed “heat.”

  “He likes the heat?” Carys asked and Niko nodded. “It’s warm,” she said, making a sign in front of her face, first putting her hand, fingers half-closed, close to her mouth and then throwing them wider. “Think of a breath of warm air on a cold day.”

  She repeated the sign so he could follow her, but Niko wasn’t looking at her hands. He was looking at her lips. He wondered if she noticed his momentary hesitation before he mimicked her finger movement. Like a tick, acknowledging his attraction to her had burrowed in deep and wouldn’t leave him alone.
r />   To distract himself, he pointed to the cat and then tapped on the table. He tilted his head, scrunching up his face in a mock-disgusted grimace.

  Carys looked confused at first, then taken aback. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t have cats on the table?”

  He crossed his arms, giving her a stern look, though he hoped she could tell he was just teasing. His parents had drawn the line at having cats on the counters or the table, but it didn’t bother him.

  “What can I say?” She smirked. “I’m a permissive cat parent. I had him on my lap at first, but I bounce my leg too much when I’m at my computer. It feels wrong to keep him on the floor, so here he is.”

  He tapped on the laptop.

  “On,” she said, taking her right hand and tapping it on top of her left. “Laptop.” She made a quick “C” and then a motion with both hands as though she were opening a laptop. “Yeah, he’s on my laptop. You’re right. He’s already out of control.”

  Carys picked Maestro up, prompting a startled mew of protest as he was thrown into sudden wakefulness. She held him up to her eyes and wagged the finger of her free hand at him. “You kitty, me owner. Got it?”

  Maestro put his paws to her nose and tried to get his lower paws likewise on her face.

  Niko pointed at the cat and then at Carys, wagging his finger like she had a moment ago. Kitties didn’t have masters; they had staff.

  “Come on, smartass.” Carys put Maestro up on her shoulder and beckoned to Niko. “We have work to do.”

  In the music room, Carys pointed at the Snakebite, which was still in its place on the wall. “So here’s the thing, ace. You have to learn to crawl before you can walk. We’re not going to profane this beauty by making her play ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb.’”

  Maestro, who had been mewing his protest at being demoted from cat to parrot, started to look like he was contemplating jumping off Carys’s shoulder. She set him on the floor and walked a few paces to another guitar, a plainer one.

  “We’re going to learn to crawl on this one, okay?”

  Niko shrugged. As it was, he wasn’t sure this was a good idea. He’d never had any intention of taking her up on her offer to teach him to play. He’d figured it was one of those things people said and didn’t follow through on. Learning to play the guitar wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do.

  Carys took the guitar, an acoustic, off the wall and handed it to him. He didn’t even know how to hold the thing, he realized. As often as he’d been around music and musicians, he’d never held a guitar. Plunked at a piano, yes, but he’d stayed away from the guitars. His guitarists were always picky bastards about their instruments.

  If Carys noticed his awkward grasp, she didn’t say so. “Be good,” she said, waving a finger at Maestro, who twitched his tail in response.

  Carys led Niko into the living room, sat him down on the couch, and dragged a chair over to sit in front of him. “Okay.” She took the guitar from him. “I’m going to teach you songs instead of chords, so this really isn’t learning how to play the guitar. It’ll be fun.

  “Hold your hands here and here.” She positioned his hands and ran her fingers along his. “Your fingers are so long.”

  He looked up, and realizing what she’d said, she did, too. Her breath caught, her cheeks went pink, and a grin twitched at her lips. The air around them heated.

  “What I’m trying to say is that you have nimble fingers. I mean…” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. This is going to be easy for you.”

  Trying not to laugh, Niko pressed his lips together. He put on an attentive expression and waited for her instruction.

  “Okay, so. ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ One, two, three, two, one, one, one. Right here, see?” She plucked each of the guitar strings in turn.

  It should’ve been simple. It was a child’s song, four notes in a very easy succession. Niko huffed as his fingers stumbled over and over, producing a discordant noise instead of four clear notes. He tried again and again but always produced the same result. His jaw clenched, and he huffed like a freight train about to take off.

  “Whoa. Okay.” Carys closed her hands over his. “Take it easy. It’s not a job or a task. It’s just a little bit of fun.”

  She waved a hand, breathing in with a slow, purposeful breath and then back out again. He fought a wave of irritation, but he humored her and took a deep breath.

  “Okay,” she said. “Now, it’s just like we talked about in signing. You can’t half-ass it. When you strike a chord, you want to make it loud and proud. Timid isn’t your style, Nik. That’s why it isn’t working for you with music.”

  It was funny how the use of that nickname caught Niko off guard. It diffused his foul mood with a single word, and it was clear Carys didn’t even recognize she’d done it.

  “Here.” She took the guitar from him and sat back in her chair. Positioning her fingers as she’d taught him, she began to play.

  It was “Mary Had a Little Lamb” but not like Niko had ever heard it. She played it slowly, with flourishes and embellishments, like it could’ve been played by a minstrel in some long-ago English court.

  “Music,” she said as she played, “is a conversation like anything else. You don’t play individual notes. You play a mood. You were a singer. You understand this.”

  Niko sucked in a breath and recoiled as though he’d been punched in the stomach. He looked up to find her looking at him, her eyes unapologetic. Her fingers didn’t stop playing.

  “You think you’ve lost it, but you haven’t,” she said. “It’s a different voice. That’s all it is.” She turned the guitar back toward him. “Try it again, and try not to think about it like it’s something to be conquered. One, two, three, two, one, one, one. With confidence.”

  He grimaced, swallowing down anger. Who the fuck did she think she was? Why did she think it was her business to bring something like that up?

  But her steady gaze pinned him, and he reached out mechanically to take the guitar back. Glaring at her, he put his fingers back into position and tried again.

  Failed.

  Tried again.

  That one sounded vaguely recognizable.

  “Good. Again. Let your fingers get comfortable with it.”

  His lips twitched in annoyance, but he obeyed, letting his fingers pluck out the same seven notes over and over.

  After a few minutes, his fingers knew the notes. His mind began to wander even as he played on. For the first time in a long time, he remembered flipping through sheet music, not for himself but to see what his band knew how to play. He’d taken choir as an elective all through junior high and high school. Singing for a grade was a no-brainer.

  As he sat across from Carys, he couldn’t help remembering how he used to pick songs to sing for the girl he was trying to impress at the moment. Some girls liked the cheesy songs, the easy songs that were the bread and butter of boy bands and pop sensations. Some liked something deeper, more bluesy. Some liked songs of obsession or songs that played over throw-me-against-the-wall sex scenes in movies.

  Calm now, he looked up at Carys expectantly. “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” There was more to this story.

  She looked pleased and nodded at him. “Good. Now, two, two, two. One, four, four.”

  Niko took a deep breath and let his fingers find those notes. He repeated the same process as before, stumbling only a few times before he could plunk out the notes in an awkward rhythm.

  What would he have chosen to sing for Carys if they’d met before the accident?

  Her fingers closed over his again, sliding them into a better position, and Niko raised his head to meet her eyes.

  Something soft, he thought. Soft and beautiful. A ballad.

  Her breath faltered as though she realized that at some point, she’d scooted so close to him that their knees were touching. Niko curled his fingers in a tight grip around the guitar. It wouldn’t take any effort at all to lean across it, and then he would know what he wanted
to sing to her. An old Betty Everett song played in his head, but that was disconcerting and not the right mood, even if they were the right lyrics.

  His eyes darted down to her lips.

  Niko wasn’t inexperienced when it came to women and reading cues. It had been a while since he’d put those glasses on and tried to see the world with that highlighter pen of potential interest, but something had happened to him last night. He’d begun to look at Carys through that lens, and now, as she looked back at him, he saw interest. More than interest, he saw desire, that uncertain but hopeful “will we, won’t we” moment where no one remembers to breathe.

  He inhaled sharply through his nose, but even that didn’t break the perfect tension. She was still watching him, and she hadn’t moved, cleared her throat, or taken her hand off his against the guitar. This didn’t feel sudden.

  Hell, he was going to regret this in a minute.

  With a grunt, Niko made to close the distance between them, giving just enough pause so Carys could back out if she wanted. She didn’t. She closed her eyes, and then their lips brushed.

  The sound of the doorknob turning had both of them straightening up, blinking. Niko was startled, his thoughts erratic and not at all concrete. He looked to the front door in bewilderment as it opened and Benny came in.

  The other man halted in the act of brushing rain water from his hair, obviously taking in how close Niko and Carys were sitting. It had been a long time since Niko was young enough to feel guilty about kissing a woman, but he was guilty now. Not because her brother saw, but for a reason he couldn’t figure.

  Never in his life had he felt unworthy of a woman, and it wasn’t that he did now. Not quite. It was more that he didn’t get it. Why the hell hadn’t she stopped him?

  Did she feel that sorry for him?

  Still, neither Niko nor Carys pulled back all that much as Bennett’s eyes narrowed to slits. Niko supposed neither of them felt too guilty.

  “Hey, Benny,” Carys said, her voice scratchy. Her hand finally dropped from over Niko’s. “What’s up?”