Heart Strings

We walked to his apartment building, hand in hand. He still wore the mitts I gave him, the flap folded back so his fingers were out and wrapped around mine. The sun was shining, glinting off the snow, and despite the cold, it was a glorious day. I couldn’t recall the last time I had felt so content. Normally, since it was Sunday, I had brunch with my parents, then after heading home, I would already be worried about Monday and what it would bring. But right now, that felt very far away, and I was happy to be with Logan.

“This is it.” He indicated the brick building with a wave of his hand. It was similar to mine. Older, with faded red brick and large windows that faced the street. “We’re on the top floor.”

“Same as me.”

“Yep. But I don’t have the luxury of an elevator,” he teased.

We headed inside. Logan stopped and emptied his mailbox, muttering about the lazy SOBs he lived with as he pulled out a pile of mail and flyers. But he grinned the whole time, then took my hand again, and we climbed the steps.

“I gotta admit, I wish for an elevator when I have bags of groceries. But the apartment makes up for hoofing it most of the time.” He winked.

Inside, I looked around. It was an open space with a large living room and a good kitchen tucked at the back. Three doors led off the living room, and Logan indicated them with a tilt of his head as he took my coat. “Trev’s and Rex’s rooms and the bathroom.”

“Where is yours?”

He took my hand and pulled me past the kitchen and into a small hall I hadn’t noticed. He pushed open a door and flicked on the light. His room was a decent size, with a queen bed against the wall and a tall dresser. The opposite wall had a keyboard, his guitar I recognized, plus a couple of other ones. Sheet music was piled on top of the keyboard, with more lying on the floor. I walked over, looking at the piles of music. His name was written across the top, with song titles underneath. There were pages of compositions, some completed songs, some half written, others with only titles. Hundreds of them. I picked up one, studying it. It was called “Your Eyes,” and as I read the lyrics, I knew.

It was about me.

My gaze flew to his, and he nodded. “I wrote that the first night I sang to you.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back to his chest. “I had never seen eyes that held such pain.” He kissed the side of my neck. “I never wanted to erase something so much. I wanted to ease you.”

“You did. You have no idea.”

His arms tightened. “Good.”

I indicated the piles of music. “You perform these songs?”

“Yes. I, ah, I hope one day to sell some. I just need to find the right person to hear them.”

I turned in his arms. “You want to perform?”

“No. Christ, no. I like small stages and singing for an evening.” He bent down and touched my nose with his. “I like singing for you. But I have no aspirations to be famous. I write what my heart tells me to. I would love to hear someone else perform my work.”

“Then I hope you get it.”

He smiled, but for the first time ever, it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll see.”

I realized in that moment, we both harbored a dream we were certain would never come true. It was yet another thing that drew us together.

A noise startled me, and I glanced behind Logan. “What was that?”

He held out his hand. “Come meet the inmates. Trev probably just got back from the gym, and no doubt he’s waking up Rex and Gretch. They’re both serious gamers and stay up half the night playing video games. He likes to piss them off and roust them out of bed for roomie brunch. It’s a Sunday tradition.”

“Oh, but we ate.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “That was a snack to tide me over, Lottie. Trev makes a wicked stir-fry every Sunday. It’s epic.” He grabbed my hand. “Come meet the guys. They think you’re a figment of my imagination, so prepare yourself for the open mouths and disbelief.”

I laughed as I followed him, certain he was teasing.

Except, he wasn’t. The looks on their faces when Logan appeared, his arm wrapped around me, were priceless. The two men, Rex and Trev, I assumed, looked at each other, then at Logan.

“And who is this?” one asked.

Logan’s arm tightened. “This is Lottie. My girlfriend.”

“Your subway angel know about this?” the other one teased.

There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Logan’s voice. “This is my subway angel.”

They stared, blinked, and looked at each other.