Callum & Harper (Sleepless 1)

“Thank you so much, Charlie. I can’t thank you enough.”

I hang up, invigorated.

I turn and slap my hands together. “Okay, Harper Bailey, you’re comin’ with me.”

“I am?” She said, looking hopeful.

“Yeah, it’s not going to be ideal,” repeating Charlie’s words, “but it’s going to be better than staying the night outside in this heat.”

We arrive at Charlie’s studio around eight thirty in the evening. I ride my bike over the curb and onto the sidewalk, next to the entrance. Harper takes her helmet off and I get assaulted by her fragrant hair again and almost lose my balance.

“Where are you going to lock up your bike?”

“I’m not.” I smile.

“Aren’t you afraid it’ll get stolen?”

“Nah, because I’m taking it inside.”

“Can you do that?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ve done it a million times, all the floors are concrete where we’re going and I always promise Henry, the owner, to keep a mat beneath it to catch any oil.” I point to the second story window above the door. “That’s his apartment right there.”

“Will he be cool about all this?” She asks, skepticism leaking from her tone.

“Yeah, I think so. Henry knows my situation. He never lets me stay more than one night, though. I suppose he’s afraid I’ll move in and that’s against some sort of tenant code city thing. He’s not licensed for that and a real stickler for the rules. The city has it out for the rockers, I guess.” I winked, like a dumbass. I immediately regretted the cheese move.

I pressed the buzzer in awe of my total loss of cool. This girl seeped the ‘smooth’ outta’ me.

“Henry,” Henry announced in a static voice.

“Henry, it’s Callum. Did Charlie call you?”

We hear another buzz for the door and I opened it. I clicked the buzzer again and hear the other end connect but Henry says nothing.

“Thanks, Henry.”

“No problem, Callum. See you in the morning, dude.”

“And that was Henry.”

“How old is he?” Harper asked.

“I don’t know, like thirty?”

“Cool.”

“Alright, hold the door for me?” I ask.

She whips inside the covered alcove and holds the door as wide as it will go. I give my bike two hard shoves and it lurches over the step to the alcove and into the building foyer. I lead Harper to Charlie’s studio in the very back.

“It’s the last door on the right.”

She jumped ahead of my bike and opened the door for me as I wheeled in the bike. Charlie’s studio space is large and it should be, because it costs him a small fortune but apparently it paid for itself when he recorded for random bands when he wasn’t on the road.

Harper let out a low whistle.

“Incredible,” she said, turning around.