“Ash plays bass, right?” Brad asked.
“Yeah, he’s going to introduce me to his buddy, Oren, who plays drums. With me on guitar, we were thinking of seeing if we could get a band together.”
My mom stiffened, her fork freezing over her egg whites. She’d been married once before, to my dad, who’d been an aspiring musician. One who’d been blindly ambitious to anything but his own dreams, leaving us behind in the process—but not before he tried to use us to get ahead. I watched my mom carefully school her reaction with a smile.
“That’s right, you were part of a band in Chicago.” I had to give her props for at least sounding interested and not letting her existing experience shut him down.
“Yeah, kind of. We really just jammed. I was the only one serious enough to want more.”
“You’ll get there,” Brad encouraged.
“I know,” Parker answered, not a drop of doubt lingering behind his words.
“You know, Nova’s pretty artistic,” Brad said, turning the spotlight to me. “You should check out some of her art.”
“Oh, no.” I waved the suggestion away. “I’m sure he’s busy.” I imagined watching Parker take in my work and cringed internally. I loved my artwork—wanted to share it with the world. I just didn’t want to stand there and watch them study it…in my room. Which was where I kept everything.
It felt too…personal, and all I could imagine was him forcing interest in something he thought was lame.
“Nah, I’d love to see it.” He pushed past my objections, and I forced a smile, desperately trying to hide my discomfort. I’d probably need to practice that face when he laughed at some of my drawings.
“You two should hang out more,” my mom said. “Nova always wanted a brother.”
And just like that, my cringe was back. I dropped my gaze to my plate, not wanting anyone else to see my reaction to calling Parker my brother. The last thing I thought of when looking at him was brotherly. When I braved a look up at him, he watched me in a way that didn’t remind me of a brother either. But as soon as I met his blue eyes, he looked away, making me wonder if I made it up.
By the end of dinner, I hoped he’d forgotten about the suggestion, but no such luck. We dropped our dishes off at the sink, and before I could make a break for it, he stopped me.
“Ready to show me your art?”
“Oh. Umm…”
My eyes shot wide, bringing a full laugh from his parted lips. I could imagine then that he sang as well as played the guitar I heard through the walls occasionally. There was no way a guy could have a laugh that melodic and not sing. The deep timber filled the room and sank into my chest, making me feel more at home than I had since we moved here.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to show me.”
“I just don’t usually show anyone, and you were kind of cornered into it, so no pressure to turn back. I know you’ve got plans.”
“I’ve got time. Besides, I’m interested. And we’re family now, right?” he joked.
That was not the reminder I needed right then as I wondered what his laugh would sound like with my ear pressed to his chest.
I hesitated, a million possibilities playing out in my mind. What if he laughed and hated it? What if he made fun of me? What if he tried to placate me and pretend he liked it when he thought it sucked, and then he made fun of me behind my back?
But then he smiled and closed the gap, his height more intense with each step closer. The doubts passed, and I clung to the warmth of home he ignited. Before I could question it anymore, I murmured a quick, “Sure.”
“Sweet.”
I laughed, shaking my head at his excitement.
Trying to brush off the nerves and act as cool as him, I turned toward my room. By the time we walked through the bedroom door, my legs shook like jello, and my lungs worked overtime.
Be cool. Be cool.
“Man, I think you got the better deal on the room,” he said, looking around.
I remembered the first time I saw the apartment and requested this room. My mom hadn’t understood when it was more of an oversized office with no closet. But she never did. She never saw the natural light streaming in the windows from all sides. She didn’t see the space to have my bed and a large enough area to keep my oversized workbench.
But Parker did.
“I bet you have a hard time leaving in the morning.”
“Why’s that?”
“The morning light through these windows has to be inspiring.”
A slow smile stretched my lips. That sensation of home grew almost too big. “Yeah, it is,” I agreed softly. “I get my best work done then.”