Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Darian . . .”
“I know we said we were keeping things casual. I know this complicates everything. But watching you walk into that shop today, seeing your face when you realized what was happening—”
“I was terrified.”
“You were beautiful.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make me want things I can’t have.”
“What if you can have them?”
“My daughter comes first. Always.”
“I’m not asking you to choose. I’m asking you to consider that maybe you can have both. Maybe we can figure this out without anyone getting hurt.”
“In my experience, someone always gets hurt.”
“Then let’s change your experience.”
She laughs, but it’s soft, almost sad. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple. Nothing about this is simple. But Rye . . . these past weeks with you. The music we’ve made, the nights we’ve spent—”
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to think clearly and when you talk like that, I can’t.”
“Maybe thinking clearly is overrated.”
“Not when my daughter’s involved.”
“Fair enough.” I take a breath. “But can I say one more thing?”
“What?”
“I care about her because she’s remarkable. And I care about you because you’re . . . you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full of everything we’re not saying.
We talk for another twenty minutes, working through logistics and boundaries. Lessons only when Benny can’t do them. No discussion of the music industry or professional possibilities. No promises beyond the current lesson. Clear communication if anything changes.
“And us?” she asks near the end. “How do we handle that?”
“Separately. Completely separate from Lily.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it means we can’t . . . be together the way we have been?”
“If that’s what you need.”
“I don’t know what I need. I just know I can’t risk her getting hurt.”
“Then we don’t risk it.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple as that.”
She sighs. “Nothing’s ever simple.”
“No. But we can try.”
“Yeah. We can try.”
After we hang up, I sit in the dark apartment thinking about unexpected connections. About a little girl with natural talent and fierce determination. About her mother trying to protect her from an industry that doesn’t always care who it hurts.
About the possibility of being trusted with something precious.
I pick up my guitar one more time and play the progression Lily learned today. But I play it her way, with the harmonics and hammer-ons she discovered. It sounds different from when I usually play it. More hopeful. More alive.
Maybe that’s what teaching does. Shows you your own music through fresh eyes. Reminds you that every chord progression was once new to someone. That every technique was once impossible until it wasn’t.
I play until midnight, working through variations and possibilities. Tomorrow Benny will be back. Lily will have her regular teacher next week. Things will return to normal.
But something shifted today. Something small but significant. A door opened that wasn’t open before.
And maybe, if we’re careful, if we respect the boundaries, if we keep our promises—maybe something good can grow from that.
rye
. . .
I wake up before my alarm, which never happens. The room is still dark, but I can’t stop thinking about last night. About walking into that guitar shop and seeing Darian with Lily. The way he knelt down to her level, how patient he was when she asked about the different guitars. How natural it all looked.
I’ve been awake for maybe ten minutes, just staring at the ceiling and replaying that moment. He didn’t know we were coming. Couldn’t have planned it. What I saw was just him being himself with my daughter, and Lily responded to him like she’s known him forever.
The alarm finally goes off and I reach over to silence it. Time to start the day, but that image won’t leave my head. His hand gently guiding hers on the guitar neck, showing her how to position her fingers. The way Lily looked up at him, completely focused and trusting.
I drag myself out of bed and head to the kitchen to start coffee. The house is quiet, but it won’t be for long. Lily’s always up early on Saturdays, especially when she’s excited about something. And based on how she talked about guitars all the way home last night, I’m betting she’ll be up soon.
The coffee maker gurgles to life and I lean against the counter, waiting. Through the kitchen window, I can see the sun just starting to lighten the sky. Another day. Another set of decisions to make about what’s best for my daughter. What’s best for us.
“Mom?” Lily’s voice comes from the hallway. “Are you making pancakes?”
“I can,” I call back. “Come help me.”
She appears in the doorway, hair a complete mess, wearing her favorite purple pajamas. “Can we go back to the guitar store today?”
“It’s barely seven in the morning, bug. I don’t think they’re open yet.”
“Later than?” She climbs onto one of the bar stools at the island. “Darian said he could teach me more about guitars.”