Page 93 of Secondhand Smoke
He knew his way around this store as well as he knew his way around music. If this was a library, then he was a damn good librarian.
“So we’re not going to practice today?”
“Playing notes is good and all, but understanding what those notes are capable of is where the real magic happens.” He grabbed another tape and turned toward her, smiling. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
His energy was contagious. Nell had never cared much about music other than if it sounded fine.
But if anyone could convince her that the inner workings of a song had substantial value to the fate of the world, it was him. If he said it was worthwhile, then she was ready to be converted.
Their lessons took place on a bench that had been set up right next to a stereo with a pair of headphones strapped in. Barrett told her it was for customers to listen to the tape of their choice before they purchased.
For the next while, based on the size of the pile of cassettes Barrett had collected, the stereo and bench were all theirs.
“I may have specific tastes in music, but only a true musician can appreciate talent when it’s there no matter where it comes from. For example . . .” He picked up a tape off the very top of his pile. “David Gilmour.”
Nell took in the design on the front. “Pink Floyd?”
“Exactly. Their music is mediocre at best—in my humble opinion—but I argue that no one can put as much raw emotion into a single note as David Gilmour. It sounds simple, but you canfeelit.”
He popped the tape into the stereo and picked up the headphones, holding them up toward her. She reached out, taking them, and put them over her ears while he opened the player and stuck the Pink Floyd tape in.
She could hear his muffled voice through the headphones.
“Comfortably Numbhas two solos, but the second one is the—” He turned to her and paused. His eyes jumped to her head, and his lips twisted up in a smirk.
Nell’s hand ran over her hair, feeling for imperfections. “What?”
“You gonna share?”
Nell’s mouth dropped open, a little embarrassed that it hadn’t crossed her mind that they would both need to listen to the music . . . even if it seemed a little illogical with only one pair of headphones. “Sorry.” She pulled it off and held it in the space between them.
Barrett chuckled.
He clicked play on the stereo, and the tape began to whir through the machine. She could hear a soft cracking coming through the headphones as the sound started. Barrett quickly sat next to her and grabbed the other side, stretching his half of the headphones as far as they would go.
He chuckled and slid until his shoulder and thigh pressed flush against hers. The start of a familiar Pink Floyd song played faintly into the air, and Nell flushed and tensed up at being so close to him. Which was hilarious considering the position they’d been in literally last night.
Barrett leaned in until she almost went cross-eyed trying to look at him. His voice lowered. “Come on, Nell. You can sit closer to me. If I were going to bite, don’t you think I would have done it already?”
Nell tore her eyes away from him so she could press the side of the headphones against her ear and hide her burning face from his gaze. “Let’s listen,” she said and ignored his laugh as he followed her lead.
The music could only do so much in putting distance between them.
His face was painfully close to hers.
But what was more delightfully painful was how much she loved it.
Nell smiled through the lingering heat in her face.
The song was slower than she was used to with him. The headphones moved slightly every time he nodded to the beat.
Sneaking a short peek at him, Nell found his eyes closed and expression intent through the first verses. It didn’t matter what he listened to; Nell decided then that Barrett absorbed music the way someone might absorb sunlight while tanning next to a pool.
He basked in it, let it cover him.
She’d always been fascinated by his presence on stage. Its pull on her was magnetic. But this was a different experience.
Six inches away, simply listening.
