“Is something wrong Melody? You seem… distant.” Sam asks, looking at Melody’s untouched plate of spaghetti.
She pulls herself from the safe shadows of her most recent dream of Adam. Sam. I'm with Sam, not Adam, she reminds herself.
“Nothing, I just have a lot on my mind lately,” she replies, lazily pushing the long noodles across her plate.
Sam knows her well enough to know when not to press her for information and when she needs distraction. He sits up, taking the cold plate of noodles away from where it sits in front of Melody.
“You want to hear what I'm playing for my audition?” he asks
A smile flashes over her face, like sunshine on a flower. “Of course!”
He smiles and walks to the kitchen where the smell of tomatoes and garlic hang heavy in the air. Sam places the plates on the black painted counter top of his kitchen, studying the number of breadcrumbs that have accumulated on the smooth surface of the counter top in the two weeks he’s been home. He makes a quick mental note to himself to clean the apartment as soon as possible before walking back into the living room, guitar neck in hand. The lights are still off, but there isn’t really a need for them when the artificial light from the street lamps below stream in through the big bay window.
Sam pauses under the arch way that leads from the kitchen to the living room, watching Melody in the beautiful mix of moon and city light as she flips through his song book, occasionally glancing out the window at the small space of visible stars. His palms begin to sweat and he suddenly becomes aware of every movement she makes. He reaches for his camera on the stool next to him, bringing the lens to his eye before zooming up on Melody’s face as she watches the rain dance down the windowsill. The camera makes a quick clicking noise as it captures Melody’s off guard face. Sam smiles to himself, sitting the camera back on the stool before wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“Nerves! We’ve been together for two years and I have nerves?” He thinks to himself.
He shakes his head in disbelief, as he slowly makes his way to the beat-in orange couch that she and he had found at some flea market a few months ago. Melody’s head turns from the coffee stained notebook in her lap up towards him.
“Aren’t you going to play me something?” she asks.
She drops his song book on his knee, the sound of abused paper echoing through the apartment as he lowers himself onto the couch, picking up the tanned guitar against the edge of the coffee table. Melody sprawls out on the opposite side of the couch from him, picking at the frayed stitching around the armrest; her skin tickles from the uninterrupted gaze from Sam.
She playfully shoves her heel into the side of his denim covered thigh. “Stop!”
His cheeks warm as he sits his guitar back down, pulling on her foot instead of playing with the taught strings of his guitar. “I love you.” his voice practically sings.
The mischievous smile drops from Melody’s face. She has heard him say that a million times before, but this time something inside of her wants to break, bleed and cry. Sam leans over the top of her, his arms on either side of her shoulders. Nothing about the way he looks at her is domineering or filled by fiery passion like it is with Adam, but instead it’s over flowing with pure love and admiration. Melody pushes Sam’s hair off his forehead, the woodsy scent of his shampoo falls upon her.
“I know… I know…” her voice cracks in time with the slight trembling of her hands against his cheek.
He dips down and kisses her, soft and uncertain, like the first time he had kissed her.