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“Ok, so…I think we should start with the chords. Find a melody or progression somewhere,” Sam grabbed his guitar and sat farther back on his bed, his blond hair a messy mop atop his head.
You crossed from his desk where you had been sitting to join him. You sink into his soft linen comforter, sitting a little closer to him than you probably should. His legs touch the floor while yours dangle considerably off the edge.
A few days ago, Sam invited you to come write a song with him. He found you scribbling mediocre poems on the beach last week and suggested you try writing song lyrics. Not wanting to back away from the challenge, you accepted, pieced together some lyrics from old poems, and now you are here. In his room. In. His. Room.
You even actually put effort into your appearance today. You took a nice, hot shower after a long day of working on the farm. You wore your favorite sundress (the one with the pink flowers and that cinched perfectly at your waist) and you spritzed your best vanilla perfume across your body.
“So what’s, like, the vibe of your song?” He asked, his eyes fixed warmly upon yours.
You reach into your bag, pulling out the worn, green notebook that you write everything down in. Angry comebacks, love letters, grocery lists, poems. It was all in there. “Uhh…I guess the best way to describe it is…bittersweet? Maybe?” You flipped through the pages until you found the one your ideas were spilled on. “Here,” you say, passing the book to Sam, “you look at them. Don’t judge, though.”
Sam giggled, giddily accepting your notebook, “I promise you, whatever you wrote is waaaay better than anything I could’ve come up with.”
He read for a moment, eyes glazing over each line of your notebook. He lifts his hand to the top of the page, fingers fixing upon the corner as he turns it. Wait…didn’t you write a love letter to him somewhere in there?
You leap across the bed, throwing your arm across his chest. “WAIT! It’s just this page,” you say. You then become very aware of how close you’ve made yourselves. Your head rests just above his shoulder and your arm reaches over his, preventing him from turning the notebooks page. His guitar pokes your leg from its place in his lap. He smells nice. A soft sandalwood and vanilla fills your nose. You glance up at him and it seems that his emerald eyes are just as wide as yours. “Sorry,” you say, retreating from him immediately.
“No! No, it’s fine! Next time you want to be on top of me, just ask,” Sam giggled like a school boy.
“Ha ha. Funny,” you say. You take the notebook and move back to the edge of the bed. “So,” you distract yourself from what he just said, “are these okay? They’re kind of just…an amalgamation of a few things I’ve written before.”
“I think they’re perfect. Pretty good for a farmer,” Sam says, earning himself a playful punch in the shoulder. He giggles, shifting the guitar back into his hands. “I think something like…A flat minor,” he strums the chord. “Then maybe…E flat minor, B flat minor, and C minor, “ he pauses after the last chord. “No, nevermind. That doesn’t sound right.”
“No,” you agree, standing to cross to the keyboard in the corner of his room. You sit on its bench and search for the damper pedal with your foot. “But if you traded out the C minor,” you pause, playing the chord, “for an F minor,” you play the new chord. “I think that sounds quite nice,” you smile at the keys before looking back to Sam, who stares at you wide-eyed and blushing.
“I didn’t know you played,” he chuckles softly to himself, amused.
“Yeah! I took lessons for a few years before…nevermind,” you say, taking your eyes to the floor as a warm feeling creeps up the back of your neck.
Sam seems to immediately forget the whole purpose of your being there as he abandons his guitar and comes to stand behind you. “Play me a song.”
A nervous laugh escapes your throat, “What?”
“Play me a song!” Sam says again. How could you say no when such excitement sat behind his eyes? He looked like a puppy ready to play with its favorite toy.
“Umm…okay,” you say, fixing your posture as you put your hands back on the keys. “But you aren’t allowed to judge, or anything. I haven’t played in a few months. Farming and all,”
“You got it,” he said from behind.
You wait for a song to begin to move through your fingers, and a few seconds later, you’re playing the opening to Debussy’s ‘ Rêverie’. You find yourself floating away with the melody coming from the keyboard. Your mistakes and slips are plenty as your hands haven’t played the piece in a while. You cringe a little with each note missed or wrong key pressed. Eventually, you reach the end of the song, playing the last arpeggio as soft as possible.
You sat and fixed your eyes upon the keys. You had fun playing the piece. It's been a while since you had.
“Woah,” Sam says, bringing you back to reality.
Your cheeks heat as you turn and face him. You forgot he was even there.
“I…yeah, that was rough,” you say.
“Rough? What do you mean? That was the most amazing thing I’ve seen all week!” Sam kneels down beside the bench, your eyes now on the same level. You always forget how much taller he is than you.
Your hands fly to cover your face, “I made so many mistakes! The one part with all of the accidentals was sooo hard to get through and then I somehow always mess up the-”
“Hey,” Sam interrupts, gently removing your hands from covering your eyes, “if you made any mistakes, I didn’t notice any. Music isn’t supposed to be perfect, you know.” He smiles, radiating warmth.
“Yeah…I forget that sometimes,” your hands remain in Sam’s.
Sam’s eyes light up, an idea bouncing on his tongue.“Hey! You can read music right?”
“Yeah,” you wince, recalling the times your teacher yelled and screamed at you every time you read a single note wrong. “Why?”
“You should teach me and Seb! We really only know how to read lead sheets and stuff. It would be great for the band!”
You grin at the thought of sharing a small seat with Sam as you teach him the basics. “Maybe one day,” you say. You sigh, “I wish I could take lessons again.”
Sam quirks his head to the side, “Why did you stop taking them in the first place?”
“Well…I had a really amazing teacher when I was little. She was so sweet and always made sure to tell me that she knew I was trying my best but she retired after I took from her for maybe seven years. There was only one other teacher in our area so my mom signed me up for her lessons.” You pause. The memory of your first lesson with your teacher crosses your mind. It was terrifying.
Sam nods, encouraging you to continue. He is so adorable.
“The new teacher was…not the nicest to put it lightly. She would smack us on the wrists with a ruler everytime we played the wrong note or played slightly out of rhythm. She made me bleed once. She would get in our faces and just…yell. I stopped taking from her after a month and haven’t had a lesson since”
“That sounds awful,” Sam says, eyes soft with compassion.
“It was, but I still loved playing. My mom would get tired of me playing the same, like, twenty songs over and over and over again.”
Sam chuckled, “My mom was the same. When I started learning guitar, I would play for hours at a time and she would beg me to stop for just a few minutes.”
“Sounds exactly like something you’d do,” you laugh.
Sam smiles at you, “I think you should play for me again one day.”
“Maybe I will,” you say, unable to control the smile leaking onto your lips. You hold his gaze for a moment before realizing he was still holding your hands. He hasn’t let go yet? “Hey, Sam?”
His emerald eyes fill with concern, “Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I just…my notebook. I write everything in it.”
“Mhmm?” He purses his lips.
“Well…there’s things in there that…that I couldn’t let you see.”
“Oh,” he pauses, “like what?”
Yoba, why are you telling him this?
“There…might be…a love letter. Or two. Addressed to you,” you blurt out. Your eyes find the floor quite interesting as your cheeks turn a bright red.
When you finally find the courage to look at Sam, you find him staring right back at you. His cheeks were a pretty shade of pink and his lips slightly parted. His eyes were wide like he was shocked. He’s pretty. So pretty, you feel heat spread across your whole body just from looking at him.
You sit in silence for a few more seconds before rising from the keyboard bench and tearing your hands from Sam’s. Your floral sundress billows behind you as you rush for your bag. “You know what,” you say, reaching by the foot of Sam’s bed for your bag, “forget I said any of that.”
“No! Wait!” Sam is behind you now. His calloused fingers wrap around your wrist and he turns you around to face him, the edge of his bed brushing against your legs. “I…why do you think I wanted you to come over? I like being around you,” his fingers brush your cheek before resting there. “Everytime I see you in town, I have to fight the urge to run over and annoy you with whatever I have going on that day.”
You chuckle, leaning into his touch, “You could never annoy me, Sam.”
“Oh, trust me. I could,” he laughs before a soft seriousness falls over his face. “I just…I get so, like, happy every time I see you. Every time I hear your name even. I just…there’s so many things I could say I love about you but they would all probably be really cringey or cheesy,” he says. “So, can…can I kiss you instead?”
It takes no time for you to answer, a soft yes escaping your lips.
He turns you both around and he takes a seat on his bed. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face and places his other on your hip. He takes his time leaning in and you follow his lead.
Just before your lips meet, he pulls back considerably, “Are you sure about this?”
He barely gets the question out before you grab him by the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours. He tenses before he relaxes into your kiss, snaking his hand to the back of your waist and pulling you closer. One of your hands drops down to his chest, the cotton of his t-shirt soft beneath your fingers.
He is so gentle that you cannot help but smile as your kiss continues. His fingers caress the back of your head, tenderly curling into your hair.
“SAMSON!” A boy’s voice calls out as Sam’s bedroom door is slammed open. “Mom wanted me to tell you-” He gasps.
You and Sam break apart faster than the speed of light and turn to see Vincent, standing in Sam’s doorway, jaw practically on the floor.
Vincent begins jumping up and down. “SAMMY AND THE FARMER SITTIN IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-”
Sam bolts over to Vincent and puts a hand over his mouth. “Listen. I love you buddy, but now is not the time,” he says, pushing Vincent towards the door.
Vincent turns and sprints out of the room, “I’m telling mom!”
Sam sighs before closing his bedroom door. He turns back to you, “Sorry about that.” He smiles as he comes to stand in front of you once more. He brings a hand to your chin, gently tilting it upward. “You’re extremely red.”
“Shut up, so are you,” you say, looking away.
“Like a cherry,” he laughs.
“Shush,” you giggle.
“A really pretty cherry,” he puts an arm around your waist, bringing you closer. “I like cherries,” he says before he finally crouches down to kiss you once more.