Chapter 8
Ella
Tuesday
I realized he wasn’t used to sharing much. Or maybe just not used to sharing so much with a stranger.
From time to time during our conversation, we would hit a wall where I couldn’t get any more of Miles to jump over.
I enjoyed being here with him.
His green eyes shrank with reflections on his words. Full of something, I didn’t know what.
“Is that an instrument?” he asked.
There it was — the detour. We reached the last wall.
I grabbed it. “It’s an ukulele, actually. Very much like a small guitar with only four strings.”
“Well, I brought my guitar too.”
“Are you suggesting a duet?”
He chuckled.
“I mean, we do have an audience!” I said, spreading my arms toward the horses.
And there we stayed. For about an hour, maybe more. I lost track of time somewhere between the chords, the words, and what we called the horses’ “applause”.
We didn’t return to anything private or deep. No conversations about ourselves. Just us, and the music lessons we gave each other.