“Julian!” Alex’s voice boomed, startling her. “Are you having any fun?”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Alex!” she boomed in a low, mocking voice. “I am! Are you, eh?”
The three Canadians roared—they found it hilarious that an American finished her interrogative using their native idiom. She found it hilarious that they even noticed! The whole situation was fun, and silly, and perfectly easy.
Alex tuned the guitar and played songs that Julian didn’t know, couldn’t sing. Nor, though, could she squelch this smile. And at that moment, she realized how one could instantly fall in love with a minstrel, a player—even before knowing his name. She watched his fingers while an unseen, seventh guitar string snaked and found her. It touched and surrounded an ancient bone, resonating, whispering a language she could no longer speak but could forever recognize.
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