HI!! We're so happy you're back! We'd forgotten how much fun writing, posting & reading online can be, and would like to hug each and every one of you! Like we said before, this is a story we wrote a long time ago. It's been prettied up and is complete, so updates should be pretty frequent. We love your comments, votes, swoons and flails, and as always, happy reading! - christina & lauren

She wasn't quite sure what she was getting into. Her body had been moving without any voluntary input from her brain, and her knock on the door sounded louder than usual, even though her arm felt weak with anticipation.

The sound of bare feet padding to the door again spiked her nerves and she took a stumbling step backwards as it burst open and he stood before her, gorgeous and grinning.

"Come on in, A Little-Crazy-Neighbor Girl." He made a broad sweeping gesture with his hand before he noticed that she had stumbled. "Are you okay? Did I scare you?"

"No." But she laughed nervously anyway.

"Well, I didn't mean to open the door so unexpectedly," he teased, waving her inside.

"Exactly. Give a girl at least the customary ten seconds."

"See?" He grinned, shaking his head. "This is where I always mess up. I never know the rules."

She looked around and lost track of what she was going to say in response. He had started to unpack and the house looked like mayhem. There was barely any furniture: a couch in the living room, a small coffee table, a few crates of books. Most of the floor was covered with drums. Scores and scores of drums.

"Wow," she murmured. "You have a lot of drums."

She bit her lip and groaned inwardly.

"I do, and most of them I haven't seen in over three years. I hope it's not too loud for the neighbors, but man, I have missed these." He looked wistfully at a line of tall narrow drums against a wall in what used to be the dining room, and then shivered back into the present moment, reaching for the bag of food she carried. "Here, let me get that."

She handed him the bag and wandered into the dining room, letting her fingers run over the different shapes of wood, gourds, and metal. Some had bells, strings, and keys. Some were covered in hide, others in fibers. He came back from the kitchen and watched her pick up a goblet-shaped drum and run her fingers over the stitching.

"That one is a Djembe," he said, walking toward her and offering her some wine.

"Where is it from?" She put the drum down next to its twin and took the glass, swallowing a large sip and begging her body to relax.

He scratched the back of his head, thinking. "Well, you can find them almost anywhere now. They're used in all sorts of music. But I got these in Africa."

"You've been to Africa?" she asked, not sure why she was so surprised. If she had to guess, she would say he had been lots of places.

He nodded into his own wine glass. "Yep."

She walked to a pair of large drums shaped almost like wine barrels. "What are these?"

He swallowed and followed her, running his hand over the taut drum head. "These are both taiko. This one," he ran his hand over the longer of the two, "is a nagado-daiko. The other one is a sanchou shime-daiko."

"Let me guess . . . Japan?"

"Yes, Japan," he said, returning her smile and pursing his lips slightly. "And I am a Drew. A Colorful-Neighbor-Drew." His eyes were relaxed and familiar and she found it hard to break her gaze from his.

"From the United States?" she asked. He didn't have an obvious accent, but he didn't sound American, either. His words held a faint lilt, all smooth edges and soft vowels.

"Hm, I suppose." He shrugged. "Born abroad, sometimes raised here."

"And drumming all over the world, I take it."

Drew nodded. "I try." His vague answers didn't beg more questions, but when she thought about them, they didn't seem to give her much information, either. He leaned forward and gave her a playfully stern look. "Do I get to hear your name? I'm happy to keep calling you A-Little-Crazy Neighbor Girl, if you like."

She laughed, almost choking on a sip of wine. "Nora. I am a Nora."

~

They made their way around the dining room, talking about his instruments. He seemed to be thrilled that she was so interested and she couldn't get enough of his voice, his quiet, easy laughter, and his infectious enthusiasm.

They finished their little circuit and she looked at the door to the kitchen. "Should I get dinner ready?"

Drew froze and her heart flipped uncomfortably. Had she misunderstood his drawing? "Oh my God, Crazy-Neighbor Girl. I invited you over and didn't even think to cook for you."

She laughed, relieved. "I love to cook and rarely get to do it anymore. This would appear to be a win-win partnership." She went into the kitchen and began unloading the food. Having no idea what kind of prep equipment she could expect, she had planned a no-cook meal of chicken sandwiches and cucumber salad.

"It would indeed." He sighed, relieved. "I'd love to make you dinner in theory, but I’m useless in the kitchen. I could probably burn water."

Nora looked over her shoulder at him, interrupting her hunt for utensils, and laughed. "If you could do that, you'd be a scientific genius."

"I suppose I would. I'm sorry I haven't really unpacked much yet,” he said, nodding to more boxes stacked in a corner. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"There isn't much to do," she assured him, putting the food on paper plates she had packed. "You can tell me a story, though. There's no way you've got that many drums without getting a few stories in the process."

"Hm, that's true," he murmured. He took their plates and walked to the living room, putting the food on the coffee table. He sat down on the floor and looked up, wincing. "Is this okay? I don't really have much furniture."

"It's fine." She grinned, flopping down across from him and looking at him expectantly.

"Story?" He scratched his cheek absently and her eyes were drawn to the labret below his full lip. He watched her looking at him and smiled.

Nora blinked back up to his eyes. "Story."

And with that, their dinners began. Quietly, comfortably, and with their eyes on each other nearly constantly.

The first story Drew ever told her was of his trip to Ghana when he was twenty and traveling with an African music ensemble from college. He'd gone shopping with his best friend for some light-weight clothing, not bothering to research clothing customs in the region. When he arrived with his suitcase full of shorts, his host family teased him that he would be shunned from the men’s table and should sit with the boys.

"That suited me just fine," he laughed, pouring them both more wine. "I sat with the boys and learned more drumming from them in four hours than anyone else learned in the entire trip. I told my host father that next time, even if I came back when I was fifty, I was bringing nothing but shorts."

Nora laughed with him, easily picturing him sitting on a stoop with some boys, drums in their laps as they taught Drew how to play the instruments of the region. "Have you been back?"

"Not to Ghana," he said, looking away. "But I've been back to the continent several times."

She finished her sandwich and leaned back on the heels of her hands. "I imagine you've picked up a lot of great music there."

He looked past her, far away for a moment, and then his eyes met hers again. Her body suddenly felt leaden, as if she were having one of those moments that she would remember for the rest of her life, exactly like this. She felt calmed by the wine, but charged by the way he was looking at her.

She started to stand. "I should probably get home. I have a busy day tomorrow."

"Me too," he groaned. "I'm going to start painting the house."

“You are?"

He took in her excited expression. "You really love this house."

"I do," she said, defensively. "It's a great house. The people who live here are always so nice and no one notices the tenants because they aren't in the PTA or coaching the kids' teams."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I think this house needs a guardian like you."

She grinned at that, putting the leftovers in his fridge even though he protested. "You're going to need food when you're painting tomorrow," she insisted, winking. "It's really for the house's sake that I'm leaving you food."

"Ah, well in that case, I can't refuse. I know how attached you two are to each other." She felt his hand gently grip her arm as she grabbed her bag. "Thanks for dinner, Nora. You're welcome over any night."

She looked out the kitchen window, thinking. "If you like, I could bring dinner tomorrow. I mean, you'll probably be pretty wiped . . ."

"I'd love that," he said, letting his hand slowly drop from her arm. "Seven?"

“Seven.”

More soon!
xoxo Christina & Lauren
Sweet Fitlhy Boy by Christina Lauren- May 13th