Equilibrium by Lorrie Thomson

song’s initial mood.
    Laura padded to the apartment’s door, and the upbeat secondary melody gained momentum, running away with the song. She’d noticed Aidan’s guitar when he’d first moved in but had yet to hear him play. Could she have slept through other concerts? Mistaken his playing for Darcy’s or Troy’s music?
    She pressed her hand against the door, and the vibrations sang through her palm. The music stopped, but her hand still buzzed. She raised a fist to the door, then paused, getting a full-frontal memory flash of the classic movie, The Good-bye Girl . The single mom, Marsha Mason, upon hearing sub-leaser Richard Dreyfuss playing the guitar in the middle of the night, walked into his room and found him naked as a jaybird, obscuring his nudity with a well-placed guitar.
    Apparently, her late-night mind was dipping into music and movies from as far back as preschool and elementary, and broadcasting from her ’70s archives. Smiling, Laura tapped on the door with the knuckles of her middle finger.
    Nothing. Oh, great. The poor guy probably thought squirrels were scampering through the walls. She knocked harder. “It’s Laura.”
    Panic now, as she realized her foible. Aidan, her tenant, her new friend, deserved privacy, not a midnight visit.
    “Laura! Door’s unlocked. Come on in.” His response sounded as if he were expecting her.
    She pushed open the door, trying to look less like a grinning idiot.
    There he sat.
    The light from the mudroom followed her through the doorway and laid a carpet of illumination across the weathered pine boards, then climbed up a dark leather recliner and onto Aidan himself. In the minimal light, she made out his bare feet, the folds of his jeans, and the curve of the guitar he clutched in front of his shirtless chest. Not naked as a jaybird, thank God, but close enough to give her pause.
    You like him.
    The words played in her head and sounded a lot like Elle. Laura was no good at this, years out of practice, so she couldn’t say for sure whether his response to her visit indicated interest.
    For Laura, his nearness awakened every secret place. “Was I too loud? Did the music wake you?” Aidan said, and the gentle rhythm of his rich voice tweaked the pulse at the base of her throat. He got up and turned on the overhead light, making Laura wish for the anonymity of darkness. She straightened beneath the thin satin layers of a nightgown and robe, not exactly appropriate garb for their professional living arrangement.
    Her bed-sock feet relaxed against the smooth wood floor, responding to a palpable softness in the air. Yet, the distance between her and Aidan contained an energy that shifted her balance forward. A corresponding internal tug spun her thoughts. “Goodness, no. I was cooking. In the kitchen.”
    He raised his eyebrows into identical arcs.
    “I was getting some dough ready. For gingersnaps. I haven’t really baked anything.”
    He nodded, as if her nonsensical speech made all the sense in the world.
    “You have to let the dough kind of meld together. So I was writing.” She didn’t wait for his reaction; she just barreled forward. “Not really writing. Sketching out the framework for a character that came to mind while I was baking, but not really baking. You have to let character sketches meld, too.”
    “Sure.” He took a step in her direction.
    “Loved the music. I don’t think I’ve heard it before though. I was wondering if you could tell me what it’s called.”
    “Nope.”
    “Not even a clue?” She tried looking him in the eye, even though his bare chest was vying for her attention. Just a sprinkle of dark hair at the center. And that waist—she gazed over his shoulder.
    “I’ve never heard it before, either. Never played it before tonight.”
    “You write music?”
    “Occasionally. When I can’t sleep.”
    Her new friend, Doctor Aidan Walsh, wrote music and strummed the guitar like a virtuoso.
    Well, she couldn’t look past him