One breezy afternoon in the park, you and Lottie sat side by side on a worn wooden bench, the sun warming your backs. She rested her guitar on her knee, fingers moving with ease over the strings as she played a mellow tune that seemed to wrap around the two of you like a quiet conversation.

She was good, confident, focused, the kind of good that made it look effortless. Still, every now and then, she’d mutter a soft curse under her breath when a chord didn’t land just right, quickly correcting it without missing a beat.

You chuckled once when she winced at a small mistake.

“I’m taking this seriously, you idiot. Don’t laugh at me,” she said, not even looking at you, but the corner of her mouth tugged into a smirk as she kept playing.