Maybe Someday Free PDF, Epub, Mobi By Colleen Hoover Book

Sydney

I slide open my balcony door and step outside, thankful that the sun has

already dipped behind the building next door, cooling the air to a perfect fall

temperature. Almost on cue, the sound of his guitar floats across the courtyard

as I take a seat and lean back into the patio lounger. I tell Tori I come out here

to get homework done, because I don’t want to admit that the guitar is the

only reason I’m outside every night at eight, like clockwork.

For weeks now, the guy in the apartment across the courtyard has sat on his

balcony and played for at least an hour. Every night, I sit outside and listen.

I’ve noticed a few other neighbors come out to their balconies when he’s

playing, but no one is as loyal as I am. I don’t understand how someone could

hear these songs and not crave them day after day. Then again, music has

always been a passion of mine, so maybe I’m just a little more infatuated with

his sound than other people are. I’ve played the piano for as long as I can

remember, and although I’ve never shared it with anyone, I love writing

music. I even switched my major to music education two years ago. My plan

is to be an elementary music teacher, although if my father had his way, I’d

still be prelaw.

“A life of mediocrity is a waste of a life,” he said when I informed him that

I was changing my major.

A life of mediocrity. I find that more amusing than insulting, since he seems

to be the most dissatisfied person I’ve ever known. And he’s a lawyer. Go

figure.

One of the familiar songs ends and the guy with the guitar begins to play

something he’s never played before. I’ve grown accustomed to his unofficial

playlist since he seems to practice the same songs in the same order night

after night. However, I’ve never heard him play this particular song before.

The way he’s repeating the same chords makes me think he’s creating the

song right here on the spot. I like that I’m witnessing this, especially since

after only a few chords, it’s already my new favorite. All his songs sound like

originals. I wonder if he performs them locally or if he just writes them for

fun.

I lean forward in the chair, rest my arms on the edge of the balcony, and

watch him. His balcony is directly across the courtyard, far enough away that

I don’t feel weird when I watch him but close enough that I make sure I’m

never watching him when Hunter’s around. I don’t think Hunter would like

the fact that I’ve developed a tiny crush on this guy’s talent.

I can’t deny it, though. Anyone who watches how passionately this guy

plays would crush on his talent. The way he keeps his eyes closed the entire

time, focusing intently on every stroke against every guitar string. I like it best

when he sits cross-legged with the guitar upright between his legs. He pulls it

against his chest and plays it like a stand-up bass, keeping his eyes closed the

whole time. It’s so mesmerizing to watch him that sometimes I catch myself

holding my breath, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m gasping for

air.

It also doesn’t help that he’s cute. At least, he seems cute from here. His

light brown hair is unruly and moves with him, falling across his forehead

every time he looks down at his guitar. He’s too far away to distinguish eye

color or distinct features, but the details don’t matter when coupled with the

passion he has for his music. There’s a confidence to him that I find

compelling. I’ve always admired musicians who are able to tune out everyone

and everything around them and pour all of their focus into their music. To be

able to shut the world off and allow yourself to be completely swept away is

something I’ve always wanted the confidence to do, but I just don’t have it.

This guy has it. He’s confident and talented. I’ve always been a sucker for

musicians, but more in a fantasy way. They’re a different breed. A breed that

rarely makes for good boyfriends.