Teague stopped me in the hall in front of his apartment, using a slender arm to block the door. He deftly snatched his guitar from me, slipped inside, and closed the door behind himself, only pausing long enough to say, “Wait here.”
When he returned, he had traded his guitar for a blanket. “C’mon.” He grabbed my hand again and pulled me up the stairs until we came to the door leading onto the roof. He pulled a key on a cord from around his neck and unlocked it. “Whenever I move into a building, I always ask if I can use the roof. And I always seem to get it, too, or at least since I got famous.” He winked, standing aside and holding the door for me. “It must be my good looks.”
He was joking, but he wasn’t wrong.
"Over here." Teague had spread his blanket in a large clear space between the chimneys and vents that dotted the roof.
I approached him cautiously, as though he were a small and tender prey animal that might startle and take flight. I needn’t have worried; as soon as I got close enough, Teague grabbed my legs and pulled me down onto the blanket beside him.
"I like to lie here and look at the stars. It always makes me feel better."
"Because they remind you of how small and insignificant your problems are?"
"Or just because they’re pretty." My view of the stars was blocked by Teague’s face. He kissed me, soundly and with much lip smacking and happy “‘mmm" noises.