I've never been an anxious person. But today, preparing to attend a drum circle that I've invited Seth to, I'm a nervous wreck.

As I help my dad pack the car, I can't stop the worrisome thoughts. What if Seth decides he's done with me? What if he hates me? What if he never listens to my messages at all?

"Jordi, that's a box of old socks." Dad removes the box from my grasp and sets it back on the floor.

I blink rapidly, wrenching my thoughts back to the present. "Why do we have a box of old socks?"

"I don't like it when they start sagging, so I collect them for—" He stops himself and frowns a little. "You know what, now that I'm saying it aloud, it's stupid. Nobody wants sagging socks. I'll dump these." He kicks the box aside.

I nod distractedly and head into the kitchen for the water we're going to bring.

"What's with you?" Dad follows me, a mildly perplexed expression on his face.

"Huh?"

"This." He gestures in my general direction. "Since when do you ever answer with huh?"

I shrug, trying to untie the knots in my stomach.

He studies me for a moment. "Is this about what happened in the parking lot?"

"No," I answer quickly. But as the pain bubbles up anew, I crumple a little. "Sort of."

He hugs me. "You'll feel better once we start drumming," he says into my hair.

"I invited him to come, but I don't know if he's going to show up or not," I say, trying not to cry. "And if he doesn't, then it means..."

He squeezes me harder. "You can't let anyone ruin drumming for you. It's in our souls. A gift. We tap into the universe when we drum."

"That's so cheesy, Dad."

"Maybe so, but it's true. You can feel it."

I nod against his chest. He's right. Cheesy or not, I do feel it.

He grips my shoulders and pushes me to arm's length. "Now, are we ready to get our drum on?"

My eyebrows push up from the middle. "Get our drum on?"

He shrugs. "I'm a hip dad."

I grin and squeeze his hand before pulling away. "Yes, you are. But that is not a hip phrase."

"Duly noted."

With snacks and instruments packed, we head out.

***

Dad was right. The drum circle does make everything better.

The courtyard practically pulsates with the unified rhythms of twenty or so drums and instruments. It isn't something I merely listen to, it's a tangible thing I can feel. That reverberates down to my very core, mending my wounded soul.

Like my dad, I play with abandon, giving myself to the moment, channeling the energy through me, out to the universe. Cheesy or not, Dad is right.

This is pure joy.

Still, there is a slight damper on the whole thing. Two hours into the drumming, and Seth hasn't shown up yet. Every time the circle takes a break, I scan the area for him. Without the drum energy, my worries come crowding back again. What if he got lost? What if he can't remember how to get here? What if he's decided I'm not worth the effort in the first place?

There are no missed calls on my phone. I consider calling him one last time, but I stop myself. I promised myself that the last call was my final attempt to reach out. If I don't keep that promise, I turn into some sad, desperate, clingy loser, and I don't want to be that girl.

I put my phone away.

Drink some water.

Take deep breaths to keep the anxiety at bay.

Today's drum leader resumes his position and starts a rhythm on his djembe. Others join, and the rhythm grows, evolves.

I make myself sit down, resting my hands on my drum. The thoughts keep chasing away my sense of rhythm, so I close my eyes to focus on the sounds and vibrations instead.

Boom-taka-boom-taka-boom-taka-boom.

There it is. My worries finally melt away, and my hands join the chorus.

Minutes later, I notice a change. The shift in sound isn't immediately apparent. More like a rippling of the vibrations around me. Nothing out of tune. It's just something... close.

I open my eyes.

Someone has taken the seat next to me, hands thumping rhythmically on a glittering purple drum.

My stomach flips. My practiced hands nearly flop off the drum.

I whip my gaze to his face.

Seth.

My eyes widen and my voice fails me. He came. Seth came. He got my messages and now he's here. With me.

He smiles at me, and it's like the sun has opened up in my heart, flooding me with warmth.

Our gazes remain locked as our hands play on, keeping time with the baseline.

I can't stop grinning.

He finally breaks away to slap a brief solo on his drum.

My brows shoot up, and I answer with a brief solo of my own.

He replies with another, head bobbing in time.

Again I answer, my own drum singing my joy.

We take turns, calling and answering, our drums conversing in a language our hearts understand. The people around us fade into nothing but a thumping rhythm.

It's the most blissful ten minutes of my life.

When the drum circle stops for a break, I suddenly feel shy. Tongue-tied. As if communicating by drum has robbed me of my ability for speech.

Dad notices Seth's presence and gives me a not-so-subtle thumbs up before excusing himself to find a bathroom. He squeezes my shoulder as he passes.

"That was amazing," Seth says, scooting closer.

I nod, tongue still paralyzed.

He plucks at the end of the black rope dangling from his djembe. "So..."

He seems so nervous, like I am.

He clears his throat and tries again. "What do we do now?"

"They'll probably break for fifteen minutes, then start up again," I manage to answer.

"No, I mean about us. I'm not sure where we stand."

"Oh." I'm not sure either, but he's here, and that's a start. "Well..." I trace the edge of my drum with a finger. "Do you forgive me?"

He glances at me sidelong. "Do you forgive me?"

I give him a rueful smile. "We've both done some not-so-great things, haven't we?"

"Yeah." He can't seem to meet my eyes anymore. "I'm really sorry about that."

"I am too. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Same."

We stew in the awkwardness for a moment.

I manage to summon some courage. "How about we start over?"

He lifts his gaze to mine. "I really like that idea."

"Me too."

"It's perfect," he murmurs, and leans in to brush his lips across mine.

"Are you getting fresh with me?" I tease, leaning back a little. "I thought we were starting over."

"What, from the beginning? I don't think you want that. Do you remember what mess I was?" He winces at the memory.

I grin at him. "Fair point. Maybe not the very beginning."

We contemplate each other, without the awkwardness this time. I like this idea of a fresh start. A reset. A redo of that kiss might be nice.

I curl my fist around a handful of his Captain America shirt and tug him close. "How about we pick up from here," I breath, tipping my chair and closing in for a deeper kiss.

I'm dimly aware of the growing racket around me. It's not until we pull apart that I finally hear the din. One woman is clanging on her cowbell while someone else is throttling a rattle. A few drummers are banging wild, discordant beats on their drums.

Cheering us on.

A blush warms my face as they continue grinning and hooting as if we've just gotten married.

Seth sweeps the courtyard with wide eyes, ears turning red. "Wow. Enthusiastic bunch."

The noise dies down just as Dad returns to his seat. "What'd I miss?"

I cough and reposition my drum. "Nothing. They're just goofing around."

A nudge against my arm brings my attention back to Seth.

"I accept," he says, keeping his voice low and out of my father's earshot.

"What?" I lean closer.

"Picking up from there," he says with an irresistible grin. "I accept."

I grin back, resisting the urge to kiss him again.

"One thing though," he says, scooting even closer. "Next time I wig out, bring me here. To this. I swear, it makes all that crap unimportant."

I tilt my head, amused. "You realize this only happens here once a month."

"Well," he muses, "maybe you can serenade me instead."

My grin returns, elation bubbling within. "Count on it."

When the drumming resumes, we're side-by-side, elbow to elbow, arms occasionally brushing. I steal glances at his profile, and sometimes our gazes collide when he does the same.

As the music rises up around us, the beats filling my senses, I remain aware of Seth beside me. How his notes compliment mine. How our drums, while each sounding a little different, add to the harmony of the circle.

He belongs here now, just like I do.

Right then, Seth's song dedication from our first kiss clicks into place in my mind. That one line. I smile broadly at the thought.

It really does feel like he's beating the drumbeats into my heart.

...aaaaand that's a wrap! Those of you who have followed this story to the very end are special people! I know this isn't an exciting or sexy story, but if you've enjoyed it anyway, I'm very glad. It's something I wrote awhile back while I was working through some issues and also learning to drum.

A special note on dyslexia will be posted next, along with some changes this story might need for improved accuracy regarding dyslexia. If you're looking for something else to read, be sure to check out my profile! Lots of stuff on there...