Unsure of how close was too close for Daphne's comfort, Ioan chose a sunny spot about two feet away from her to settle in the grass. He leaned back, propped on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him. She was right about girls recognizing him with his guitar. To his knowledge, he was the only one in school who knew how to play. More traditional instruments were the piano and violin, but nothing in Ioan's life was traditional, whether referring to his parents or his own history.
"I think there are a lot of people who wouldn't recognize me without it," he chuckled. "But I think it's only because to them, it identifies me. Not my music. Half of them couldn't name a single song I've ever played. The rest are too intimidated to approach me. Or too nervous. I don't know why. I'm not famous and not in the least bit scary."
There was really nothing special about him, or so he thought. He was a simple person, easy to get along with, easy to figure out. His friends and family came first in his life, followed by his music, and then everything else. He was good at two or three things and hoped to make a living doing something he loved. The times he was happiest were when he was playing and singing or doing something outdoors, like hiking or horse-riding.
...which brought him back to his earlier quandary.
"I'm going to be blatantly honest here, since you've respected me enough to do the same. You don't strike me as an outdoorsy person," he said, his tone light, friendly.