A smile flickered for a moment across Kenseigh's lips. She could feel the urge tug at her will to make a comment towards his. Elvis. He would like the man. His nickname, after all, had been "The King."
She took a breath in order to facilitate that witty comeback, but it caught in her throat as his arms wrapped around her. Her heart fluttered furiously in her chest as her breathing came to a sudden halt. She could feel the gentle tingle in her cheeks that indicated a blush. Her lips pressed into a straight line as she prayed that James wouldn't notice it.
Kenseigh stayed like that for a few moments, afraid to move or breath lest she give away her suddenly-girlish moment. "I do remember how to play a guitar," she murmured. More than it was a desire to be witty, it was a test to see if she could keep her voice even. She turned her head to look at him only to be surprised at how close he really was.
"Mon père," she started, her voice just as soft, "never really liked these kinds of guitars. He said they didn't have the same sort of honesty that hollow-bodied ones do." She paused for a moment, her attention turning back to the guitar rather than staying on James.