Love at First Note (15 page)

“I knew he was special, but he’s just always been so shy. I was afraid no one would ever see him for who he really is. But this—he’s a different kid when he’s sitting at the piano. I can’t get him to leave it alone.”

“Music can do amazing things for kids. I’m sure this will be a good thing for him.”

“Please tell Elliott I said thank you, again. I was pretty much a weepy mess after he showed up this afternoon, then he and Oscar played for me, and I
was just so emotional I didn’t really thank him properly. Can you imagine? This world-class pianist teaching my little boy. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”

I resisted the urge to knock on Elliott’s door the second I arrived home. I wanted to say thank you, but I kind of wanted to do a little something more too. What he was doing for Oscar was big. Giving him a keyboard that was probably worth close to two thousand dollars was pretty spectacular, but I was more impressed that he was willing to invest in a relationship with a kid he barely knew for nothing but the love of music.

I rummaged through my kitchen
pantry trying to decide if I had what I needed to make brownies. Elliott deserved a thank-you dessert, and no dessert turned out better than my mother’s homemade brownie recipe.

Lilly wandered out of her room an hour later, lured, no doubt, by the smell of chocolate filling the entire apartment. “Ohh, are those your mom’s brownies?”

I motioned to the empty batter bowl still sitting on the counter. “I saved it for you.”

She squealed and hopped onto the counter after fishing a spoon out of the drawer.

I hated squealing, but for brownie batter, I could almost relate.

“So what’s the occasion?” She slid her spoon across the bottom of the bowl, then licked off the batter with a sigh.

“They’re for Elliott.”

“What? All of them? You mean I have to smell them but not eat them? What kind of a roommate are you?”

“You’ll get some. Don’t worry. I’m making him a brownie sundae.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me a pointed look. “Does he know you’re making him a sundae?
Is he expecting this little overture? Perhaps bringing the ice cream and the caramel sauce so you can snuggle up side by side and make your sundaes together?”

“Shut up. Don’t turn this into something stupid. He just did a really nice thing today, and I want to say thank you. So, a thank-you dessert.”

“What did he do?”

“He gave a piano to a kid. And he offered him free piano lessons.”

“An entire piano? Geez. Way to be generous. A kid you know?”

I nodded. “A friend from church.”

“Know what I think?” She dropped her spoon into the sink and picked up the bowl. “I think you’re falling for this guy.” She peered down. “Would you think I was gross if I just put my whole head inside this bowl?”

I took the bowl from her hands. “Yes. That would be gross. And I’m not falling for him. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, you totally are. I worried the whole beer-brawl punch-
out thing was going to throw you, but I’m impressed. You’re sticking with it.”

“What do you mean? Why would it throw me?”

“Here’s all I’m saying. I know you were all worried that you liked Elliott just because of his fame, but that was before you’d really
experienced what it actually meant. And what it might mean for
you if you guys got together. Now that you have seen it, I kinda thought you might bail.” She slid off the counter and wandered to
the fridge. “I mean, you gotta admit it’s not a very Emma-esque
lifestyle.”

I grabbed a dish
towel off the counter and started wiping down the stovetop, channeling my sudden discomfort into full-throttle stain removal. “So what are you saying? You don’t think I should be interested in Elliott?” I dropped the towel and faced Lilly.

“No! You should absolutely be interested. He’s totally hot. And he’s clearly interested in you. You should go for it. I’m just surprised thoughts of being a celebrity girlfriend haven’t scared you off. Super proud of you. Don’t back down. But, surprised.”

I huffed. “I’m
not
a celebrity girlfriend. You’re turning this into something it’s not.”

“Not yet, you’re not. But your eyes are all dreamy and hopeful, and I can see exactly where this is going. You’ve crossed over from
‘I like this guy, and maybe I’ll have some fun’ to ‘I’m seriously
falling for this guy.
’ It’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m just making brownies. Brownies I don’t intend to eat with him, I might add. I’m taking a sundae to his door, then I’m leaving.” I pulled the finished brownies out of the oven and set them on the stove. “Besides, I’m having dinner with Blake next weekend. Blake, who happens to be a
lawyer
and is interviewing for a job while he’s in town. Did I tell you that part?”

“Hmmm, look at you playing the field.” Lilly smirked and gave me a nudge.

“I’m not playing anything. It’s just dinner and just brownies.”

“What if Elliott invites you in?”

I’ll do a happy dance and say
yes
.
“He won’t ask. He already turned me down when I asked him to the wedding. He’s focusing on his music. Not his neighbor.”

“He will too ask.”

“Then I’ll say no.”

“Ha! You will not.”

I finished washing my hands and flung a few drops of water in her direction. “Brownies,” I repeated.
“Not a wedding cake.”

“Fine, fine,” Lilly said. “How long till you cut them?”

“Ten minutes.”

“So plenty of time for you to go change.”

I looked down at my clothes. “Why do I need to change?”

“Because you have flour on your butt. And chocolate on your shirt.”

“Ug
gh, fine.” I headed down the hallway, wondering what I could put on that wouldn’t look like I’d intentionally dressed up to carry a brownie sundae across the hallway.

“Wear something green,” Lilly called from the kitchen. “You look good in green.”

Something green . . . I grabbed a flowy silk tank top out of my closet. “Have you seen my black cardigan?” I yelled to Lilly.

“You say that like you don’t have forty
-seven black cardigans hanging in your closet.”

“Me and everyone else in the symphony. I need the one with three-quarter-length sleeves. With the ribbon trim? And the little pearl buttons?”

I was digging through my clothes hamper when Lilly tossed the sweater at my head. “You left it in the bathroom.”

“Oh, that’s right. I did. Thank you.”

I changed my clothes
and threw my hair into a messy bun
before hurrying back into the kitchen. “What do you think? Good?
Not too dressy?”

“You look perfect. Here.” She handed me three empty bowls.

“Three?”

“You’re not just making him a sundae, are you? All that effort, and we don’t get to enjoy too?”

I smiled and lined the bowls up on the counter while Lilly pulled the ice cream out of the freezer.

“So how’s Ava?” Lilly asked. “
You haven’t mentioned her in a while. Elliott’s gone and stolen all our conversations.”

“More stubborn than ever,” I replied. “I haven’t seen her in a couple weeks. She’s supposed to be working on her concerto for the Cleveland video, but she hasn’t asked me for any more help, I’m sure since things went so badly last time. Mom thinks I need to try to find a way to just be her sister. So far, I got nothing.”

“That’s tough. Why not take her to the mall or something? Let her help you pick out a dress for the wedding.”

“That’s actually a really good idea.”
I topped off each sundae with some whipped cream, a drizzle of caramel sauce, and a cherry. “There. Finished.”

Two minutes later, I knocked on Elliott’s door, holding the most fabulous brownie sundae ever made in the history of all brownie sundaes.

“Hi,” I said when he opened the door.

“Hi—holy ice cream sundae; that thing is huge.”

“It’s not just ice cream. There’s a brownie on the bottom too, and it’s the best brownie you’ll ever taste. Says my mom, who I tend to agree with when it comes to things like brownies. Here.” I held it out to him. “This one’s for you.”

He looked surprised, which was dumb because who knocks on your door to show you the sundae they’re getting ready to eat without offering you one? “What is this for?”

“Consider it a thank-you dessert. Like a card but better ’cause you get to eat it.”

“I am in full support of thank-you desserts.” He reached out and took the sundae. “Thank you for this. It looks great
.”

“What’s great is what you’re doing for Oscar. I talked to Laney tonight, and she was so overwhelmed she couldn’t even get out a complete sentence. This is so big for them. Thank you.”

“Actually, I’m really excited. I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I think you’re right. I think it’ll be good for me.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I took a step back toward my own door. “Well, enjoy.”

He started to close his door, then paused. “Emma, wait . . . Do you want to come in?”

I motioned to my apartment. “I left my sundae on the counter.”

“Oh. Well, your counter’s, what, like twelve steps away? You want to grab it, and we’ll eat together?”

So I didn’t actually do a happy dance for real, but I totally felt like it. “Okay.”

Back in my kitchen, Lilly watched me retrieve my ice cream, then turn back toward the door. “Ha! See? I knew you’d say yes!”

“Shut up,” I whispered. “He’s still standing in the hallway.”

Lilly laughed. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

I loved Elliott’s living room
mostly because aside from the small sitting area by the window, the rest of the room was basically a studio. A grand piano occupied the entire far corner, and a long table, covered in recording equipment, sat against the wall. Half-filled sheets of staff paper covered the back of the piano, music notes in tiny, even print scrawled across each page. I couldn’t keep myself from walking over to take a closer look.

“I didn’t think people composed like this anymore. Isn’t there digital software that does all of this for you?”

“Yeah, there is. And I use it most of the time. But sometimes
picking up a pencil helps.
I know—I’m old school. It’s just part of
my process.”

Conspicuously absent from Elliott’s living room was the digital
piano that used to sit opposite the couch.

“Wait a minute,” I said, sitting across from him. “You gave Oscar
your
piano?”

He lowered his gaze, looking a little sheepish. “It was sort of an impulse decision. I wanted to tell him in person that I’d like to give him lessons,
but it didn’t feel right to go empty-handed.”

“So you just grabbed your piano on the way out the door.”

He shrugged. “I’ll replace it. If for no other reason than to spare Lilly’s ears late at night.”

I took a bite of my sundae. “What about that one?” I motioned
to the grand piano in the corner. “I can’t even imagine how you got
that thing inside.”

“It wasn’t easy. We took the legs off and managed to get it
through the front door, but Lilly had to open your apartment door
so we could angle it the right way to get it through here
.”

“Had to go with the grand, huh? An upright wouldn’t have sufficed for your stay in Asheville?” I smiled, hoping he realized I was trying to be funny.

“Listen, it was hard enough not to bring my piano all the way from Denver. I’m just renting this one while I’m here. It’s a great instrument, but it’s still not the same.”

“I feel you. I’d never be able to handle a substitute violin, at least not long term.”

“Yeah, but you can take your violin as a carry-on bag.”

“That’s true. So what’s so special about your piano in Denver?”

“It belonged to my grandfather. He played, and before he
died, I would go over and sit with him, play all his favorite hymns.
Sitting at that piano is where I’ve written all my best work.”

Of course he played piano for his dying grandpa. Because that was exactly what I needed to hear to not hyperventilate and fall in love with him right there on the spot.

After a few more bites of sundae, he looked up. “For real, this is the best brownie I have ever had.”

“Mom spent years perfecting the recipe. She even does this thing where halfway through the baking you pull the pan out and shake it against the counter. It’s supposed to make them chewier.”

He smiled and shook his head. “That sounds completely ridiculous.”

“Sure it does, but these brownies—I’m not willing to risk
messing them up. I will bang pans against the counter every single time if that’s what it takes.”

We talked about our families for a while, siblings, parents, experiences growing up. It took only a few minutes to determine that we both hailed from families that paid little attention to sports, loved to read books, and could sing entire Broadway musicals from beginning to end. The coincidences made us laugh more than once.

But without our really trying, whatever topic we landed on always seemed to lead us back to music. Like mine, his family
had always been musical. His older sisters played the piano, his brothers were singers, and both brothers played the guitar. It made sense with so much music in the background the youngest would be musically inclined as well. But his family never expected Elliott, at four years old, to sit down with a little toy keyboard and pick
out the
melody to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” His mom sat next to him and started naming songs, and every single one, he
picked out after just a few experimental notes. The music was in
him. All they had to do was give him the tools to get it out.

“Did you always love it? Through all the practicing?” I asked.

“Not always. I quit once, when I was
thirteen. Told my parents I wasn’t ever going to play again.”

“How long did that last?”

“About twenty minutes.” He smiled. “I couldn’t do it. Mostly because there was always music in my head; I needed to play so it had some place to go.”

“So you’ve always been composing.” I put my empty ice cream bowl on the floor beside the couch.

“Always. I heard music in my head even before I was skilled enough to play its complexity. That was actually frustrating: to hear it but not know how to make it all work.”

“That’s amazing.”
He
was amazing. Hearing him talk about hi
s music, it was hard to put into words how it made me feel. Because I knew without a single doubt that he understood how I felt about my music. I’d long since grown weary of trying to explain how it wasn’t just a hobby or a thing I liked to do because I was good at it. It was more like breathing. I
had
to play. I had to feel the music in me and around me. If I couldn’t do that, I would only be a shadow of myself—always lacking.

“So let’s talk about your music,” he said. “I really liked
playing with you through the wall. Have I told you that yet?”

“Even if you did, I don’t mind you telling me again.”

“I’ve been studying up on my violin concertos. I think I’m ready for a rematch.”

“Have you? Now you’ve got me worried.”

“Oh, you should be worried. You’re going down.”

Flirty, funny, competitive Elliott? He was really adorable. “So the symphony’s playing Beethoven’s Fifth?” he asked.

“
Oh yeah, next week. You’ve heard me practicing?”

“Yeah. Great music.”

“The whole season is great. After the first of the year, Antoneli Baronovsky is coming to play Prokofiev.”

“For real? Baronovsky?”

“Do you know him?”

“He’s the reason I was in Russia. I was studying in his studio. He’s incredible.”

“You’ll have to come to the concert. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

“Which Prokofiev? Is it the Third? That one’s my favorite.”

“In C Major. Op. 26.”

“Ahhh, great piece. Hard as all get out though.”

“I keep forgetting you can hear me every time I practice. Somehow that makes me nervous.”

His eyebrows went up, and he gave me a mischievous grin. “I hear your practicing about as well as I hear your conversations.”

I froze, suddenly trying to replay every conversation I’d had with Lilly in the past . . . three weeks? Luckily, we weren’t home
much. We worked, I rehearsed; it wasn’t
like there were hours of
time to sit around with our feet up talking about boys. But . . . I
could feel the blush creeping up my cheeks . . .
Yeah.
We’d definitely
had our fair share of conversations about Elliott.

I couldn’t decide which was worse: the idea of him hearing
my earlier ill-conceived rants about his arrogance and idiocy or hearing my ardent declarations that he was most beautiful man I’d ever seen. “So we’re going to just rewind our conversation about thirty seconds and pretend like I never heard you say that,” I said.

“I promise I’m not spending hours camped out by the wall eavesdropping, if that makes you feel better. I’ve only heard bits and pieces here and there.”

I held my hands up and shook my head. “No! You’ve heard nothing! It never ever happened!”

He laughed. “Fine. It never happened.” He leaned forward and
placed his bowl beside mine, then settled back on the couch.

“Why did you move to Asheville anyway?” I asked. “Of all the places you could go, why here?”

His eyes darkened, and he fiddled with a loose thread on the ripped knee of his jeans. “I just needed to not be in L.A.,” he finally said. “My focus has been off for a while now, and I was hoping the change of scenery would do me some good.”

“But West Asheville? How did you even find Maple Crescent, not to mention this house?”

“Oh. My mom’s cousin owns the house.”

“What? Julio is your mom’s cousin?” I had a hard time drawing a family tree line from Elliott to my short, stocky Hispanic landlord.

“Not-quite cousin but almost? Let me see if I can get this right. My mother’s cousin’s sister-in-law is married to Julio.”

“So basically you’re not related at all.”

He smiled. “I always see him at family reunions. I stayed with him when I filmed a video over in Cherokee, and he knew how much I loved the area. When he heard I was looking to come east, he called and asked if I wanted the apartment.”

“And here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Has the change of scenery helped?”

Elliott frowned. “Not really.”

“What’s tripping you up?”

“The biggest problem is the album my label wants me to make isn’t the album I want to make. I want to do all originals, and they want top-forty covers. I’m hoping we find a middle ground, but so far, it’s not looking good.” He spoke with a detached calmness that hinted at a history of disagreements
with his label.

“Your original stuff is brilliant. I can’t believe they wouldn’t want it.”

“They only want what they think is going to sell. They branded me as a crossover contemporary pianist, and that’s where they want to keep me. They get to say what I play, where I play, and when I play it.”

“Is that why the stake sent that letter about you not performing in church? Because of your label?”

He sighed. “I really didn’t love that letter. And performing in church isn’t actually the issue. They don’t care about stuff like that. But the invitations from Church members are usually for other stuff. Birthday parties, graduation parties
. The church gives them an in, and they just ask without really considering the implications.”

“And your label doesn’t want you to play just anywhere, right? You’ve got to maintain that feeling of exclusivity.”

“It’s lame.”

“It’s lame that you don’t have more control over your career. You’re so much more than where they’re trying to keep you.”

“Nope. I’m not allowed to be more than that. Granted, my contract is worse than most.
Talent Hunt
negotiated the entire thing and
pretty much sold my soul.”

I shifted on the couch, pulling my legs up under me. “So why not just walk?”

He shot me a weary look. “It’s not that easy.
”

“Why not? If you don’t like the music they want you to play, why play it? It ought to be about the music, and if the music isn’t working for you, you’re the only one who can change it.”

Elliott’s entire posture changed, and I immediately wished I could take back my words. Who was I to tell him what he needed to do for his career?

“Sorry. That was an overstep on my part. I can’t pretend to know all the complexities of your contract and . . . everything.”
Lame. Lame, Emma!

“No, you’re fine,” Elliott said with a shrug. “But yeah, it is complicated.”

“It’s not always all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

“What
? Fame?”

“No, not just that. I mean, all I wanted was to perform all over the country, to be good enough that people called
me
. When I actually made it, I was on this high for months, like I couldn’t believe I was actually living my dream. But then . . . I don’t know. The novelty wore off, and I realized how lonely I was. I’d made my life about nothing but music, and recognizing the things I hadn’t made room for was hard.”

“That’s when you went back to Cleveland?”

I felt a little tug at my heart
. I nodded. “And it helped. I was closer to my grandma, and my schedule was a little less demanding. But even still, there were things I didn’t like. Sometimes I would go weeks without making it to church because my weekends were full of performances. And my social life was almost nonexistent.”

“Your grandma’s still in Cleveland
?”

“Yeah. Twenty minutes outside the city. I might miss her most of all.”

“How different is it playing here in Asheville?”

“It still feels good to perform, but I went from more than a hundred performances a year to less than fifteen. The plan was to play with other symphonies—Hendersonville, Knoxville, maybe. And there are auditions in Atlanta next month. But I’m not sure it’s going to work. I can’t be as busy as I was in Cleveland if I’m also going to be around to help my mom.”

“Not many people would have the courage to walk away like you did
. That you were willing to sacrifice so much for your family says a lot about your character.”