Love at First Note (4 page)

“This”—I nodded my head—“is a taco. Taco Bell does not make tacos.”

Grayson hummed his agreement in between bites. “Agreed,” he finally said. “I don’t know who Rosa is, but I think I like her better than Rico.”

A few more bites into our tacos and Grayson put his container down on the bench beside him. “I didn’t mean to sound judgmental,
Emma.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.
“About leaving Cleveland. I’m sorry if I seemed rude.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’re not the first person to question, but I’m happy here. I’m glad to be back.”

“Are you playing anywhere else?”

“Not yet. I plan to, but I’m still trying to figure out how my
schedule is going to work. I’m teaching five days a week, and with—
”
I almost said “with my mom” but stopped short. I spent every Tuesday and Friday morning with Mom, grocery shopping, going to doctor’s appointments, and doing housework, but I didn’t like to talk about it. It was impossible to mention it without people trying to turn my time with her into some grand magnanimous gesture or near-holy sacrifice. But it wasn’t like that. She was my mom, and she needed me. End of discussion.
“With other
stuff
that’s going on, I’m not sure how much I can commit to. There’s an audition for associate concertmaster in Atlanta in a couple of months,” I said. “I am thinking about that one.”

“Associate? Really?”

I shot him a look. “I’ll take what’s available. I want to play. I need to stay in Asheville. Maybe it’s not the perfect opportunity, but it’s enough for me right now. I have other re
asons for moving back, so this”—I motioned to the city around me—“has to be enough.”

“Enough?” He shook his head. “That sounds a little like you’re settling.”

“Prioritizing is different from settling.”

“It
is
your mom, isn’t it?” Grayson asked.

I closed my container and placed it
on the sidewalk between my feet. “Can we not talk about this?”

“I’m not trying to pry. But I do care about your mom. I’m sorry if her health is failing.”

“Her health isn’t failing; she’s just had a few setbacks.”

“I’m sorry. Would you tell her I said hello?”

Mom had always loved Grayson. She liked that we had music in common and had defended him more than once when our nosy neighbor with her archaic beliefs liked to complain about me dating a black guy. Still, she was happy when we broke up. Grayson wasn’t LDS, which precluded him from the perfect little scrapbooks Mom had encouraged me to fill with pictures of temples and butterflies and knights in shiny returned
-missionary armor.

“I’ll tell her,” I said. “So what about you? I wasn’t sure you would
even play after high school. But you’re good. You’ve kept it up.”

“I didn’t at first,” Grayson said. “But I missed it after a while, so I joined a community orchestra in Raleigh that I stayed with all through college. After I moved back home, I joined the s
ymphony in Hendersonville.”

“If Bruno’s gone three weeks, he’ll probably miss Asheville’s next concert. You want to play in his spot? I’ll vouch for you with the conductor if you want in.”

“That’d be great. I’d love to if they’ll let me.”

Huh. “So Asheville is good enough for you, just not good enough for me?”

He
cocked an eyebrow. “My star was never destined to shine as bright as yours, Em. You know that as well as I do.”

I huffed. “And you know I would never put my career over my family.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “I do know that about you.”

It was hard not to feel like Grayson was throwing me a woeful “too bad your star has dimmed” pity party. A part of me wanted to lay it out there
and explain all the reasons I’d walked away from my growing career. But I resisted, mostly because I didn’t need to justify my choices to Grayson but also because I knew if I started down that road, it would be tough not to throw my own dang pity party. What was done was done. Rehashing the why and how of my departure from Cleveland wouldn’t change anything.

Grayson ate in silence for a moment while I picked at my food. I wasn’t annoyed, really. I didn’t think Grayson was trying to be hurtful, but career discussions always left me feeling unsettled.

When the conversation shifted to high school memories and old friends, the tension in the back
of my throat finally started to ease. Talking about the past felt easy, familiar even. We joked; we reminisced. I even managed to eat another taco.

And it was fine. I enjoyed Grayson’s company, and we had a nice time. But I couldn’t help but wonder:
why
was I eating tacos with my past instead of eating pizza with my potential (in a perfectly reasonable, not overzealous way) future?

I pushed into my apartment
on weak legs to see Lilly and Trav at the kitchen table playing a game of Scrabble. I left
my bag on the couch, kicked off Lilly’s old shoes, and went to the fridge for a bottle of water. I dropped my leftover tacos on the table next to Trav. “You want those? They came from Rosa’s.”

“You went to Rosa’s and had leftovers? How does that even happen?” Trav asked.

“I ate two of the four. That’s not too bad.”

Trav opened the carton and wolfed down a taco in two bites, bits of cilantro clinging to his beard.

“Seriously?” Lilly said. “Did you even chew it? How are you even hungry after eating all of Elliott’s pizza?”

Trav’s mouth was already full of his second taco. “It’s Rosa’s.”

Lilly shook her head and tossed him a napkin. “You are a barbarian.” She finally looked my way. “What’s up with you? How was rehearsal?”

I took a long swig of water. “Bruno’s playing super grandpa in Florida, so
he sent one of his old students to fill in for him until he’s back in town.”

Lilly shifted forward. “Okaaayy . . . you just said that like it should mean something to me, and I got nothing.”

“The new cellist?” I paused a moment longer, watching Lilly lean so far forward she almost lost her position on her stool. “
It’s Grayson Harper.”

She toppled forward, catching herself before she hit the floor, her eyes wide. “What? Your Grayson Harper?”

I nodded. “Crazy, right? He’s living in Hendersonville. I guess he’s been back a few years now.”

“And he still plays the cello? That’s totally hot. Wait, is it? Is he still hot?”

“Maybe hotter,” I said. “I mean, he looks older, but yeah. He’s barely changed.”

Trav leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbows and batting his eyelashes. “So are we talking like hotter-than-Elliott-Hart hot?”

I shook my head. “No one’s hotter than Elliott Hart. So what was he like?”

“He was really nice,” Lilly said. “You need to go over and introduce yourself.”

“I can’t just walk over without a reason. That would be weird.”

Trav gave a good-natured huff. “No weirder than Lilly inviting
him to sleep on your cou
ch fifteen seconds after she met him.”

“He was going to sleep on the floor,” Lilly said. “And I knew he was a nice guy. He’s a Mormon.”

“Ah, the Mormons,” Trav said. “Forever gleaming with the
shine of good character.” I turned and tossed a dish towel at his head. He caught it with a smile and lobbed it back in my direction. “Just being Mormon is enough reason to go over there, right? Isn’t that all you people need to fall in
love?”

“Very funny.”

“Besides,” Lilly added. “You have a reason. Your bishop said to welcome him to the ward. So go welcome him.”

“At nine o’clock at night? I should make him cookies or something. Cookies could be my reason.”

“Did Elliott serve one of those mission thingies? With the bikes? Name tags? All of that?” Trav asked.

I nodded. “In
French Polynesia.”

“Seriously? Tahiti? I bet that was a rough two years,” Trav said.

“Ask her something else,” Lilly whispered, leaning over the table. “Emma’s a fan.”

“I’m not a fan. I’ve seen his videos. He’s talented. But it’s not like that.”

“Where did he grow up?” Lilly asked.

Denver.
“I . . . don’t know.”

“Where’d he go to college?”

He didn’t.
“No idea.”

Lilly rolled her eyes.
“How many siblings does he have?”

“Okay, I really don’t know that one. Come on. I read the news. I
know the basics. Maybe I’m a fan, if that’s what you call occasionally
enjoying his music, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fanatic.”

“Then go meet him.” Trav spoke with a gleam in his eye.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” Lilly said.

“Without cookies?”

“Emma, you don’t need cookies. Just be nice. ‘Hey . . . you’re a
Mormon; I’m a Mormon. I’m your neighbor. Welcome.’ I’m sure you can handle that much without saying anything stupid. Just go knock.”

Trav stood up. “Come on. I’ll go with you. And I promise not to mention how much you like him.”

I lunged across the kitchen and pushed Trav back into his seat. “No, no, no. You’re not going anywhere.”

“So you’ll go by yourself?”

I left my water on the counter and walked to the door, pausing
briefly to check my appearance in the mirror that hung in the
living room. My primping was only fuel to Lilly and Trav’s fire, but after the day I’d had, I could look like Medusa, for all I knew. I pulled my dark hair out of its ponytail and shook it out over my shoulders. I didn’t look half bad. Two points for running into my ex-boyfriend looking not quite ravishing but still totally acceptable.
My blue eyes looked bright against the green of my shirt
, and
thanks to the lower humidity levels of fall, my hair was actually kind of awesome—no frizz to be seen. I maybe looked a little tired, but there was no helping that, not without reapplying makeup,
and there was no way I was giving Lilly that kind of satisfaction.

“You look great, Em,” Lilly called. “Go knock him dead.”

“I hate you,” I called over my shoulder.

“You don’t, and you know it,” she sing-songed.

I slipped on a pair of navy flats by the door, better than the tennis shoes I’d been wearing all night, and crossed the small entryway to Elliott’s door. I could hear the piano, just a few keys here and there, like he was puzzling out a melody. I leaned forward and listened. He repeated the same three notes, added a chord, and then suddenly it was a song
. I stood with my fist inches from his door, completely mesmerized. I was a professional musician. I knew my strengths and had worked hard to build a career around them, but I’d never even attempted to compose. My brain wasn’t cut out for that kind of creativity—that kind of freedom. Listening to him build something
where there had been nothing before was captivating.

The music stopped,
and something shifted, then footsteps sounded toward the door. I panicked, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, and pounded on the door with a little more than friendly force.

The door swung open, and there he was with the hair and the eyes and the long, graceful fingers. He stood barefoot, wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt that clung to him in all the right places. I could see the things about him that made Lilly call him pretty. His features were almost delicate, from the curve of his lashes to the sharp angles of his cheekbones. But standing just a few feet away, seeing the scruff and the T-shirt and the long wiry biceps, he was decidedly masculine.
And I was having a hard time getting air through my lungs.

“Hello?” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows
, probably wondering what a girl with wide eyes and a frozen expression was doing on his doorstep.

“Hi. I . . . um . . . from church.”
Me caveman. You handsome.
I shook my head. “Sorry. Let’s try this again. The bishop told me you were coming
, and I just really wanted to see you . . . I mean, not see you like I’m spying on you, just see you to welcome you.” All those years of education, and that was the best I could come up with? “And I just wanted to tell you that I really love you . . .” I closed my eyes and felt my cheeks flame red. “No! I don’t love you. That would be weird. Sorry. What I mean to say is I’m glad
.”
What the what?

“You’re . . . glad?”

“Glad.” I repeated the word like it was weird he didn’t under
stand my incomplete babbling. “Yeah; I’m glad you’re here.” I finally finished my sentence. “You know. In the ward.” This was a
train wreck; a disastrous, cars-ripped-from-the-rails, broken
-in-half,
consumed-by-fiery-flame train wreck.

Not surprisingly, Elliott was unimpressed by my less-than-graceful greeting. “Uh, thanks.”

I silently wished for the cookies I hadn’t made him. Having
some physical reason to be there would have been way less awkward
than just standing there staring.

Make him feel welcome.
The bishop’s voice echoed in my head. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “So, I think you’re going to like Asheville.” Of course, he probably moved because he already
did
like Asheville, but I was no longer in control of my words. “It’s a really great city. And the ward is great too. The singles, I mean,
we aren’t huge.” Me and five other people definitely didn’t qualify as huge. “But we do have activities occasionally.” I shrugged. “I can maybe let you know when we do . . . um, you know, have them.” I paused long enough to wish for an errant black bear to wander through the yard to distract
us out of our misery. Okay, fine. A bear might have been pushing it. I would have settled for an angry squirrel. “Oh. I’m Emma. I didn’t say that before.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and gave me a look—a weird blend of annoyance, pity, and sort of a condescending tolerance.
“Right. Emma. Listen, I appreciate you coming by. But I really moved to get away from the single
s scene. I’m not planning on
attending the singles ward. Really, I’m not looking to be involved in singles anything.”

“The singles ward?” Asheville didn’t have a singles ward. With so few singles, that would have
been a really lonely ward.

“I’m really just here to focus on my music for a little while.”

“Your music.” I closed my eyes. Why was I repeating everything he said?

“
Not
socializing.” He pushed one hand into his pocket and rested the other on the handle of his front door. He didn’t seem to mind socializing with Lilly and Trav when they were helping him unpack. Lilly had raved about how nice he’d been. Why was he taking issue with me? You know, aside from the fact that I’d just acted like a bumbling fan who’d said I love
d him before introducing myself.

I couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking I’d only come over to fall at his feet and swoon. I might have blundered the last minute with my awkward staring and jumbled sentences, but it wasn’t too late to change things. Granted, it was going to be
tough to undo the love comment, but maybe he’d forget that part of our conversation. So I lied. “You mentioned your music,” I said a little smugly. “What do you play?”

He shot me a quizzical look. “Piano.”

“Are you any good?”

He had to know I was feigning ignorance
, but I didn’t back down. It wasn’t like I could make things worse. He narrowed his eyes. “Good enough to pay the bills.”

Yeah, and then some, I’m sure. There was something in his voice that turned me off. It wasn’t pride, really, not blatant pride anyway. But he sounded snobby, and it grated on my nerves. I thought about my own tight budget—the weeks between performances and gigs
when my lessons brought in just enough to scrape by. I had made more money when I’d played in Cleveland, even more when I’d been on tour, but in Asheville I joined the ranks of musicians who were constantly juggling, playing in multiple symphonies throughout the region and working day jobs they didn’t love because there was no way music alone could pay the bills. It wasn’t easy, certainly not
as easy as racking up the cash from a million views on YouTube.

“That’s all, huh?” In my mind’s eye, I watched the shine of Elliott’s halo dim. I didn’t begrudge him his success, but I did resent him taking his success for granted. Enough to pay his bills? He’d been famous since he was seventeen. He had no idea what it felt like to really truly only have enough to pay the bills. But that was a conversation for another time. I needed to get out of there before I said anything else incriminating and really did make things worse.

“Okay, so . . . thanks for stopping by.” He
closed the door a couple of inches.

“Oh, sure.” I took a step backward. “I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe I could hear you play sometime?” I regretted the words the moment I said them. What was I thinking? That he’d invite me in for a private concert?

“Or maybe you could just look up a video on YouTube.”

Ouch. “YouTube?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m gonna call it a night.”

At least he paused long enough for me to nod a farewell before shutting the door in my face. I turned and slipped into my apartment,
where I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

“So . . . you don’t look like that went well.”

I turned my head and looked at Lilly. “It was awful. I don’t even know what happened. First I forgot how to talk, and then when I did talk, everything that came out of my mouth was completely stupid. I’m pretty sure I told him I was in love with him, which didn’t make any sense since twenty seconds later I pretended like I didn’t know who he was and asked him what instrument he played. Then he got all smug and acted like I
should
know who he is ’cause he’s just
so
famous, and it just . . . I don’t
know. It was bad. Worse-than-tenth-grade-debate-team bad.”