No Strings Attached (3 page)

I stood and returned the violin to its case. “I just did.”

“No, you read my music—and followed it perfectly. What I want to hear is how
you
play one of
your
songs.”

I reached behind me for the stool and sat. I hadn’t touched my music in so long, I wasn’t sure I knew where it was anymore.
It’s a good thing you have it in your head, then.
Even so, I was still out of practice, so I honestly didn’t trust myself to go by memory alone.

“No pressure, right?” I said. “I don't have any with me.”
Of course you don't, dummy.
It wasn't like I went around with sheet music tucked into my pockets, only now, I wished I did.

“Next time then?” he asked.

Next time?
Oh my God, he wanted to see me again. Here or at my apartment, but I was going to see him again.
Easy, Moyra. He's just asking for your music.
I sighed. My music. My voice, but was it enough for him to want
me
?

I shook my head.
Too soon, Moyra.
As much as I would've loved to have fallen into bed with him right then and there, I still had my own shit to deal with. A relationship was completely out of the question. Hell, even a friendship was pushing it.

Thayre must've been talking the whole time, but the next thing I heard him say was, “So, I'll pick you up Friday around six?”

I blinked. Had I been nodding? What did I agree to?

“I'm sorry, I'm a little frazzled.” I chewed at the inside of my cheek. “What's Friday?”

He gave me a pointed look that was more playful than anything else. “There you go, off in your own world again. I shouldn't expect any less.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

“You didn't offend me. In fact, I think it's cute.”

“Cute as in brownie points cute or just cute?”

“It's you. Just, you.” He held out his hand and helped me up before throwing his arms around me and kissing me on the cheek. “I should probably get you home. I wished this had happened sooner.”

I couldn't help my twinge of disappointment when he released me from his embrace. “What part? Me getting stuck in the rain so you can
rescue
me, or me playing music for you?”

“Why not both? Granted, seeing you soaked while it's still winter wouldn't have been my preference, but I have to admit, I've wanted your hands on my instruments for years.”

Oh. My. God.
I burst out laughing, and fortunately, the humor was purely intentional as Thayre was doing the same.

And before I knew what I was doing, I said, “You should use that as a pickup line.” 

“Good, huh?” His cheeks darkened and he broke eye-contact. Briefly.

“Are you kidding me? Coming from personal experience, it's the best line I've heard yet.”

“And to think, I wasn't even trying to get you in my case.”

I coughed and sputtered until I could breathe again. “It probably would've been better if I'd said it, but it was still funny.”

“Jesus.” Thayre checked his watch. “I really need to get you home, don't I?”

I nodded, but I had to admit, asking him if I could stay had crossed my mind. More than once. But he didn't offer, so I figured it was best not to ask. Even though it had stopped pouring outside and my clothes were dry, I accepted his invitation for a ride home. I had until Friday to get my head on straight before he kicked my world off its axis again.

“W
here is it?” I groaned, going through my closet for what must've been the ninth time since Thayre dropped me off at my apartment last night.

I still had four days to find my music, pick out a song and relearn it before I saw him again. Even though I usually needed a day or two, this wasn't high school, and I was terribly out of practice no matter how good I may have sounded in Thayre's studio.

Unless I wanted to clean out my entire walk-in closet and risk bringing up some rather unpleasant memories, no thanks to Bret, I had to wade through the crap in hopes of finding something half decent.

I sighed and sat in the middle of my closet, looking from one side to the other. I must have put my violin and sheet music somewhere I knew Bret wouldn't find it, but the question was where. I'd already checked the top shelves, along with the compartment behind the rear wall, but I couldn't find any of my old work.

I could've always written something new.

And play it with what?

Without a violin to play, I was pretty much screwed.

Bret must've found it and tossed it somewhere.

He may have been an ass, but he wasn't that bad, was he? I considered pulling out my cell and leaving him a quick text, but it would've made matters worse. We hadn't spoken since I asked him to leave, and I wanted to keep it that way.

I went through a handful of boxes again, most of which were too small to hold a violin, and finally found some sheet music along with old photographs. I set the photos aside and took out the music, releasing another sigh when I realized it wasn't worth playing.

Any of the music I found now wouldn't match my mood, and it was then I remembered what Thayre had said the night before.
Any emotion will do.
All I needed was a pencil and some paper.

Once I was back in my room, I rummaged through some drawers until I found the necessary tools, then returned to the kitchen table moments later. Good thing I still knew where to put the notes and how chord progression worked, otherwise writing a new composition would've been more problematic. That's not to say it was easy, but certainly a little more forgiving than if I were doing it for the first time.

So many mistakes.
I recalled one of the first melodies I wrote. The notes had been all over the place, and half the time, they didn't work together.
Let's hope this one's better.

It was, but unless I wanted to play a cheery song that was much too happy for me, I had to start over.

I set the notes to the side, then went to work on a new piece. Humming to myself, I tried to place the notes in my head on the blank sheet in front of me.
This would be a lot easier if I had some actual sheet paper.
Not to mention a ruler to draw straight lines with. At the moment, my notes were floating on a piece of computer paper. I could add the lines later, but while I still had a grasp on the song itself, I decided it was best to keep going.

Lines upon lines of notes soon spilled over from one page to two, then three. On and on I worked, and by the time I reached an acceptable stopping point, it was one in the morning. The keys probably needed some work, but at least for now, the notes were on the paper instead of lost somewhere inside my head.

Without looking at my newest piece to keep from obsessing over it too much, I added it to the first pile of notes, turned off the kitchen light, then headed to bed. The lingering melody would keep me awake well after my head hit the pillow, but if I didn't stop now, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

* * * * *

“Y
ou sound happy,” Lisa said as she walked into the back room to get a bag of hamburger buns. “You've been humming most of the day. What song is that?”

I glanced up from putting produce in the refrigerator, completely oblivious to the fact I'd been replaying last night's melody loud enough for someone else to hear. “Just something I'm working on.”

She set the buns on the counter and then rested her hands on her hips. “You write music?”

As long as I'd been working as a waitress at Kimber's, I rarely talked about my personal life. Choice in music and the fine arts, sure, but aside from complaining to one another about low tips from customers, or some other nonsense, there wasn't much to discuss.

“I try to,” I finally said, pulling a handful of avocados out of a box before adding them to one of the crispers.

“Well, don't let Jay hear you. He's in one of his foul moods.”

“Great.”

Jason was a dick to work for on his best days. Hell, he was too cheap to hire staff to help with stocking and prep for the lunch rush. That was one reason why Lisa and I were stuck here. It may have offered more hours, but the pay was exactly the same. After working twelve hours on my feet, the last thing I needed was a tongue-lashing from a front manager who couldn't give two shits about his wait staff.

“So I should basically hide in here then?” I forced a smile.

“If you're lucky, he'll be too busy belittling the customers to care about what's going on in the kitchen,” Lisa added, picking the buns off the counter. “I should probably get things set up. You working on the sauces this morning?”

“Yeah, once I finish unpacking these boxes.”

She nodded, then headed into the dining area. The original staff had left months ago, and when Jay offered us extra hours, Lisa and I jumped on it. But neither of us expected the extra workload to last this long.
He seriously needs to get more staff.

Meeting with Thayre had improved my energy level, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand working ten or twelve hours every day with a day or two off every two weeks.

You need a life, that's what you need.

No sense arguing with myself. I had to get out, but not until after I was on my feet relationship wise.

It may happen a lot sooner than you think.

God, I hoped so. I probably should've waited for a bit of closure, but given the fact I'd thrown in the towel as far as Bret was concerned, closure probably wasn't the right word.

What I really needed was to move on.

And what better way to do with than with music and Thayre?

Two lovely distractions that, when put in the same room, made me forget every damned thing. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Four more days.

Jay could throw a fit at me all he wanted. I'd hum if I damn well felt like it. So for the remainder of my shift, that's exactly what I did.

* * * * *

F
riday arrived without an incident. In fact, I'd gotten Lisa so caught up in the melody I'd noticed her humming it as well. Fortunately, Jay kept to himself for most of the week, which gave us more time to focus on work instead of defending ourselves for something we didn't actually do.

Dressed in a shirt and jeans, I headed into the bathroom to double-check my smoky eye shadow, pull up my auburn hair and do whatever else I could to take my mind off what was my first real date in over three years. I couldn't count the one night stands or the few times Bret and I had gone out to eat for my birthday as they were, for the most part, planned. There was no anxiety. No excitement.

But tonight, the nerves were definitely there, right alongside my self-doubt. The sheet music was folded in my purse, and while I'd read over it countless times, I was still afraid I'd screw it up. Of course, it would've helped if I'd actually been able to play the damned music instead of humming it.

I hope Thayre doesn't mind me borrowing Angie again, otherwise he won't get to hear the song at all
. I'd come up with lyrics for it, which I'd added above the melody once I got in the door earlier this evening. It all looked great on paper, but in practice, who knew.

My apartment buzzer called out Thayre's arrival, and I quickly went to the door to let him in. He still had three floors between my apartment and the ground level, but that only gave me enough time to second-guess myself, my music, and how I felt for him.

During our high school days, he was a mad crush, but now? I couldn't really say what he was. We were obviously flirting the other night, but it was harmless—old friends getting into the swing of things.

I opened the door as he was walking up the hall. Damn him and that smile of his. I held on to the doorframe and, I hope, appeared to be resting against it instead of for support.

“Ready to go?” he asked, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek.

I wasn't sure if he kissed every girl on the cheek when he greeted her, but if he did, I wouldn't object. “If I asked you to leave and come back, would I get another kiss?”

He smirked and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Mm, I don't know. Sounds like too much work to me.”

I hit him in the arm. “Dork.”

“Always.” He held out his arm, then said, “I parked behind the building. Hope your fellow tenants don't mind.”

“For five minutes?” I tentatively hooked my arm with his, releasing a breath when he set his free hand on my arm. “I doubt it.”

This doesn't mean anything.
Thayre had always been a gentleman. Opening doors, escorting me to the passenger side of his car—all the things he did when we were still in school.
Which is a lot more than I can say for Bret.

While we were still figuring things out, my ex made the extra effort, but once he settled into the comfortable normalcy that was our love life, every kind gesture fizzled out.

Looking at Thayre, I hoped he wouldn't be the same way.
Jesus, Moyra, are you listening to yourself? You aren't even dating. He's just a friend.
An old, but very good friend.

Taking a bit of direction from Thayre, I let him lead me out to the back lot, then to the passenger side of his car before getting in. He must've been as nervous as I was, and if not, he was pretty close. Even with steady hands, I couldn't help noticing the hint of nerves as he drummed on the steering wheel.

“More music?” I teased, trying to follow the beat with my own fingers as I tapped my nails on the dashboard.

He forced a smile and turned on the ignition. “I guess you could say that.”

He got quiet then, but I didn't press him. As he pulled out of the parking space and into traffic, I got to watch the streetlights as they illuminated his face to show the hint of a five o'clock shadow and the weariness in his eyes.

“You look tired,” I said once he stopped at a light.

“Staying up to compose does that to me.”

“You aren't the only one.”

He reached over to squeeze my hand. “I hope my request didn't keep you up too late.”

“And tell me, what does Thayre Underwood consider late these days?”