Love at First Note (11 page)

I wanted to ask him how he knew I was in the
symphony, if he’d Googled me after our music battle as quickly as I’d Googled him. Instead, I nodded. “Yeah. For next week’s concert. It was also Mozart that finally stumped you.”

“
Whaaat?
You stumped me with Mozart? I would have sworn there isn’t a note of Mozart I don’t recognize.”

“It was one of his violin concertos.”

“Well, that’s totally fair since he wrote, what, forty? Fifty of them?”

I smiled. “I was getting desperate. You know your classics.”

“I like cheeseburgers,” he said with a sheepish grin. “But I can grill a pretty decent steak if I want to.”

Ha. To say the least. The man was a $200 filet at a five-star restaurant.
Decent
was a massive understatement.

It was no small thing to realize Elliott cared about my opinion enough to show me he could play the kind of music I valued. He was trying to impress me, for whatever that was worth.

In my not fan-girly, totally reasonable and leveled-headed opinion, that was a pretty big deal.

Mom looked up and smiled
as I entered the kitchen. “You look like you’re in a good mood,” she said. “What’s up?”

Of course I was in a good mood. Elliott had proven over the past couple of days he was way more than an arrogant, pretty face. From his apology to helping in Sunbeams and then our conversation after church, I had more than enough to
be smiling about. I didn’t, however, feel like it was quite enough to initiate a Mom confessional. At least, not yet.

“Nothing much,” I told her. “It’s just a nice day. Where’s Dad?”

“He’s in the living room. Can you help me get this cake out of the oven?”

I nudged Mom out of the way and lifted Dad’s birthday cake onto the stovetop. “Go sit. I can finish this.”

She nodded and patted my hand. “Maybe just for a bit.”

I turned off the oven and finished making the frosting Mom had started, the ingredients gathered on the counter, then wiped down the counter and swept the floor. When I finally joined everybody in the living room, I noticed Mom’s wheelchair sitting next to the couch. I rolled it
out of the way so I could sit next to her. I hadn’t seen it out in weeks. “Mom, are you using your chair again?”

She lifted her shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Just a little. Something’s off with my meds, I think. The pain has been flaring up in the afternoons.”

“Since when? Since Friday? Why haven’t you told me? I was here all morning, and you didn’t say anything.”

She
leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes. “That’s because it happens in the afternoons. I’m fine when you’re here.”

“But if I’d known, I could have been doing things to make your afternoons easier.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Making dinner. Making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Emma. Relax. I see the doctor on Tuesday morning. We’ll figure it out.”

“Good. What time on Tuesday?”

She gave me a dismissive wave. “It’s too early for you to bother coming. I’m fine in the mornings. I can handle getting to this one on my own.”

She wasn’t fine. I could tell just by looking at her she wasn’t fine.

I looked up at Dad. “Back me up here. Tell her she has to let me take her on Tuesday.”

She opened her eyes and shot me a look. “Now you’re not playing fair.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You let me come with you, and I’ll let you buy me lunch after.”

“How is that a deal?” Dad asked. “She
gets
to buy you lunch?”

“No, no, it is a deal,” Mom said. “She never lets me buy her anything, even food. Something about the violation of her adulthood and independence.”

That definitely had something to do with it, but also, I could buy Mom lunch for the rest of forever and it wouldn’t come close to what my parents had
spent on my education. I had to draw the line somewhere.

“Be here by nine,” Mom said, turning back to me. “Lunch will
be on me, but that means I get to pick the place.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“So what are you going to do about Grayson’s wedding?”

I repositioned the pillow behind me. “I told him I’d be there, so I’ll go. His wife will just have to get over it if I show up by myself.”

“I ran into Grayson’s aunt at the grocery store the other day,
” Mom said.

“Which one? Aunt Pam?”

“Yeah. She asked about you.”

“Huh. That was nice of her, I guess.”

Mom shrugged. “She told me a little about the fiancée’s family. She called them Southern gentry, whatever that means. Something
about
old family money and country clubs and Sunday bridge
parties. They live over in Biltmore Forest, which I guess says enough right there.”

“Says enough about what? That sounds like a really judgy thing to say.”

“I’m not trying to sound judgmental, but I think they’re prob
ably the kind of people who care a
great deal about appearances.
I’m sure they want everything at this wedding to be proper.”

“Which is why you really think I should find a date?”

“Not necessarily. Your happiness is always my biggest priority. But if it’ll keep the peace at the wedding, surely there’s no harm in taking someone along.”

“
Fine. I’ll borrow Lilly’s boyfriend.”

“What about Michael Jefferson? He just got home from Peru. He’s a nice-looking boy.”

“Mom. He’s, what, twelve?”

She tried not to laugh. “He may look twelve, but he’s completely legal. He’s a returned missionary. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Maybe if we wanted him to stand in as Ava’s prom date, but I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not asking out someone who was still a seventh grader when I graduated from high school.”

“What about Elliott Hart? Have you found out if he’s single?”

“He’s single, but I don’t know him well enough for something like this. He can’t just come to the wedding as my date. He has to come and pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“Or you could just tell Grayson the truth.”

“Yeah. That’s not happening.”

Mom shrugged. “You still have six weeks. Maybe you’ll know him well enough by the time the wedding rolls around
.”

“Maybe.”

“If not, you can always run an ad in the paper like that movie—
The Wedding Date.
” She was trying hard to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t manage long. She started to laugh, her arms wrapped
around her sides like she was trying to hold it in.

I huffed. “I’m glad my life is so entertaining.
Between you and Lilly, I’ve been laughed at this week way more than I deserve.”

She reached across the couch and brushed the hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You know I have faith in you.”

“Thanks. But honestly it’s not a big deal. I’ll go. Maybe I’ll have a date; maybe I won’t. But I’m not going to lose sleep over it.”

“That sounds more like my girl,” Dad said as he passed behind the couch and left the room. I’d almost forgotten he’d been listening to our conversation.

“Why don’t you come with me, Dad?” I called after him. “Want to be my date?”

He poked his head back in the room. “I have a feeling you’ll find someone else,” he said. “And, obviously, I can’t pretend to be your boyfriend. But if it means not going alone, I’d be honored to be your back-up.”

I looked back at Mom. “See? Problem solved.”

* * *

An hour later, I unlocked my front door to hear Elliott’s music filling the entryway. I leaned against the wall and listened, my
eyes closed as the melody seeped through his apartment door. It was something I’d heard before—one of his original compositions from his first album, or maybe his second. It sounded like a sunrise, like that moment of stillness wh
en the world is not quite awake but almost. It sounded like hope. How that man ever thought he was disconnected from his music was beyond me.

I’d hardly realized the music had stopped when Elliott’s door flew open, startling me so badly I dropped my keys on the floor, where they landed with a noisy clatter.

“Oh, hey.” He paused. “Are you okay?”

I smiled and wiped the tears off my cheeks, then reached down
for my keys. “I’m fine
. I was just . . . listening.”

“Ohhh, sorry. I can go play something happier if you want me to.”

“No, it wasn’t sad. It was beautiful.” I sniffed one last time. “This is just what music does to me.”

“Must get annoying considering your line of work.”

“Ha, yeah. That’s the truth.”

“That one always makes my mom cry too. It’s her favorite.”

I smiled.
“I’ll consider myself in good company, then.”

“Are you just getting home?” Elliott asked.

“Yeah. I spent the afternoon at my parents’ house. Are you
heading out?” It was a dumb question. He didn’t look like he was heading out. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.

“No, I’m just grabbing my shoes from outside. I left them there
to air out earlier this afternoon.”

“Ah, the vomit shoes.” I stepped out of his way while he moved
onto the porch and grabbed his shoes.

He held them
up for inspection once he was back inside. “Not too bad, right?” He lifted them to his nose. “They don’t . . . Okay, no, wait. They do still smell.” He wrinkled his nose. “I might have
to declare them casualties of war and just get a new pair.”

“A new pair of Ferragamos? Seriously?”

He looked confused. “Is that a big deal?”

“Um, I guess not if you’re used to buying $700 shoes.”

“Are you for real?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You didn’t know you were wearing $700 shoes?”

“No! I mean, they just brought them into the dressing room
before a performance a few months ago and told me to wear them.”

“So you just wear whatever they put in front of you?”

He shrugged. “I care about the important stuff, like whether
or not I’m going to have a decent piano for performances. But I
learned early on it was a lot easier to let someone else worry about my wardrobe.”

“It must be tough now that you’re living in the sticks and actually have to dress yourself.”

“Don’t judge. You
’re the one who recognized they were Ferra-whatevers.”

“Fair point, but only because of my college roommate. Any knowledge I claim is only what rubbed off from her.”

Maybe it was something in the way he looked at me—his smile cocked just slightly to the side—that had me asking the question before I had the good sense to just go inside already and let our neighborly conversation end on a good note. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Elliott set his shoes
on the floor beside his apartment door and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Sure.”

“I have this wedding thing.”

His eyebrows went up. “A wedding?”

My nerves were scrambling, and I started to feel sick. This was stupid. We’d had, what, two normal conversations? But the look in his eyes. He looked into me, like he
wanted
to know more. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. He and I are in the same chamber group, only temporarily because our cellist, Bruno, is out of town and Grayson is filling in. He plays the cello
too, naturally, or else he wouldn’t be filling in . . . So he’s invited me to his wedding, and I kinda promised him I would be there. But I don’t really love the idea of going alone.” I realized, as the words tumbled out, that even a simplified, less drama-filled version of the truth was probably still too much information for Elliott. I could have made the invitation so much simpler.
So I’m going to this wedding. It’s a free steak. Want to come along?
Did he really need to know about Bruno’s travel plans?

“So you’re asking me to go with you?” Elliott leaned against his door.

“Yeah. Is that weird? It’s totally fine if that’s weird.”

He smiled. “It’s maybe a little weird. I mean, your ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Not exactly classic first-date material.”

Just the fact that he mentioned me in dating terms had me all kinds of flustered. “No, you’re right. But it wouldn’t necessarily be a first date. It’s not for another
six weeks.” I cringed. I’d just implied I wanted to date him. That we would spend the next six weeks having multiple dates. “Wait, that’s not what I mean. I’m not saying I want to date you. I mean, I’m not saying I
don’t
want to date you. I’m just saying . . .” I shook my head, wishing I could erase the blush blazing on my cheeks. “Oh boy. I’m gonna stop before this gets worse.”

He smiled just enough for me to know he was about to let me down easy. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly I’m flattered you would even consider asking me. And if my circumstances were different . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “Emma, I think you’re really great.”

I backed up a few steps and reached for the handle of my apartment door. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain.”

“But I want to explain. Things with my career are sort of complicated right now. I’ve got this album I’m supposed to be working on, and it really deserves my full attention.
My agent was angry enough when I moved across the country. He made me promise I’d stay out of the social scene and just work. So that’s what I’m trying to do.”

I tried not to sound disappointed. “That’s an excuse I can totally understand.” I did understand. The ability to ignore the world and bury yourself in music was often the difference between someone who made it as a musician and someone who didn’t. Considering the unease he’d expressed in our
conversation just after church, he probably had extra reason to focus on his music.

But the rejection still stung. I wasn’t so much disappointed because he’d said no as I was embarrassed that I’d asked him in the first place. It wasn’t like me to be so impulsive. I’d finally managed to start behaving like a normal person, and then I had to go and ruin it.
I’m not saying I
don’t
want to date you . . .
Sheesh. What was my deal?