Love at First Note (17 page)

* * *

Blake was sitting in the last chair of the back row of the auditorium when I walked up the aisle after rehearsal, my violin slung over my shoulder.

He stood up and smiled. “Emma?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Blake.” He stuck out his hand like he wanted to shake mine, then must have reconsidered, opting instead for a hug. It was almost awkward, but Blake totally saved the situation with his self-deprecating humor. “Was that awkward? I’m just going to tell you straight up I’m a complete dork. Other guys do things, and it comes off as smooth. I do it, and it’s awkward and weird. Generally I do much better on dates if I just get that disclaimer out of the way up front. I am not a suave guy.”

Grayson
appeared beside me, and I started to feel a little panicky. Last he’d heard, I was bringing a boyfriend to his wedding. I silently
cursed Bruno for staying away for so long. His super-grandpa
status down in Florida was making Grayson a regular fixture in the symphony.

Grayson looked from me to Blake, then smiled. “Great rehearsal
tonight, Emma. Is this him? Your boyfriend?”

I winced. “No, this is Blake. We actually just met.”

“Oh! Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have assumed. Though, I guess there are worse things I could have accused you of. I’m Grayson.” He reached out to shake Blake’s hand.

“Blake’s from Utah,” I blurted, my words rushed and slightly frantic. An undercurrent of please-don’t-make-me-explain-where-my-real-but-not-real-boyfriend-actually-is clung to every syllable I spoke. “He’s in town visiting his aunt, and she’s a friend from church, so . . . yeah. We’re just going to go get something to eat.”

It was awkward.
Totally
awkward. I didn’t want Blake to think I had a boyfriend, because it would have been rude of me to say
yes to his date if I did, w
hich meant I really needed Grayson to be cool and not say anything else incriminating. If I kept flinging unnecessary details at him, maybe he’d just hurry and leave.

Fortunately Grayson
was
a suave guy, so he handled my detail flinging with grace. “Welcome to Asheville,” he said to Blake.
“Emma knows all the best places to eat. I’m sure you won’t be
disappointed.” He touched me lightly on the elbow. “Later, Em. Good night to you both.”

I turned my attention back to Blake. “Sorry. That was . . . weird. He’s an old friend.”

“An old boyfriend?”

I shrugged. “Yes.
But it was a long time ago. He’s actually getting married in a few weeks.”

“Yeah? I guess that’s cool. And, hey, now I can mark ‘Run into your date’s ex’ off my dating bucket list.”

“That is so not on your bucket list.”

“Sure it is. I just added it,” Blake said.

He was adorable—great lines when he smiled and killer brown eyes that got all bright and happy as he talked. I was generally one to go for the dark, brooding, artistic types, and this guy was definitely not
that
. But there was something appealing about the openness and genuine friendliness of his face.

“See? That guy?” He motioned in the general direction Grayson had gone. “That guy’s smooth. You can just tell by the way he carries himself. He’s never going to be embarrassed on a date or worry he’ll say the wrong thing. He will never go anywhere and get caught with his fly down. He probably has specially engineered pants so he’s never at risk for fly exposure.”

I laughed. “Sometimes being
smooth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I think your honesty is more impressive.”

“Phew. I’m never sure about that first impression. My mother told me once I act like an overeager puppy. No matter how much I try to be cool and calm, it’s those words that plague the first ten minutes of every single first date.”

“That makes it sound like you’ve had a lot of first dates.”

His cheeks colored. “No! I mean, enough I guess. Enough that I think I’ve finally figured out what I’m looking for.”

His comment hit me right in the gut. It sounded like
this guy was playing for keeps. I didn’t want to hurt him, but every second I was with him just cemented the fact that my head was not in the same game. I tried to go for cool and casual, maybe even a little indifferent. “It must be nice to know what you want.”

We walked out of the auditorium and through the lobby.

“You don’t know?”

Yeah, I did. And his name was Elliott. “I don’t know. I thought I did. Maybe I still do.”

Blake chuckled. “That’s the most unconvincing statement I’ve ever heard.” We hit the sidewalk
, and he pointed to the lot across the street. “I’m over here. Want to ride with me?”

“Yeah, that’d be good. Are you hungry?”

“Absolutely. Where are we headed?”

“I was thinking we could stay downtown and go over to the Chestnut. Great food, and they serve dinner late so we won’t have trouble getting a table.” I glanced at my watch. “Actually, do you feel like walking? We could drive in five minutes . . . probably walk in fifteen or so.”

“I’m up for a walk,” he said. “You want to put your violin in your car? Or my car, if it’s closer.”

My eyes went wide. No way, no how was I leaving my violin in any car anywhere.

Blake held his hands up. “Or we can just keep it with us. That’s cool too.”

“Sorry. It’s . . . Violins aren’t cheap. I’d rather keep it with me.” I pulled the strap of my case over my head and settled the instrument
comfortably across my back. We turned and headed down Haywood Street into the heart of downtown.

“I was reading up on the inner mechanics of the symphony while you were finishing rehearsal.”

“Yeah? What’d you learn?”

“I read about the conductor. He’s the most important one, right?”

“That’s Dr. Williamson. He’s our music director and conductor
and is definitely the most important one.”

“And then there’s someone called the concertmaster? And he’s like the next guy down, sort of second in command?”

“He
or
she,” I added.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. Wait—is it you?”

“Yes, but it’s not that big a deal.”

“Sure it is. It sounded like a pretty big honor. You have to be the best one to do all that jazz.”

I shrugged. “I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s pretty sweet,” Blake said. We moved around a street magician wowing a small crowd with a deck of cards, the top card hovering in the air above the others. A woman passed her hand under the hovering card and gasped as the crowd started to clap.

Blake smiled. “This is a great city.”

“It’s never boring, that’s for sure.” Though it was just past ten, people were everywhere, gathering on street corners, spilling onto the sidewalk in front of the bars and restaurants that made Asheville
famous. “The city is mostly about food and beer,” I continued. “That’s what people come for.”

“I read something about all the microbreweries in the area.”

“
They’re everywhere. But the food is great too. Lots of farm-to-table and eat-local stuff.”

We crossed the street to the next corner, and Blake turned and grabbed my arm. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “What is it?”

I smiled. “That’s the drum circle at Pritchard Park. Come on. We’re almost there.”

“The drum circle?”

“It happens every Friday night.
People just bring their drums and jump in.” We moved across the street and stood right on the edge of the park. The circle was probably twenty people strong, a mash-up of rhythms that shook into the ground, then reverberated up through the sidewalk and into our feet.

“This is seriously the coolest thing I have ever seen.” Blake
started swaying, his shoulders bouncing to the rhythm of the drums pouring out of the park.

“Welcome to Asheville,” I said with a smile.

“Have you ever done it? I totally want to do it.”

A Jamaican man stan
ding beside us turned. “You want to try? Here. Use my drum. There’s a spot for you right there.”

“For real? Do you want to do it?” Blake turned and looked at me, his eyebrows raised in question.

“No, this is all you. Go ahead.”

He grabbed the drum and jumped into the circle like a, well, like an overeager puppy. His mom was totally right. I moved to an empty park bench and sat down, my violin case lying across my lap, and pulled my cell phone out of my purse. I had a text from Elliott.
Remember when I said you on a date with someone was
cool? I didn’t mean it.

My heart started to race, and I glanced up at Blake as if he
would know just from looking at me I was texting another guy. He was fully engaged in his drumming so I turned back to my phone.
You sound a little like a jealous boyfriend.

I was going for more of the older-brother vibe.

You spend much time kissing your sister?

No. No,
I don’t.

I shouldn’t have brought up the kissing. No way I was keeping my head in the game with Blake if I was reliving my make-out session with Elliott.

I think about that night all the time
, he wrote.

I read his text, then quickly turned my phone over, dropping it into my lap. This was so totally not a while-dating-another-guy kind of conversation. But, then, it wasn’t
like I could just leave Elliott hanging. I scooped my phone back up, flexing my fingers as I tried to figure out what to say. Finally I keyed in a response.
That’s breaking the rules. You’re only supposed to think in music notes.

His response was almost immediate.
The rules are stupid.

You’re the one who made the rules.

Permission to reconsider? Staying away from you is only making things worse.

You’re only saying that because now I’m out with someone else.

That’s not true. It’s why I wanted to take you to dinner. Because I wanted to tell you I was wrong about being just friends.

Oh my holy cow
. I snuck another peek
at Blake. Much to my relief, he was still facing away from me, not noticing my insta-grin or trembling hands.

Well then, I guess that’s different
, I wrote.

Is he a nice guy?

He’s a very nice guy.

Name?

Blake.

Last name?

I rolled my eyes.
Blake Johnson. Mormon. Attorney. From Ogden, Utah. Visiting his aunt and interviewing for a job with an Asheville firm. About six feet, blond hair, brown eyes. Anything else you want to know?

Sorry. I’m bein
g rude.

I’m willing to forgive if your reasons are good enough.

Blinding, maddening jealousy?

“Emma!” I looked up. Blake was standing at the edge of the drum circle next to the Jamaican man from earlier and a kid in a backward baseball cap who had been dancing his way around the park. “You got to see this kid! Come watch what he can do.”

“Just a sec,” I called. I glanced back at my phone.
Gotta go. Call you later?

Yes
, please.

It took all my willpower to put my phone away and give my full attention back to Blake.

We spent a few more minutes in the drum circle, watched the crazy dancing of a kid we decided for sure was going to be famous someday, then headed to the restaurant and had a nice dinner. It was
nice
. Blake was
nice
. And funny and charming and thoroughly entertaining. And it was a good thing because had he not been all those things, there
was no way I would have made it to the end of the night without bailing and heading to Elliott’s.

It was just after midnight when we made it back to the concert hall. Blake leaned against the side of my car while I unlocked the door and put my violin inside.

“I had a nice time tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Really?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and scrunched his eyebrows.

“Yeah, really. It was fun.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure I believe you.”

Okay. Weird.
“Do I sound like I’m lying?”

“No, I was just trying to figure out if what my aunt said was true.”

Uh oh.
“What did she say?”

He grimaced. “Only that you might not be interested in going out with me since you’re hung up on someone else.”

My cheeks flamed red. “I don’t . . . There’s not . . . Why would she say that?”

“I wasn’t trying to make it sound like a bad thing. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“It’s fine. I guess I just forget how observant my fellow ward members are. I don’t always understand their persistence in wanting to marry me off.”

He chuckled. “It’s a cultural thing, I think. They just want you to be happy.”

“I guess so.”