Love at First Note (18 page)

“So
are
you interested in someone else?”

There was only one way to answer his question. I’d tried to have an open mind about Blake, but it was hopeless. I couldn’t get Elliott out of my head. “Blake, if I had a single friend, you would be at the very top of my list of guys she should date.”

“But I’m not on
your
list.”

“I’m sorry. This thing with this other person—I didn’t really
know what was going to happen when I agreed to go out with you. Things are still kinda new, but . . . I think I have to give it a chance.”

“Oh, I totally get it.” His tone shifted. “I mean, it’s not like I could really compete with the glitz of fame and fortune anyway. If that kind of thing m
akes you happy, I guess I wish you well.”

My eyes narrowed. Guess dear old aunty hadn’t held back. “Okay, that was an entirely inappropriate thing to say. You don’t know anything about what makes me happy.”

He huffed. “Right. You girls are all the same.”

We girls?
Blake’s demeanor had changed so suddenly I felt
like I was looking at a different person. Not five seconds ago he’d been apologizing for embarrassing me, and now he was smug and
judgmental? And for what? Because he was jealous of a guy he
didn’t even know? I resisted the urge to defend myself and insist my feelings for Elliott were based on way more than
money or fame. But I didn’t owe Blake an explanation. I didn’t owe him anything. “You know what? I really believe you’re a nice guy. Don’t say something stupid and ruin it.”

“You know the last girl I dated had a poster of him on her wall?”

Wait? What?
“A poster of Elliott?”

“Yeah. She talked about him all the time. How
stupid ironic is it that two dates in a row both girls have a thing for the same famous guy. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

My brain was having a hard time moving past the whole poster-of-Elliott comment. Did people even still do that? Buy actual posters of people and hang them on their walls? Better question: did grown women buy posters and hang them on their walls? I’d joked about them when I was determined to show Elliott I wasn’t really a fan, but I was just being facetious. I didn’t really think posters were still a thing. “I guess that is sort of a weird coincidence,” I finally said. “But, Blake, Elliott and I have a lot in common. This isn’t a poster-
on-the-wall kind of thing. I don’t own
any
Elliott posters. We’re just getting to know each other like normal people do.”

He heaved a sigh. It sounded like defeat. Or maybe just resignation. “Man. Dating stinks.”

I leaned against the car beside him, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. The temperature around us had dropped, and a chill crept through the thin fabric of my jacket.

“I agree,” I said. “Dating absolutely stinks. But only until it doesn’t.”

“For real? That’s your take? It only stinks until it doesn’t?” At least he was smiling again.

“So maybe eloquence isn’t exactly my strongest skill,” I joked. “
I’m just saying, one day you’ll meet somebody, and suddenly dating won’t stink anymore. And all that time that stuff felt rough won’t matter because you’ll realize the timing with this new person is just what it’s supposed to be and everything makes sense. You just have to wait for it.”

“You make it sound way easier than it is.”

“It’s not easy. More like awful. I moved to Asheville and thought I’d committed dating suicide.”

“But then you met somebody.”

I shrugged. “I hope that’s the way things are going.” I stifled a yawn, and Blake smiled.

“Sorry
. I know it’s late.” He gave me a hug. “Thanks for tonight,
and I mean that for real. I swear I’m not actually a jerk.”

“I believe you,” I told him.

We said good night, and I drove home preoccupied with the idea of Elliott posters plastered all over America’s walls. It wasn’t so much that it bothered me. It was just . . . weird. I wondered if it bothered Elliott—the idea of women fixating on him, staring at his picture, imagining conversations, kisses, relationships that wouldn’t ever actually exist.

I texted Elliott as soon as I was in the driveway. There was a light on in his window, which I hoped meant he was still awake.
You still up?

Waiting for you. Want to come over?

He was standing in his doorway when I made it inside. He gave me an appraising glance but kept his distance.

“How was your date?”

“It was fine, thank you.”

“I’m glad you had a nice time.”

Ha. Right.
“Are you really?” I gave him a playful smile that he returned with a little half grin and a cocky shrug of his shoulder.

“It’s possible I was hoping the night was a total bust.” He crossed the entryway,
finally
, and stopped right in front of me, hooking his pinkie finger around mine and sending my heart into an annoyingly obnoxious frenzy.

“It wasn’t a bust. He was nice. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He slipped an arm around my waist, and I leaned in, breathing him in. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said softly.

Every ounce of me wanted to stay right there in Elliott’s arms and forget about the conversation we’d had about timing and careers and albums and focus. His text had said he’d been wrong about staying away, and by the look in his eyes, he really meant it.
But my doubt was still there like a heavy piece of jewelry I didn’t want to wear. “Elliott, what are we doing?” I finally asked.

“Come on.” He motioned to his apartment. “Let’s go sit, and we’ll talk about it.”

I followed him into his living room, where he pulled me onto the couch.

“I think I finally understand what you mean when you say people don’t see
you,” I said. “They only see your fame.”

“Where did that observation come from?”

“Blake’s aunt told him I was hung up on you, which I don’t know how she would even know. But then he got all defensive, saying garbage about how he couldn’t compete with the glitz of fame, and if that’s the kind of thing that’s important to me, then good luck.”

“You’re hung up on me?”

I swatted at his arm. “Stay focused.”

“Sorry. You’re right. That’s lame.” He held my hand, his thumb tracing small circles along the top of my wrist.

“It made me mad. Because I’m more than that. And you’re more than that. And . . . Elliott, I don’t care about
your career. I don’t care that you’re famous or rich or whatever. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I don’t want you to think I’m here for the wrong reasons.”

“I don’t always know. With some people, I can’t really tell. But you? I’ve never worried about you.”

I shot him a look, and he grinned.
“Okay, after I figured out that my first impression was completely off base,
then
I didn’t worry about you.”

“I guess I just feel a little violated on your behalf. There will always be someone with an opinion, won’t there? Right or wrong, someone will always have something to say.”

“But it’s like that for everyone, isn’t it? Maybe not quite on the same scale, but I think everybody has to decide how much they let the opinions of others bother them. To some extent, at least.”

“Did you know there are people with posters of you on their walls? The last girl Blake dated had a poster of you in her apartment.”

“For real? Was she twelve?”

“I
wondered the same thing.”

He sighed and leaned back. “Does it help for me to say you get used to it? I mean, yeah. Sometimes it stinks that there are so many people who . . .
care
. But . . .” He shrugged.

“It’s white noise. Like you said before.”

He nodded. “In a perfect world, it’s white noise. Sometimes it cuts a little deeper than that.”

Thinking about him dealing with the media and crazy fans and all the extra demands of his stardom made me want to touch him
, to reach out and smooth away the worry and the stress his career brought on. He’d dropped my hand while he was talking, so I reached for his again, weaving my fingers with his.

“So you were saying earlier . . .” I hinted.

He smiled. “I was saying I thought staying away from you was actually a really stupid idea.”

“What about your album?”

“I’ve been working on my album
.”

“And?”

“And the song I started two weeks ago when you were with me is the best thing I’ve written in months. I don’t think you distract me. I think you inspire me. You make me feel like I can write the kind of music I’m really passionate about.”

“I thought you didn’t know what you wanted out of your music,” I said playfully.

He grinned. “Maybe with your help, I’m figuring it out again
.”

“So . . . you want me around so I can be your muse.”

“Not my muse. It’s more like you give me the courage to be my own kind of musician rather than just playing what everyone else tells me to.”

Now that was a role I was good with. “Did you finish the song? I want to hear it.”

“Not yet. But I’ve started two others, and they’re good. I feel really good about them.”

“That makes me happy.” I stifled a yawn. I wasn’t very good at after midnight. “What now? Have you talked to your label? Because I’m pretty sure if we spend time together in public, they’ll find out.”

“We probably ought to l
ie low until I’ve got a few songs I can send over, but I don’t want to hide. I’m trying to be true to myself here, and this is what I want.
You
are what I want.”

I’d never really considered what it would mean to hear those words. I’d danced around the idea, but it was always something that wasn’t going to happen. Even our first kiss was followed by a conversation about how we couldn’t actually be together. All it did was reaffirm the idea that he really was too good to be true. But then he wasn’t. Suddenly he was open and willing and right in front of me, and he wanted
me
.

He leaned forward and kissed me, trailing from my lips down to the corner of my jaw, the stubble of several days’
beard growth rough against my skin. I closed my eyes, my heart running a marathon,
and tried to keep my wits about me. But it wasn’t easy.

I was falling.

Hard and fast.

Come up for air, Emma.
There are people who love you and would appreciate a call every now and again.

I winced when I read Gram’s text. She was right, but I’d hardly had time to notice. I was committed to two days a week with Mom and obviously couldn’t skip out on rehearsals or lessons, but for two straight weeks, every second of free time
I’d had, I’d spent with Elliott. Even Lilly complained that I’d completely abandoned our friendship.

The only person glad about my new boyfriend distraction was probably Ava. We hadn’t spoken since our pep-rally fight, and I was almost too preoccupied to care. No, that wasn’t true. I
did care. My anger and frustration over her behavior were still simmering in the background, but Elliott was just so much fun.

I made sure to carve out time for a call to Grandma and made a batch of brownies for Lil. Otherwise, I willingly gave in to Elliott’s
pull. We played together. We laughed. We kissed. We ate takeout
from every restaurant in West Asheville.

Late Wednesday afternoon, I sat on the front porch steps waiting for him
. My last three lessons of the afternoon, all siblings who had come down with some sort of stomach virus, had cancelled, giving me an unexpected two hours of freedom, so we were walking to the burger place down the street to pick up some dinner. Elliott was on the phone with his agent, so I waited outside, enjoying the bright October sun.

My phone dinged with an incoming e-mail, and I opened it. My stomach lurched when I saw the sender. Greg McKenzie.
Again.
I opened the message with a sigh. It wasn’t the first one I’d gotten that week. Greg had sent two others and left a voice mail the day before. This message was a little shorter, but the gist was still the same. “Emma, have you gotten my messages? The board of directors met again, and they’re convinced it can’t be anyone but you. They want you back. We all do. Cleveland just isn’t the same without you. Please call me. Or call
someone.
David or Sandra . . . anyone. Don’t miss this opportunity just because you aren’t comfortable calling me. Please? Greg.”

Well, that was annoying. Fine, I hadn’t answered his e-mail, but it didn’t have anything to do with him. Kissing Greg wasn’t my proudest moment, but it wasn’t that big a deal, certainly not big enough to keep me from returning his calls. I was just preoccupied with Elliott and Mom and . . . Elliott.

Plus, what he was asking was kind of a big deal. Joining the Cleveland Orchestra for a four
-month-long European tour?

Yeah. Huge.

The front door opened behind me. “You ready to go?” Elliott
was wearing dark sunglasses and a hat. He always wore the hat when
we went out. It was a minimal disguise, but most of the time it kept
people from looking too closely.

“Yeah.” I stood and shoved my phone into my back pocket.

“You okay?” Elliott asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I just got an e-mail about symphony stuff, and I was . . . puzzling some things out.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

I didn’t really have a reason not to tell him, but I also didn’t love the idea of complicating what was happening between us. Things were
so good.
Anything that might threaten that goodness felt easier left alone. And really, it wasn’t like I could even consider going back to Cleveland, especially not if Cleveland actually meant an entirely
different continent. Not with Mom’s current condition.

“No, it’s nothing. It’s not a big deal. How’s Brian?”

“Brian is happy I’m composing. Not so happy I’m not scouting out locations for a new video.”

I had a hard time deciding if Elliott really liked his agent or just merely tolerated him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but it didn’t seem like he cared much about Elliott’s creative vision.

“He knows what sells,” Elliott had explained once. “It doesn’t matter what my creative vision is if it isn’t going to make him any money. It’s his job.”

I got that part, but there had to be a line somewhere,
and I worried Elliott was skating dangerously close to it. Things had improved—clearly I was an amazing muse—but I could still see tension while he worked. It was never just about what he wanted for his music. His
agent, his record-label people, they were always in his head.

We reached the restaurant and went inside. We weren’t staying to eat, just picking up our orders to take back home. Sometimes that was easier. Elliott’s phone rang—again—so he stepped outside
to answer it. I handed the waitress behind the register a twenty.

She looked toward the door where Elliott had left just moments
before. “Is that your boyfriend?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“I swear he looks exactly like Elliott Hart. The pianist on YouTube?
Have you ever seen him?”

“Funny, you’re not the first person to tell us that. We’ll have to go look him up.”

“For real. They could be brothers.”

“That’s crazy.” I took the bags she handed me across the counter. “Thanks!”

Elliott was waiting for me on the sidewalk. He took the bags, and we turned down Haywood, heading back toward home.

“Did you know there’s this guy who plays the piano on YouTube?” I asked him. “The waitress back there says the two of you could be brothers.”

He smiled. “That’s crazy. I wonder if he’s any good.”

“Mmm, I don’t know. I’ve seen a few videos. It’s torture what he does to classical music.”

He scoffed and held up the bags of food. “I’m pretty sure this is a cheeseburger in here that you ordered. No steak in these bags.”

“Fine, fine. You figured me out. I love cheeseburgers.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I froze, heat blazing on my cheeks. I hadn’t necessarily intended a double meaning, but it sounded like there was one. Elliott only smiled and reached for
my hand. “So what’s going on this weekend? You have any gigs?”

I shook my head. “No, just the wedding on Saturday night.”

“You’re playing a wedding?”

Oh sheesh.
“No, it’s Grayson’s wedding. I’m going as a guest.”

Elliott stopped in his tracks. “I totally forgot.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Did you find someone to go with you?”

Of course I hadn’t found someone to go with me. I’d been a little preoccupied the past couple of weeks. But I also hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask Elliott to go
again
. I
t felt weird to bring it up. We’d seen movies and gone out to dinner a few times, and we’d sat together at church the past couple of weeks, but a big fancy wedding at the Grove Park Inn felt significant. And public. And . . .
public.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to put Elliott in that position. I’d already worked out my lie to Grayson about why my boyfriend wasn’t there after all. It involved bad sushi and food poisoning and was completely plausible.

“I was just going to go by myself.”

“What? No! You can’t go to your ex-boyfriend’s wedding alone. I’m going with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” We reached our front porch, and he motioned to the chairs in the corner. “Do you want to eat out here? It’s almost warm in the sun.”

“Yeah, but it’s freezing in the shade. Let’s go inside.” The weather
had taken a chilling turn at the beginning of the week,
and my
wardrobe was still trying to catch up. I’d been perpetually cold for days. “Mine or yours?” We’d been splitting our time pretty equally between his apartment and mine. He had the better studio for music, but I had better food.

“Let’s go to my place. Oscar’s coming over in an hour.”

“How’s he doing?” I loved how much Elliott saw of Oscar. The kid was my only competition for Elliott’s time.

“He’s amazing.” He unlocked his front door. “He’s already reading music, and he’s got a great ear. Everything I say to him just clicks. Teaching him is easy.”

“I’ve got one of those. She’s got the most beautiful tone, especially for being so young. And she makes it seem so effortless. It’s fun to teach kids like that.”

“So why didn’t you mention the wedding?” Elliott asked. “I’d have been
mad had you really ended up going alone.”

“I don’t know.” I sat at his kitchen table. “Honestly I can’t believe I even asked you when I did. I hardly knew you, and I was asking you to pretend to be my boyfriend at my
old
boyfriend’s wedding. That’s crazy talk.”

Elliott pulled the takeout containers out of the bag and handed mine over. “You didn’t say anything about pretending to be your boyfriend. That’s part of the gig?”

When I explained my conversation with Grayson that led to the fabrication of my imaginary boyfriend, Elliott couldn’t stop laughing. “I think I would have ended up doing the same thing. Telling you to beg your cousin to come? That’s a low blow.”

“See? I thought so too! I acted on impulse. A fake boyfriend seemed way easier than admitting I’d be going alone.”

“But now you won’t be attending alone. You’ll have a real boyfriend with you—in the flesh and
not
pretending.”

“A real boyfriend, huh?”

He grinned. “If you’ll have me.”

Fifteen minutes later, my cell phone rang.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“Emma? I need some help. Are you busy?”

“Not at all. What do you need? What can I do?”

Elliott looked up from his food, concern on his face.

“It’s so stupid,” Mom said. “I drove myself to the
mall to get some shoes, but now that I’m finished, I’m not sure I can get back home. My hands and feet are completely numb.”

“Mom, why didn’t you ask me to go with you? I’ll be over in the morning. I could have taken you.”

“I know you could have, but I was feeling fine when I left, and . . . Emma, don’t fault me the opportunity to do something on my own.”

I hated the strain laced through her words. I understood her desire for independence, but she couldn’t have
it. Not anymore.

“I tried to call your father,” she continued, “but he’s in a late meeting, and I don’t want to pull him out of work. He’ll probably be done in an hour or so . . .”

“You can’t wait that long. I can come. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The resignation in Mom’s voice was clear. “Thank you. I’m in front of Barnes & Noble. You’ll see the car.”

I hung up the phone and looked at Elliott.

“Is everything okay?”
he asked.

“I have to go get my mom. She drove to the mall, but her symptoms have flared up, and now she can’t drive herself home.”

“Okay, I’ll go with you.”

“You can’t go with me. Oscar’s coming over.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to call Laney and reschedule.
You’ll need another driver to get your mom’s car home, right?”

I sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“It’ll be fine. Laney will understand.”

We found Mom sitting in the driver’s side of her car, her head pressed against the back of her seat and her eyes closed. I opened her door.

“Hi, Mama.”

Her eyes opened, but otherwise, she didn’t move. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

She shook her head no. I could see the pain building behind her eyes. “Everything just stopped working.” She held up her hands awkwardly. “I can’t even wrap my fingers around the steering wheel.”

“Can you stand? We’re going to try to get you into my car, okay?”

Her eyebrows went up. “We?”

“I brought Elliott with me. He’s going to follow us back to the house in your car.”

Elliott crouched down so Mom could see his face. “Hi, Sister Hill. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled through her pain. “I wondered when Emma was
going to bring you over.”

Between the two of us, Elliott and I managed to maneuver Mom from her car into mine. It seemed easier than moving her all the way around to the passenger side of her car. I buckled her in, and Elliott shut the car door, dangling Mom’s keys from his hand. “We make a good team.”

“Yeah, we do. Though I’m a little worried about who’s going to need our rescuing next. First Trav, now Mom . . .”

“If your dad calls with a flat tire tomorrow, we’ll
start to worry.” He kissed me on the cheek, then moved to Mom’s car. “I’ll follow behind you.”

“Okay. I’ll try not to speed.”

Inside the car, I reached over and squeezed my mom’s knee. “It’s going to be okay. Once you’re home and off your feet, you’ll feel better.”

“
Stupid
feet,” Mom muttered.

It wasn’t alarming that Mom was having a bad day. She’d had many bad days before. What felt alarming was seeing the balance suddenly weighing far more bad than good. It had always been the other way around, but the past few months, not so much. The potential for mobility loss had always been real and likely, but seeing it happen was more difficult than I had anticipated. If Mom moved into her wheelchair full-time, the importance of being close enough to help felt more significant than ever. At the same time, I couldn’t be there every day, not with my existing teaching schedule. If I moved in full-time and found a location for my lessons that was a little closer to Hendersonville, I’d be able to do more. I’d never given the possibility any thought, but maybe it was time.