pianist.”
“Oh, well,” she said, hesitated, then cleared her throat. “I mean, that would be…it might be easier than violin?”
He heard the question in her tone, and he dug his fingernail into the rubber of his cane handle. “I wouldn’t say that. Some kids have a knack for instruments and some don’t. Bryce is a lively, passionate kid, but he might be better suited for the band, or maybe a sport? Something he’ll actually enjoy doing.”
The woman scoffed. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “but I do think I know my son better than you.”
Nik let himself chuckle, and he held up a hand in surrender. “Of course, I’m not saying that, but we can both agree he’s struggling.”
“Yes,” she stressed, “and I’m sure you can agree that there’s nothing wrong with my son having a little culture.”
Nik grit his teeth and tried to figure out how to end the conversation without sending her on her way to the principal to lodge a complaint against him. “It sounds like you care a lot about Bryce, Miss Peters, and I appreciate that. But violin is hard, and piano can be harder if Bryce isn’t interested in it. Piano has been my life since I was a toddler, and even I started to burn out when I was around his age. I just don’t want you to spend the cost of private lessons if it’s not something he loves.”
She was quiet a long moment, then she sighed. “Can we try it?”
He knew she wasn’t going to let up, and it wouldn’t hurt anything except his patience to take on another student, even one who didn’t ever like to sit still. “Do you have a piano at home?”
“We have a keyboard,” she told him.
“It needs to be full-sized. My private beginner students are required to practice an hour per day at minimum. I assign homework to be able to tell if they are, and I do put an end to lessons to students who aren’t serious.” It was the same boring song and dance he went through with all the parents. “My time is valuable.”
“But you work here,” she stated.
Nik’s jaw tensed. “And I have a degree from the Conservatori de Rossi, and a Master of Music from the Manhattan School of Music. I’m worth my fee, and I try not to waste my time.”
“And yet…” she started, then sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. I just want more than he’s getting out of this.”
“Have you asked him what he wants?” Nik pushed.
She scoffed again, then laughed. “He’s ten. He doesn’t know what he wants.”
Nik bristled. He heard that too often, but he was too damn tired to care right then. “I’ll send home an appointment card with Bryce on Monday, and you can call me if that time doesn’t work—but my schedule isn’t very flexible right now.”
“I appreciate it,” she started, but he waved her off as his phone beeped.
He didn’t need to hear the text to know it was Van letting him know he was on his way. “It’s no trouble. This is what I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my ride will be here soon.”
He started to step away, but her hand darted out and grabbed his elbow, startling him. He tried to brace himself on the wall, but he misjudged the distance and met air. Before he could topple over, she steadied him with another hand.
“God, I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I was just trying to help you out.”
Nik pulled away from her sharply, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I’ve been blind almost all of my life, Miss Peters, and I’ve been teaching here for years. Believe me when I say I know my way around better than most people with two good eyes. Have a good night, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
He put his cane in front of him and made sure his steps were steady. He didn’t want her to see that he’d been rattled, thrown off center. He hated it—hated—when he had the upper hand, and then with a single grab, they took the power from him.
As he reached the bus bay to wait, his cane met the low, stone benches. He came to a stop, and just before he sat, a voice piped up to his left. “Uh. Hey.” The sheer familiarity startled him into nearly falling all over again.
Nik’s fingers shook as they spasmed on his cane handle. “Adam?”
The guy gave a sheepish laugh. “Yeah. Uh…hah. I