The Treble With Men (Scorned Women's Society #2) - Piper Sheldon Page 0,25
you’ve thought of everything.” Her gaze then moved down to her pajamas. “Can I have some coffee? Maybe wake up fully and process?”
“There’s some in the kitchen. I don’t have any other clothes to offer you except for what you wore last night. Or my own.”
She swallowed. “I can change into what I wore last night.”
“You have ten minutes, and then we start.” It helped me focus to assume the role as conductor.
“Very good idea, Maestro.” She smiled cheekily at me, ignoring my instructions. “We should both put on clothes first.”
My scarf hid the smile she coaxed out of me. Maybe I wouldn’t get dressed just to mess with her. But no. This was business, and though it did seem like September was a long way off, I was anxious to get started.
“Like that would stop you from undressing me with your eyes.” The joke slipped out. Or at least I hoped she’d see it as a joke.
Thankfully, she chewed her cheek to keep from smiling. “I don’t suppose you could show me where the kitchen is? Or how to get out of this room even? I feel like I walked a mile to get here.”
“This room is far underground. It stays cool year-round that way, which protects the instruments.” I could go into the acoustics and sound proofing as well, or how it had taken me years of fighting for approval from the Green Valley council to build it. I needed a place to always come home to—a sanctuary—and this was it. It was something I was extraordinarily fond of. I wished I could have seen her face upon walking in here.
“Let’s go.” I held her arm and led her down from the platform without thought. So much for my short-lived vow to not touch her.
Twenty minutes later, not ten, she all but skipped happily back into the room. I had gotten dressed after all and she was in her clothes from last night. She had a surprising amount of pep. She smelled faintly of wintergreen and her hair was no longer ruffled. The haziness in her eyes had been replaced with intense focus. Again, this was not the Christine of the performance space. She sat in the chair where I had set up her stand and music, but had left her cello in its case. Unpacking that felt too personal.
She unsnapped her case and set up her instrument, and as she did, she slipped back into the professional persona that I was most familiar with. Her posture went rigid and her face smoothed with cool focus. Once her bow was tightened and she sat in a ready position, I struck a note on the piano and she tuned her instrument to it. All this was done with the unspoken comfort of people familiar with each other.
“I’ll play through what I have written.”
I flexed my fingers, feeling a slight rush of nerves. I began to play for her. Obviously, it was not the full symphonic arrangement; just the piano sonata so we could rehearse together. It was a little rough around the edges still and I wasn’t happy with the third movement. It felt lacking. That was where her solo would be, and while I knew I was close, I wasn’t there yet. As I played, I shot glances at her to gauge her reaction. Artists had fragile egos that bruised easily. She held her bow, slack in one hand, leaning forward to rest her chin on her instrument as she listened. With every glance, I noticed her gaze growing more distant. Eventually she closed her eyes and subtly rocked to the melody as though it couldn’t be helped.
By the time I played the last note she sighed wistfully. “That’s beautiful.”
It took her a minute to come back into her head, I could see the moment she did. She blinked rapidly and sat up straighter. “Just lovely.”
I cleared my throat. “Let’s start at page eight, where your solo, I mean the cello solo, begins.” I glanced over to see if she’d caught my error, but she was busy flipping the pages of her music. “The intro is pretty standard.”
She waited for my cue, then began. We played like this for a few hours. Every once in a while, I’d stop her to listen to me play a specific part at half tempo until she could get it correctly. When the muscles in my neck protested from constantly looking at her and her cheeks grew pale, I stood.