Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Get it together, Nicole.
I let my hands fall away from the keys and sit there with them in my lap, eyes closed, while I tell myself the same thing I've been telling myself since freshman year.
You can do this, Nicole. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this.
The bench is hard under me, the keys cold under my fingers, and my right thumb is throbbing where I keep hitting the same wrong note.
But even so.
I lift my hands and start the bridge again.
This time, whatever switch needed to flip in my head finally flips, and the notes go where they're supposed to go, and I let it carry me through to the end of the piece without thinking about anything else.
Then I look up to gather my sheet music, and—
Huh?
Is that a guy seated at the back?
Or something that looks like one?
The recital hall has rows of tiered seats sloping up toward the back, and he's at the very top, where the stage lights stop reaching.
“Hello?”
If he answers, he’s real. If he doesn’t, he might not be real, and that means I might be so exhausted I’ve started seeing things—
Oh.
He’s risen to his feet.
I guess he’s real then, but—
“Who let you in?”
And how long has he been there, watching and listening me butcher the songs I’ve supposed to have perfected by now?
“How long have you been there?”
“Since Pachelbel.”
That was an hour ago!
How did I not notice him coming in?
"You play like you're all in a world of your own."
I bite my lip hard to keep myself from showing any reaction. It’s almost as if he’s read my mind, and even more incomprehensibly, he seems to understand exactly how I feel when I’m playing. How is that possible when he’s a complete stranger while Sandy and I have been dating for years, and yet he still—
Don't compare, Nicole.
I'm already shooing the horrible thought away even before my conscience is done rebuking me. Comparisons lead to discontentment. That's one of the first things I learned since I found out that my mom...
My mom who killed herself.
I start shoving my things back into my bag the moment I find myself thinking of...that.
Sheet music. Pencil. And—wait, where’s my phone? It should be around here—
"Is everything okay?"
I nearly jump back, once again so lost in my own world, only this time it’s not the good kind to be lost in, that I didn’t notice him approaching until he’s right there next to me, standing so close that his words drift into my ear like something terribly beautiful forbidden.
“Um, yeah, everything’s fine.”
I mutter the words without looking up.
"If you're leaving because of me—"
I shake my head. "It's not you."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Then go out on a date with me."
For a full second, my brain just doesn't process the sentence.
Did he just—
I can’t believe he just—
Or maybe I just heard him wrong?
I finally look up and look at him without really seeing him. Tall. Dark-haired. And...not Sandy. That’s all that matters. He’s not Sandy, and since he seems to be waiting for an answer still—
I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I'm already dating someone."
And then I force myself to turn and walk away—
Aargh!
I turn back, grab my bag, and then I turn to really walk away for good this time, never mind if my exit isn’t as grand as it’s supposed to be.
You’re so bad at this, Nics!
I can feel him still staring at me, but I tell myself not to fall for it. Stranger danger is real, and if he’s asking me out when he doesn’t know me at all, then he’s not to be trusted.
The doors click shut behind me, and I find myself gripping the strap of my bag so, so tightly that my knuckles start turning white.
I’m not the most popular girl in college, and I may be miles away from home, but rumors have a way of spreading like an uncontainable virus. The uglier the rumors are, the wider the spread, and that’s why...
I’m sure that guy has heard about Adele, too, and even though no one’s ever said it to my face—
I know what they're thinking.
That it's only a matter of time before I give in and follow in my mother's footsteps.
Chapter Thirteen
“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT.”
I press my hands over my mouth as I say it, half-sitting up in a guestroom bed that’s so luxurious it can double as a fancy suite in a fancy hotel. My gaze flies up to Mr. Everford, who’s standing at the foot of the bed with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and even though I really do remember now—
How is that possible?
How can the stranger and Mr. Everford be one and the same person?
“I understand,” he says mockingly. “I must’ve looked a lot differently back then.”
I can only wince at his words, and I can’t even say he’s being unreasonable because he’s not. I know what this looks like, but he...he doesn’t understand.