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He nods.
“Winters are even colder up here. More snow, too.”
“Good,” he says.
Somehow, it’s not surprising that Hudson likes it cold. I’m sure he’ll be in his element in the dead of winter when it’s freezing outside and dark by four in the afternoon.
The weather small talk feels like it’s petered out. But I stay standing next to Hudson. And he stays standing next to me. I still don’t want to walk away from him yet. Does he feel the same way?
It’s a silly thought, but it feels nice.
“What’s your favorite piece?” I ask.
He arches an eyebrow questioningly. “Piece?”
“Classical piece. You said you were into classical music.”
“Right,” he says, nodding. He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto.”
My eyebrows leap. “Really?” I exclaim. “That’s one of my favorites, too!” I sigh. “I haven’t had the opportunity to play it with a real orchestra yet, though. I’m a violinist.”
Hudson nods. “I know.”
A chill travels from the nape of my neck all the way down to my ankles. He knows? “You do?”
“Yeah. I, uh,” a surprisingly bashful look colors his face, and he lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck, making his tatted bicep pop. “I’ve seen some of your performances. On YouTube.”
My jaw almost hits the ground. “Oh. Cool.” I’m rarely at a loss for words, but hearing the grump goalie tell me he’s watched my performances has me buzzing all over, while at the same time paralyzing my tongue.
Hudson clears his throat. “Well. Have a good one.” He dips his head in a shallow nod before turning and walking away.
Once I’m finally able to get my legs to work, I find that the silliest thought is racing through my head: I hope he watched the video of the performance where I’m wearing the red dress I look really good in.
8
HUDSON
If one week ago someone told me I’d be sitting in the waiting room of a veterinarian’s office, waiting for an appointment for my new cat, reading a romance novel on my phone, I’d have told them that they were crazy.
When I got home from the library yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about Summer. I even found myself looking up that author she mentioned, Hannah Harting. Before I even realized what I was doing, I found myself downloading the Kindle app on my phone and buying a copy of her newest book.
It’s called Never Not Yours, and it’s about some girl who’s in love with her old brother’s best friend. Surprise, surprise, he’s in love with her, too. The book is every bit as cheesy as I would have imagined from that scenario.
I stayed up past midnight last night reading it.
Reading it makes me think of Summer. It makes me think of the glimmer in her eye when she talked about it yesterday. It makes me think of how it felt to sit so close to her, close enough to smell the notes of citrus from her sleek blonde hair. It makes me think of her laughter, more beautiful music than anything that ever came from an instrument, when she laughed at that stupid, lame joke I made as we stood outside the library.
That must be why I can’t stop reading this cheesy romance book. Why I’m already more than halfway through it.
The cat lets out a purr as she’s curled in my lap.
I’m kind of nervous about how she’s going to react to the vet. She’s just been holed up in my room since I brought her home out of the rain a couple days ago, with no interest in venturing out and exploring the rest of the house, so as far as I know, I’m still the only person she’s interacted with in who knows how long.
Hopefully, as long as I’m there, she’ll be cool with the vet doing what he needs to do. I just hope the vet doesn’t find anything wrong with her.
“Mr. Voss?” The vet tech, a tall girl seemingly in her mid-twenties, calls after stepping out of a door into the waiting room where I’m currently the only occupant.
The name makes the nape of my neck prickle. Mr. Voss. The title makes me think of my dad.
