‘No.’
‘You just couldn’t wait one more second to see me?’
‘Something like that.’
Say what you like, Lexi thinks, you’ve got to admire a man who knows what he wants.
He motions with his hand for the coffee, and she hands it over. Their hands touch, as always, but this time there’s no mistaking it’s deliberate. The electricity feels so strong that Lexi almost expects to be able to see it.
They share the lift with a bunch of a strangers on the way up, which is probably just as well, or Lexi might be tempted to make use of the emergency stop button. But once they’re in his flat, she feels suddenly shy. In her head, she’s pinning him against the door and kissing him till he can’t breathe. But, in reality, she’s standing there, immobile, in all her British awkwardness.
‘So,’ he says, gulping down the coffee he apparently didn’t want. ‘You’re sure this isn’t asorry I’m late, I didn’t want to comesituation?’
Lexi stifles a giggle, like a sixteen-year-old. ‘Oh no, I definitely wanted to come. You’re the one who put a stop to that kind of behaviour last time, remember?’
Sam laughs, through his nose. Nobody ever completely grows out of being a teenager.
‘All in good time,’ he says. ‘In good, good time.’
He looks her slowly up and down. She loves the way he looks at her hungrily, and she’s also frustrated that he’s making her wait. Love and frustration: it seems like they’ll coexist forever when it comes to the two of them. If it’s not too soon to start thinking about forever. Or, come to that, about love.
Out of habit, and maybe to tease him a little, Lexi sits on the piano stool and finds middle C with her thumb. She plays a C major scale with her right hand. And, out of habit, Sam walks over to stand next to her.
‘Nice job,’ he says. ‘Want to try F major?’
They’d learned that one in the previous lesson. She remembers it being different from the other scales because instead of crossing your thumb under the rest of your hand after the third note, you do it after the fourth, so that you’re not playing a black note with your thumb, because that’s a little awkward. She does it seamlessly: F-G-A-B flat, thumb cross, C-D-E-F, and then back down again, without the clunky pause of beginners in the middle when she has to reposition her hand.
‘I’m impressed,’ he says.
This gives her more pleasure than maybe it should. It’s only an F major scale. ‘Thank you.’ She beams up at him.
‘Have you been practising?’
He eyes her suspiciously, as if practice would be a bad thing. Or at least a bad thing to keep from him.
Lexi shakes her head. ‘Only in my thoughts.’
And it’s true: it’s contagious, his love of piano. She finds herself wanting to do well, wanting to learn. She can see why the ladies of Jane Austen’s time got so into it: they didn’t get to study much, and this is a great way to stretch your mind, and feel like you’re accomplishing something. Often, at her desk, she finds herself practising the movements of the different scales instead of drumming her fingers, as she used to.
‘Oh really? What else have you been practising in your thoughts?’
Lexi swallows the wrong way and coughs, which buys her a distraction and time as Sam fetches her a glass of water. The truth is, she and her fingers have become good friends over the last few weeks, and not just for piano playing.
She takes a long sip of water and eventually manages to get a coherent sentence out. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘I’m hoping you’ll show me.’
She looks down at her fingers: her left hand resting on her lap, her right hand on the keyboard. Much as she’s excited to learn D major today, she could be persuaded to spend their time together differently.
‘Right now?’
Sam laughs. It’s his turn to tease her. ‘No. Dinner first, remember?’
‘What is this obsession with dinner?’
‘I’m a gentleman. I like to do things the right way.’
‘Sure.’
