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“You said you’d practiced.” He shifted the gear stick.
“Yeah. I sucked, didn’t I?” I deflated in my seat.
“What?” he blurted. “No. I thought you did well. Big improvement on last week.”
“I still fluffed—”
“It’s early days yet. The concert isn’t until Easter.”
“Don’t be nice. I was crap—”
“Callie. I wasn’t criticizing you.” He slammed the brake on at the lights. “You practice at home, yes?”
“Yes. Not ideal. Neighbors and—”
The man was determined to keep interrupting me. “I have no neighbors. Come to mine and we’ll run through the solo together.”
The car lurched forward, as did my pulse. It went from a nervous, irritated rate to ballistic in a split second. “Yours…? When…?” I stammered.
“Saturday morning?” he suggested.
Saturday. Shit. Valentine’s Day. “I can’t. I’m working. It’s a big day for florists.”
“Okay, Sunday.”
I swallowed. “Morning?”
“Eleven. I’ll make you lunch.”
It sounded like a date. Did I want a date with Stefan? My frazzled brain, tired from playing, now struggled to assimilate his intentions. “Food?”
“Yes, I take it you like to eat.” He turned to me for a second and he probably caught a brief glimpse of the knotted creases forming on my forehead.
How did he do it? Make me lose my tongue and all sense of self-assurance. I folded my arms across my chest, letting Nettie slip down my lap slightly. “Why is it that every time I sit in this car I come across like a wet blanket? Yes, of course I eat. What I want to know is why the hell would you take one member of an orchestra back to your house for individual lessons? Are you a music teacher?”
“Yes, as it happens. I prefer to teach vocal, not instruments. I occasionally teach the piano. My true calling is composing, but I don’t make a living from it at the moment. So, I teach at my studio apartment.” He entered my road, slowing down to a snail’s pace.
Back to flummoxed. “Oh. I don’t need lessons. I mean, I can’t afford—”
“I’m not asking you for money.” He pulled up outside my house. “Callie, would you do me the honor of coming to my place and playing the clarinet for me, because I think you have promise and I like hearing you play. Then I will cook lunch and we can chat and get to know each other.”
“A date?” I pushed.
“If you think it’s a date, then be my guest. I don’t do dates, not like romantic venues and dinners. I would like to help you. It’s your confidence that lets you down.”
I wanted to scowl, show some indignation, but he was right. My confidence failed me on the big occasions. Probably, deep down, it was why I chickened out of auditioning for music colleges. I chewed my lip. “How do I get to yours?”
“I’ll pick you up. Just before eleven.”
The window began to mist up again. We were shuttered behind steamed glass, and outside the darkness was impenetrable even under the nearby street light.
“All right. Sunday.”
Stefan smiled. A broad grin, one I’d not seen on his face yet. “Great. I’m really looking forward to it.”
I believed him. Who wouldn’t? His handsome face had captured me. I had the feeling a man was back in my life.
* * * *
