“It doesn’t matter. Whatever the end of that sentence is, the answer is no.” He used his crooked finger under her chin to tilt her face up to his, but she kept her gaze turned down. “Min, look at me,” he said, his voice gruff again. She took a breath before meeting his eyes. “The only thing that means is you haven’t been with the right person yet.”
The air hummed between them. It would be so easy to kiss him…
“Whoever hurt you,” he continued in a low voice. “You deserve better. You deserve someone who will love you with everything they have.”
Hope flared inside her – the small flame that had been growing steadily since he’d dropped his guard on the rooftop of Central Park. His words stoked the flame into a blaze that threatened to consume everything in its path. She scolded herself.Of course he isn’t talking about me. Of course he’s just making a general statement.But the way his eyes darkened, the way his gaze caressed her like a physical touch – what if he wasn’t speaking in abstractions?
“So do you,” she whispered. His eyes flared in surprise.
A passing pedestrian bumped into her, jostling her away from his touch and breaking the moment. He cleared his throat and they resumed their walk back to the boarding house as if they hadn’t almost devoured each other in the middle of a crowded street.
“Have you read Neruda?” Dr. Jacobs asked after a bit.
She shook her head.
He pressed his hand to his heart, staggering as though she’d physically wounded him. With a smile and a wink, he said, “We’ll have to change that.”
∞∞∞
An hour before curtain. Liam should have been in the church with the cast, overseeing their warmups and showing a steady and calm presence. Instead, he stood just to the side of the front steps, leaning against the stone exterior as he listened to the dean rail at him through the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. The old man had started speaking slower. That was never a good sign.
“I understand, sir.”
“I’m not sure you do, son. This isn’t just your ass on the line here.”
He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the rising frustration. He knew the dean was under a lot of pressure. The music department was his little pet project, something the President indulged as long as the dean ensured prestigious press coverage and a steady stream of donations from wealthy alumni. But apparently the President had received a phone call from one such wealthy alum that had left him less than thrilled at the moment – which meant the dean was irate.
“You will make that woman fall in line,” the dean hissed.
“Tammy is a very talented stage director. If she believes that a modern opera –”
“Enough,” the dean said, cutting Liam off. “You will stage a classic as the Dietrichs requested or it will be the end of your program before you even get it off the ground.”
He sighed. “I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do.”
The line went dead and Liam shoved the phone in his pocket. “Fuck!” he barked, pressing his fingertips into his closed eyes.
“Dr. Jacobs?”
He froze at Min’s voice, the halting words as if she wasn’t sure she should say anything. The tenderness, as if she couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t supposed to be out here – she was supposed to be inside with the rest of the cast.
He suddenly felt so tired. He leaned his head back against the wall behind him again. “I’m fine, Min,” he said, but he knew everything about it – his voice, his posture – betrayed him.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” she repeated his words from the other day back to him.
A wry smile stole across his face as he opened his eyes to meet her gaze. She was a vision. Her hair was twisted up in some swoopy updo that showcased the long line of her neck. The royal blue gown she wore lovingly hugged every curve and made her eyes seem to shine even brighter than usual. What he wouldn’t give to lose himself in her arms just then, to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. Which was the last thing he should do. Getting closer to Min would only further jeopardize his budding program.
“Just university politics.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step closer.
He kicked a piece of gravel with the toe of his shoe and drew another deep breath. “It’s nothing new,” he grumbled, mostly to himself. He’d grown up in the world of classical music politics – and academia was no different. He was just so tired of it. All he wanted was to make his music in peace, to prove to himself that he could do all the things his father never had, that he could make a name for himself in this business without selling his soul.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Min asked, inching nearer.
He glanced up at her with a sad smile he hoped hid how conflicted he felt. But he never did a great job at hiding himself from Min. “You should be getting ready, not listening to me complain.”
