Neither of us denies it. We’ve been kidding ourselves for years that there was nothing between us. I don’t know how she didn’t notice before that I’ve been completely enthralled by her for as long as I’ve known her.
I’ve been searching for years for this feeling of belonging, this feeling of peace, and the comfort that everything is going to be okay. I just never thought I’d get that feeling with Scarlett Voss.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: SCARLETT
I’ve spent more time at Evan’s place than I have at my own in the last few weeks. Every time I think I’m going to stay at my apartment, I end up coming back here. Mostly because I get unlimited food and sex. And also because Evan lets me watch him practice.
There’s something so attractive about watching him play piano. I already knew that, but seeing him at home, comfortable, and playing for nobody other than the two of us, it feels special.
There’s a strange intensity with the way he practices. Sometimes he’s sitting here for hours, trying to perfect a certain piece, and all I can do is watch and listen. He doesn’t yell when he gets frustrated, and sometimes I’m waiting for him to, but he’s too patient. He just sits back, takes a deep breath, and continues. If he ever gets too irritated or overwhelmed with it, he closes the piano and goes for a run, or we watch a movie together.
Honestly, it’s amazing just watching him exist. All the little things he does, all the little things that make him Evan, just make me love him even more.
“Scarlett,” Evan groans out, shaking his head. He looks up at me from where he’s sitting on his bench in front of the piano. “I don’t think I can do this.”
I tilt my head to the side. “You’re not a quitter, Evan, are you?”
He cracks his knuckles one at a time. “Well . . . no.”
I smile. “Then you can do it,” I say, moving around to sit down beside him on the bench. “Scooch. Let me show you how it’s done.”
“Be my guest,” Evan says, chuckling as he crosses his arms.
My fingers hover over the keys, and I try to remember which one is what. It’s been a while since I’ve played on a piano that didn’t have those sticky tabs with the notes on them. I play the first few keys wrong before I get the gist of what I’m doing and perform a spectacularly terrible version of ‘Heart and Soul.’
Evan tries to keep his composure, but when I start moving down the piano and freestyling, he bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay, stop. My neighbors are going to file a complaint,” he wheezes out, gripping on to my hands to stop me. “I think we’ve finally found something you’re not good at.”
I scoff, holding my chin up. “I’m just a little rusty. I stopped taking lessons in fourth grade.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” he says, shaking his head at me. I can’t help but smile at him like an idiot, and he smooths his thumbs over my knuckles. “Let me help you.”
I give him a blank look. “Are you really going to help me, or are you just going to tell me how good it is when you know it’s terrible?”
He laughs. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth.”
Evan shifts closer, pressing his leg against mine as he repositions my hands on the piano keys. His fingers glide effortlessly over mine, aligning them perfectly with the right keys. “Relax, Scar. You’re too tense.”
I try, but it’s hard to focus when he’s so close, his body warm against me as he leans in to guide my hands. His touch is gentle, deliberate, and my pulse quickens at the sensations.
“Now,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper, “press this one.”
I do, and a soft note hums through the room. I glance up at him, grinning. “Okay, that wasn’t terrible.”
“See?” he teases, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not so bad after all.”
We go through a few more keys, Evan correcting me every time I press the wrong one, but instead of getting frustrated it just makes me laugh. And the more we laugh, the less serious the lesson becomes. Before I know it, we’re playfully fighting over the keys, my hands slapping away his as he tries to take control.
“Hey, you’re ruining my song.” I giggle, pushing his shoulder when he leans in close, making me mess up on purpose.
“Scarlett, sweetheart, this isn’t a song. It’s a cry for help,” he teases.
I nudge him again, but this time he doesn’t move back. Instead, he just stares at me, his eyes boring into mine, and the laughter fades into something deeper. My heart skips a beat as the space between us disappears. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly against my skin.
“You know you’re it for me, right?”
“I know.” I smile, melting into his touch. “No one else would be willing to put up with you.”
I don’t wait for his response. I just lean in, closing the gap. Our lips meet in a soft kiss, and everything else fades away. It’s slow at first, sweet, and then it deepens as his other hand curls around my waist, pulling me closer. My fingers tangle in his hair, and the warmth of him seeps into me, making my heart race.
