Go figure I’d forget my bookbag back in the music room. It only took an eight-minute walk, then ten minutes of catching up with Scott on the coffee bean harvest this year, and a few minutes of debating what to order before deciding on the same thing I got almost every other day before I noticed a distinct lack of weight on my shoulders. Particularly the bag’s front and side pockets, which held my cash.
Maybe I was too distracted wondering who Noah was meeting with on campus.
I offered Scott my most apologetic of smiles before promising to be back before the prelunch rush and hightailing it out of there.
It was a long hike back up to the piano room, and I took my sweet time on the stairs. I’d been up and down them enough times today that it could almost be considered a workout.
That must count for something, right?
Those stupid butterflies in my stomach scrambled awake at the possibility of Noah still being in the music room. I’d just seen the guy thirty minutes ago, but God forbid the little flying creatures didn’t freak out on the off chance we crossed paths again. I may have even run a hand through my loose hair and practiced what I believed a sultry pout would look like as I hopped up onto the last landing in the stairwell.
The door to the music room was cracked open, and I bit back a smile as notes fromPachelbel’s Canonin D Majorfloated through.
I’d never heard Noah really play before—aside from a few notes he fiddled around with working on the duet—but he was nothing short of incredible.
My steps slowed in a show of reverence, and it was easy to tell he played better than professionals I’d seen on stage. The way his major notes blended so seamlessly together with the minor ones, while weaving in a technical precision I could only dream of attempting one day… It was phenomenal. I could practically hear his sophistication pouring through the piece.
I’d spent over ten years practicing almost every day, rain or shine, and I knew I didn’t sound even half as good. My insides clenched, and I couldn’t stop my feet from picking up their pace as I craved getting even a short peek of what Noah looked like as his fingers swept across the keys.
I was two steps into the room when my shoes skidded to a halt, squeaking against the linoleum floor as my world tilted on its axis.
I blinked. Then blinked again. Then blinked a third time because I had slight OCD tendencies as a child when it came to blinking. I must’ve been hallucinating or experiencing a stroke.
Either that, or Oliver Bishop was sitting on the piano bench my boney butt had been warming not even half an hour ago.
“Cheese and fries.” I let out a breath, grabbing the back of a chair for support and blinking one more time just to be safe. He hadn’t noticed my hasty entrance, and I took a moment to come to terms with the reality of the situation.
Oliver Bishop looked the very epitome of an icon. His heart-shaped pale face was almost painfully handsome. Thick honey blond hair brushed back from his eyes, looking smoother than silk.
His fingers danced across the keys like tides moving in and out from the ocean, striking me with warring pangs of jealousy and awe.
I couldn’t believe we were the same age. He played with an ease I could never achieve, shoe pressing fluidly against the pedals like they were old friends. The boy was a legend—a revered prodigy from practically out of the womb—and he was almost close enough for me to reach out and touch.
Instead, I could only stand there stupidly and gape as my mouth caught flies for much too long. It wasn’t just that this was Oliver Bishop—I mean itwas—but he also looked… different. In place of the usual tux for recitals were jeans and a T-shirt. Boots replaced polished loafers, and he was even wearing a freaking leather jacket. But I’d seen that same face splashed across dozens of magazines, and I’d recognize it anywhere.
What felt like seconds later, the smooth cadence of music regrettably stopped, and he turned toward me. A pair of pale grey eyes snared mine from across the room. The same eyes I’d seen on magazine covers.
“Oh. Hey.” Oliver Bishop’s equally smooth voice filled the quiet.
Internally, I screamed like a twelve-year-old fangirl who’d just gotten front row seats to her idol. Oliver Bishop wastalking to me.
My jaw was still working on a recovery strategy, so all I could do was stand there and gawk stupidly.
“Hello?” He stood up from the bench and caused my brain to short-circuit as he ran a hand through his silky hair.
I regularly dreamed of doing the same thing myself.
“I…” My voice trailed off into an empty abyss, and I cleared my throat of the butterflies battling each other to fly up it. I was out of my depth. “… Hi.”
“Sorry if you reserved the room,” he said. He stood so perfectly poised that my shoulders pulled back in reflex. He’d had a growth spurt since I last saw him perform, and he was almost a foot taller than me now. “I thought I’d test the tuning and get a little practice in.”
“But you’reyou,” I whispered, wide eyes locked on his slim body walking nonchalantly toward my scrawny one. I hadn’t blinked since finding him in here. Why wasn’t I blinking?
Oliver Bishop’s head cocked to the side, and one light eyebrow deviated from the other as an unsure smile formed on his surely soft lips.
“Do we know each other?”
A laugh of disbelief escaped before I could stop it, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I knowyou.”
