“You don’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“I’m having none of it,” he states, flatly, his face as serious as ever.
I bite the corner of my mouth. “I mean, it feels inappropriate to bother you so much when we don’t know each other well.”
“We can get to know each other anytime.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. How do I phrase it politely that I don’t want to know him, that I actually want to stay as far from him as possible?
When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I wanted to ask you about any piano concert halls in this city.”
I tilt my head. “You like piano?”
He nods.
“There’s a piano bar here, but you won’t find much variety there.” I pause, then ask, “Do you play as well?”
He shakes his head. “I only like listening.”
“Who’s your favorite pianist?”
“Ella.” He says it staring right into my eyes, like he’s telling me he knows me, or maybe it’s another one of my imaginings. But my heart skips a beat nonetheless.
I look away from him. “Oh. Since when have you been listening to her?”
“Six months.”
I nod. “Anyone else you like?”
“Only her.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I’ll send you the address. You won’t find Ella’s music there, it’s hard to replicate, but they’ll play anything else you request.”
“Will you come with me? Since Logan hates piano, I have no one to go with.” It sounds so pitiful. It’s the easiest thing to make me feel, and make me do anything.
“Why not? I love piano too,” I say with a smile, cheering him up.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
He’s talking more today, I can’t help but notice. I don’t have a problem with that; I love the sound of his voice. On second thought, I do have a problem, the more time I spend near him, the more his similarities to Salvario start working their way through me, whispering shit like he’s him.
May comes in with two bowls of Mediterranean quinoa salad on a tray. I take one.
“Please have some,” I offer as she brings the tray toward him.
He takes the bowl, and May leaves.
“I hope you like it,” I add, between bites.
He takes a bite and frowns instantly. If I’m not mistaken, a spark of raw violence flashes in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, quickly.
“Does it have nuts?” he grits out through a clenched jaw.
“Ah, no. It has no nuts, it’s the flavor replicated without them. May does that kind of magic, since I’m allergic. She wants me to experience the flavors without killing me.” I chuckle, trailing off when I see no humor on his face. His jaw is still tight, his brows knitted together, his attention turned inward as though he’s trying to work something out.
“Are you allergic too?” I prompt, pulling him out of his thoughts.
