Page 63 of Love Felt Like This

Ava blinks, then says, “Hi, B.”

“Hi, A,” Beverly echoes.

Ava’s smile twitches. “Hi, B.”

“Hey, A.”

“Hi, B.”

“She’ll do that forever if you let her,” I chime in.

Beverly grins. “So will I.” She gestures to my position at the piano. “I forgot you said you played.”

“Oh,” I say, turning back. I was distracted by Beverly and their banter. This feels more daunting. “Yeah, I do.”

I stand, but she shakes her head. “Don’t stop because of me.”

“No, I’m done for now. I play more than I should.”

“Why shouldn’t you be playing piano?” she asks, pulling her coffee up to her lips.

“Piano doesn’t win awards.”

“I could think of ten people off the top of my head that won awards because they played piano.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the guitar guy.”

She squints. “Says who?”

“It’s just a known fact.”

She hmphs. “You could win awards with piano. You win awards all the time.”

I huff out a breath of air through my nose. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“Aren’t you up for awards this year?”

“Sure, but it’s just some single for some movie.”

“Which movie?”

I shrug. “Some thriller or drama. I’m not sure.”

“See? You win so many, you don’t even know what it’s from.”

She’s teasing. Even with the marks of staying up late, she’s still sharp. I wish I could pull it together like she can.

“I guess so,” I agree.

“And it doesn’t involve a piano?”

“Have you ever listened to my music?” The moment I say it, the words sound so pretentious that I break eye contact. I’m exhausted, which only makes me more blunt than usual. I attempt a correction with “Even a little?”

I didn’t know it could come out worse.

“A little,” she says. “It’s…singer-songwriter…guitar…right?” Beverly guesses.

Jimmy would be appalled by this conversation. He’s of the mindset that you should always be selling your music. Call me a masochist, but I almost like that she’s oblivious to it all.