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Mark shook his head. “I have a date.”
Sam arched a brow. “With Abby?”
“Nope.” He smiled, not able to stop himself. “With Emily.”
“Who’s Emily?”
“The girl from the metro station.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “You found her?”
“She showed up outside Kennedy during rehearsal.” He shrugged trying to mask his excitement. “We’re having lunch...” He glanced at his watch. “... in about a half hour. I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay. But we need to get together soon to talk about next year.”
“Yeah, call me later.” Mark hurried away and hailed a cab at the curb. He wanted to freshen up before meeting Emily at the restaurant.
Twenty
Emily fistedher hands as she and Mark walked down a tree-lined sidewalk along the canal. Lunch had started off awkward, but somehow, he’d managed to steer the conversation around subjects she didn’t want to talk about. She had to admit she’d had a good time.
Now it was time for the music. She was looking forward to hearing it. Hearing music from a quality stereo was something she hadn’t done in a long time, and if nothing else, lunch was worth that. That, and spending time with Mark Pierce was a teenage dream come true. He was charming and handsome.Verycharming andveryhandsome.
As Mark unlocked the front door, she turned and watched the water travel down the narrow canal in front of old brick buildings. The homes and commercial buildings surrounding his place were historic and well cared for. She sighed. “What a beautiful setting.”
He glanced over his shoulder as the lock clicked. “Yeah. I like it.”
“How long have you lived here?”
Mark pushed open the door and motioned for her to enter the sunlit room. The brick back and side walls were old, rough, and whitewashed. The floors were wood, polished smooth. The furniture was white with heavy wooden accents.
“I bought the place from my uncle when he moved to Boston several years ago. He’d lived here since the 70s, I think. I’ve lived here off and on since I moved to America.”
She turned to study him, his dark hair covering his forehead above dark intelligent eyes. “Why don’t you have an accent?”
He laughed, dimples appearing in his lean cheeks. “My parents would’ve killed me.”
“Do you have an accent when you speak German?”
He shook his head. “I’m a native speaker of both languages.”
She smiled. “I think that would be neat... knowing two languages so well.”
“It has its benefits, I suppose. It’s what I’ve always known.”
She heard a faint buzzing and Mark reached into his pocket. “I need to take this. Make yourself at home.” He held up his phone and hurried toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “Hey, Sam...”
Emily wandered around the living room, looking at the photos of Mark and other musicians, many of whom she was familiar with.
She studied a plaque with a photo of a young Mark—fifteen or so—standing in front of an orchestra, holding his violin. “Mark Nathanial Pierce, Senior First Prize, Yehudi Menuhin International Competition for Young Violinists” was inscribed on a brass insert. Another photo showed him standing in front of the main entrance to The Juilliard School, a huge grin on his young face. She knew he’d attended that school. It was the main reason she’d auditioned for the premiere music school in the nation. Ifhewent there, it was the right place forher. She’d admired his playing so much, even before he became a superstar. Rafael had shown her his videos and she had been captivated by his talent—and his passion—from the first moment.
Why hadn’t she recognized him when she’d first seen him?
She frowned. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to. Maybe she’d pushed the musical memories so far back into her mind that she’d forced herself to forget her teenage crush.
She studied what appeared to be family photos on the wooden fireplace mantel as she listened to his voice murmuring in the kitchen. She wasn’t trying to listen, but something was soothing about the low tones.
Stop it, Emily. You’re becoming romantic. You don’t believe in romance.
