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I do know some things for sure, though. I want a man who loves me so much, he won’t hesitate over asking me to marry him. It won’t be an inner debate, it’ll be a sure thing.
And if he loves me, he’ll say it with so much confidence, I won’t question it.
And when he kisses me, I’ll feel his love in his passionate embrace.
On second thought, maybe I do know what I want.
chapter five
~
I SIT ATmy baby grand, prepared to start my warm-ups, but I’m distracted by the amazing view from Ryker’s floor-to-ceiling windows.
I can hardly believe I live here, or that this could possibly be my home for a very long time.
It’s early morning and the fog surrounding the Golden Gate Bridge is still lifting. The sun is starting to rise, painting a colorful picture across the sky. It’s such a peaceful sight from Ryker’s sky-high apartment. When I’m down amongst all the traffic, hustle, and bustle, it’s crazy. It’s an escape living up here. I see why Ryker loves it so much. I’ve been here two weeks now and I enjoy living here alone far too much. Not sure what that says about me.
The penthouse is modern and updated. It doesn’t have the popular open concept everyone loves nowadays, though. The kitchen is tucked away to one side with its own breakfast table. But the large wall of windows and the balcony that extends almost the length of the penthouse makes it feel open and airy.
To my surprise, Ryker left his journal on his nightstand, a masculine leather-bound book, made to look old with roughened edges lining the pages. There was a note attached from Ryker stating he’d like me to read it, that it would help me to get to know him better. He said he didn’t want any secrets between us.
I’m touched that he took me seriously when I said I felt like I didn’t know him well. But I can’t bring myself to read his journal. It feels like an invasion of his privacy.
No more wandering thoughts. Back to work. I have six hours of practice to get through before I have to be at the San Francisco Ballet Company for afternoon classes. Most traditional ballet schools still hire live pianists to play for classes and auditions. The pay is excellent, and it keeps me doing what I love.
Then I have practice with the Marin Symphony this evening. Our show will consist of highlights from various concertos, rather than focusing on one in particular for a change. It’s been fun to concentrate on the favorite classical pieces, ones that most people recognize, even if they don’t know their names.
My favorite is Rachmaninoff’sRhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Everyone’s favorite part isn’t even until sixteen minutes into the piece. I feel like I’m cheating, but it’s nice to cut to the chase and only play the most recognized portion. I’m also playing some Brahms, Vivaldi, Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. All the classics.
I delve into my warm-ups and lose myself in the piano, disappearing into another place where only the perfect pitch and seamless notes exist. I feel the music and become one with it as it leaves my fingertips and escapes into the air, only to be captured by my ears and embraced by my heart. A continuous ebb and flow.
Two hours into my practice time, my phone rings. I’m ready for a short break, so I answer. It’s Ryker, facetiming me through messenger.
“Hi, sweetheart. You are a sight for sore eyes,” he says, smiling into the camera. “I needed to see your beautiful face and hear your sweet voice.” He’s still in his suit, sitting at the desk in his hotel room, looking mighty handsome with his brown eyes focused on me.
“Hey, Ryker.” I study him closely. “You look tired. Are you okay?”
He loosens his tie and unbuttons his top button, relief evident in his features at the action. “Just a bit exhausted. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
“What time is it there?”
“Eleven at night. If I calculated correctly, it’s eight in the morning in San Francisco and you’re right in the middle of practice. Am I right?”
“Spot on.”
He’s woken me up in the middle of the night a few times. I’m glad we’re finally figuring this out.
“How’s everything?” he asks.
“Just fine. But I have a confession.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a new love in my life.”
Silence.
“Humor, Ryker. This is humor. Go with it.”
