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“Satisfied?”
“Very.”
He stood in one fluid motion, the elegance of the movement contrasted by his sheer masculinity. He crossed to her, and her breath caught in her chest as he reached down and lifted her hand, bow still in hand, to his lips.
“Thank you, Evolet.”
The simple words sliced through her, cutting through her defenses and jabbing straight at her heart. Before she could summon a reply, he turned from her.
“Music has never been a focus of mine. But I’ve always been impressed by musicians and the talent it takes to play.”
Conversation. He was making casual conversation, she realized dully.
“Um...with practice, it’s not too hard.” She forced herself to stay calm, to not succumb to her own desire, nor her rising anger, as she stood. “I maintain that anyone who has an interest can become a musician.”
“I flunked piano lessons at the age of seven. Spectacularly enough that my parents never bothered to book me another tutor again.”
She heard the smile in his voice. The simple glimpse into his past cooled some of her irritation and stirred her sympathy. The one happy memory she had of her father was of a deep, booming laugh and being tossed up toward the sun on a warm summer day. The memories she had of her mother mostly involved a pale figure draped across a couch or passed out on the floor with an empty bottle nearby.
To have primarily good thoughts of one’s parents, even in loss, was a gift most took for granted.
“Let me show you.”
He turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “Excuse me?”
She gestured toward the empty chair. “I’ll give you a quick lesson before I go.”
“No.”
She arched a brow. “Ah. That bad, huh?”
“My mother was an eternal optimist. Even she believed I was a lost cause.”
“I think you’re scared.”
It was fun to have both the upper hand in finally unsettling him as much as he did her and causing a flicker of irritation to make his eyes narrow.
“I am not scared. Just practical.”
“Sounds like a synonym for a scaredy-cat to me.” She shrugged and started to reach for her case. “No matter. You’re probably right. You would have played terribly.”
He stalked across the room. She bit back a smile as he sat, his shoulders tense, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees.
“Five minutes. Show me.”
“Not sure how much I can actually teach you in five minutes, but okay.”
She helped him hold the cello and the bow, adjusting for his significantly larger height.
“I thought you didn’t let anyone else touch your cello.”
“I don’t let anyone else carry my cello,” she corrected him as she grasped his hand around the bow. “There’s a world of difference between someone flinging it around like a duffel bag and teaching someone how to handle it respectfully. I give lessons in the park sometimes after I finish practicing.”
“You teach?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I can be quite patient and charming when I wish.”
He grumbled something under his breath.
