We spoke freely of our favorite pieces and shared some of the funnier stories from rehearsals. Like the time her friend, Erin, challenged a bassist to a freestyle rap battle and wiped the floor with him. Once or twice our gazes met and held a beat too long, like we shared an intimate secret. I caught her staring openly at my face a few times, but she’d smile and I’d be utterly disarmed.
Her knowing my truth still made my skin itch, but there were perks too. I wouldn’t have to mess with the damn masks during our weekend rehearsals.
My parents clearly adored her. Of course. And even my brother turned his charm on all the way to eleven on her. They shared a witty banter that bordered on flirtation without being inappropriate. Still.
“Did you know Wes is married with two little girls?” I said.
“That’s true, I am.” Wes grinned and pulled out his phone. After a few clicks he turned the screen toward Kim. “That’s Ellie, the older one. Rose is the baby. Though, she’s almost four now.”
“Oh my goodness! Those cheeks.” Kim’s face melted as her gaze moved over the photos. “Where are they now?”
“Ellie has a stomach bug and Kelly, that’s my wife, didn’t want to bring them and risk spreading germs. They’re having a girl’s night.”
“She’s beautiful too. Looks like Wes won the lottery,” Kim said to me.
“Ha!” Wes guffawed. “I’m wounded.” His hands smacked his gut that protruded over his jeans. “I’ll have you know I was quarterback back in the day. Prom king, too.”
“Oh, I stand corrected,” she teased.
“You two will hit it off. Next week,” he said leaning to the side to slide his phone back in his pocket.
“What’s next week?” Kim asked.
Wes gestured to the meal they all currently shared. “Friday family dinner.”
“I’ll be cooking a lamb recipe,” Dad said. “I’ve been wanting to try it.”
“Y’all have dinner together every week?” Kim asked.
“Of course,” Ma answered. “Since the boys were little. It’s something we insisted on since the beginning. Every Friday.”
“If we can,” Dad said, buttering some fresh cut bread. “When Devlin travels, it’s trickier. There’re months at a time we don’t see him.”
“It’s hard,” Ma said at the same time Wes said, “It’s great.”
“Sometimes we go to the Front Porch. Or Ma and Dad’s,” I said.
“We figure, you did so much to fix up this place, we should come here as often as possible while you’re still in town,” Dad said.
“Next time,” Wes said to Kim.
“Well. I don’t know …” A blush spread over Kim’s cheeks.
“Kim plays in the symphony. She’s helping with the fall showcase,” I said, hoping Wes would take my point.
“Great,” Wes said without missing a beat. “She’ll be here a lot then.”
Kim and I exchanged another glance. She opened her mouth to protest again, but I gave a quick shake of my head. Wes wasn’t worth the effort.
Talking around a full mouth, Wes added, “Light years better than some of your exes.”
Kim frowned at her plate. Now he was just putting her on the spot. Trying to sniff out something between us.
“Wes. I already told you Kim isn’t here in that capacity.”
Kim raised her gaze to mine, and I gave her an apologetic smile.
“Stop trying to stir things up, Wes,” Ma warned.
“You’re making her uncomfortable,” Dad added. Which only made the whole thing even more uncomfortable.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Kim insisted with a blush.
“Just saying you’re better than those plastic bimbos,” Wes spoke to a frowning Kim. Back to me he said, “I’m not trying to imply that you and Kim are … less than professional.” Wes’s ears were tipped red and his eyes glossy from the wine. “I’m just trying to compliment Kim. I like her, is all,” he added.
I started to speak when Kim spoke. “I appreciate that you like me. But don’t do that.” She held his gaze, her face impassive. This look was unfamiliar. It was steady, no shame or smiles. Just focused.
“Do what?” Wes drained the rest of his wine.
“Don’t insult his exes.”
That startled me. I hadn’t expected that. I thought … I don’t know what I thought.
“His exes? They’re forgettable,” Wes said.
Ma and Dad turned their attention to me, likely trying to gauge my reaction.
“So then detail why. But you don’t need to use their appearances as a reason to dislike them. Especially don’t put them down to try and give me value. And don’t group them together. They’re individuals.”
Wes blinked at her. “I wasn’t—”
“I know you were trying to compliment me. But I also know how it feels to be only ever referred to as so-and-so’s ex. Me and a few girls. A lot of the town sees us as no more than that. But we’re all complicated, living, breathing women.” She took a deep breath before turning to my father. “Can you pass the shells?
He passed it with mild shock.
“I wasn’t trying to—” Wes tried.
“It’s not your fault. Somewhere along the line men learn that the best way to compliment a woman is to insult another. But maybe reframe your thoughts. Because if you would have told me something like, his ex liked to kick puppies, then I’d be like, ‘Yeah she does not sound awesome.’ But blanket statements about all women just end up hurting us all in the end.”
Kim was not argumentative. She wasn’t angry. In fact, she seemed totally in her element—borderline fired-up—discussing this. She scooped another shell and brought it to her plate. “Seriously, these are so amazing. It’s just ricotta, right?” Her focus went from my mother back to Wes. “All I’m saying is, think about the person before you make those comments.”
“That’s a good point. I never thought about it like that,” Ma said, wheels turning behind her eyes.
Wes’s ears were entirely red now. He was the charming one who got away with saying whatever. It wasn’t that I thought he was particularly offensive in general, but he did have a sense of humor that didn’t always vibe with my own.
“I wasn’t trying to start something here,” he said.
Finally, Kim noticed we were all staring at her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Did I upset you?” Wes asked apologetically.
Kim’s head turned to me, her hands spread out. “I’m not upset at all. I thought we were just talking? I’m just saying we, as a people, need to learn how to compliment women without making it about something as superficial and subjective as looks or by tearing down other women. But I’m not mad at all.” She smiled and shrugged.
“We don’t really talk about this sort of stuff at dinner,” Wes said.
“Oh, you should. Dinners are the best time. Especially when your wife and girls were here. Think about what they hear and pick up on. It adds up.”
“That’s true,” Ma said with a thoughtful nod.
“Ma, did you make dessert?” I asked, shooting a very clear look at Wes though I spoke to her, effectively ending the topic.
“Of course,” Ma said.
Kim’s eyes widened. “Fantastic.”
Chapter 16
Rosin is not a condiment; apply with restraint.
KIM
“Did I seem preachy?” I stopped wiping the dish to survey Devlin. It was a reflex to shutdown causal misogyny when I was comfortable around people. “I just get defensive of women being clumped into a set category. I hope I didn’t offend your family. I loved them.”
Devlin grinned with a blush. I would never get tired of having full access to his face.
“You didn’t offend. My mom seemed pleased. She asked me to have you send her the links to those TED talks.” He set down a plate and turned to me. “Wes’ll lick his wounds and be okay. He’s just used to being the guy that everybody likes. Typically,
only Kelly challenges him that way. I certainly liked it.”
We stacked up the dried dishes. I was stuffed from the stuffed shells; turned out you were what you ate. His parents and brother left after dessert and, all in all, I’d had a wonderful time. It was long dark by now and I couldn’t see out the window in the kitchen—only our reflections in the slowly fogging glass—but the wind whipped loudly through the pines, making the house whistle.
“My parents always have the most random variety of people over. Their debates are so intense. Everyone yells and talks over each other, but in a friendly way. It’s sort of like that with the SWS, too. I forget not everybody is like that,” I explained.
I had the warm glow that accompanied good company. Granted, when I came back upstairs from the encounter, I was in total freak-out mode. I had done an incredible job, if I could say so myself, of containing my internal screaming all through dinner. Now, it was just a matter of not drooling openly at his handsome face every time I looked at him.
All the years I had stared at his poster in my room … how could I have not seen it earlier? I couldn’t blame the beard, though that was a surprising new addition. I had thought Wes was handsome but after seeing them side-by-side, it was evident that Wes was the copy/pasted version of a low-quality screenshot in comparison to his brother. Devlin had matured into the sharp angles of a man’s face. His nose was strong and proud. His beard full but trimmed. Every time our gazes clashed, I thought I might scream, “Erik Jones is here!”
“It was a nice dinner,” Devlin said. “He shouldn’t have been trying to grill you anyway. He got a little taste of being put on the spot.”
“Yeah. I guess I just felt really comfortable.” I sighed and leaned my back against the kitchen counter.
He reached up to put a clean plate away. His shirt lifted to reveal a thin flash of muscular abs. I needed more time with those abs. I wanted to be able to sculpt him from marble just from my memories. Thank goodness he couldn’t hear my thoughts. I was doing my best to not be weird, but I was still shook. Every time I thought about his body … every time I looked at his flawless face … SHOOK, I say.
He’d been watching me watch him. I was being obvious, wasn’t I? Shoot. But I had to ask. I needed to understand why he hid from the world. There was no reason. Unless being too beautiful was a crime? “Devlin, I—”
“Tell me more about these dinner parties your parents have?” He turned away to wipe off the counters. “I’m envisioning the art world’s who’s-who, bottles of wine, and late-night heated debates over political and social issues.”
So, we definitely weren’t talking about it then. Okay.
“You’re not far off, actually.” I yawned. “My whole life, they’ve attracted some real characters. I’ve always been …” Nosey. “In search of knowledge. Older than my age, if that makes sense. So, I used to listen in. Finally, at one point, my parents told me if I wanted to be a part of their dinner discussions I had to learn to discuss things civilly. I started debating with adults at the age of twelve. More than once I fell asleep at the table, trying to hang.”
A soft smiled spread along Devlin’s face and it made my knees tingle. I wondered when he would let me address the elephant in the room, but I’d follow his lead for now.
“You seemed surprised by our weekly dinners. But it sounds like your parents had them too,” he said.
My heart twisted a little at that. “No. Not really. That’s why I learned to argue. It was some of the only time I got to spend with them.” His brows creased. “That sounded worse than I meant. It wasn’t that my parents ignored me. Not by a mile. But they were very much their own unit until they had me. Both in their forties and so in love.” I took a deep breath trying to find the right words. “I was this bonus gift, but not necessarily something they’d always dreamed about wanting. I guess I’m just surprised you’re so close with your parents. Like, what do y’all talk about, if it’s not politics and art?”
He scratched at his chin. “Everything. Sometimes we do talk about that sort of stuff, but mostly they just want to know what’s going on. When you know someone really well you have shared stories. That’s why the dinners are so important to them. They want to always be a part of our lives. They’re just like friends. I mean, it wasn’t always like this. And obviously there are some things we don’t discuss. We obviously don’t go into the lurid details of my sex life, but I mean, most things we talk about.”
Lurid details? “Let’s unpack that,” I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “Huh. I guess I never thought of my parents as friends. Especially not friends that I’d choose to hang out with. They’re just … family.”
“I guess,” he searched for the right words. “I don’t know what I’d do without my family.”
Swoon.
“My parents don’t know me. Not really.” It was my own fault. I kept so much from them. “They know the person they have in their head. I’m not that person anymore.” I sort of trailed off. I wasn’t sure if Devlin knew anything about my past.
“Have you tried talking to them?” he asked softly.
Now it was my turn to change the subject.
“The SWS is my family. But your family are your people,” I said.
He nodded. “When I’m with them, it feels like comfort. Like I don’t need to be ‘on.’ I don’t have to be anything for anybody. I don’t think about what I say, I just speak,” he said.
“The man behind the mask?” I asked.
He dropped my gaze. “Something like that.”
A pang of jealousy cramped my stomach.
This was all just so much to take in with Devlin. It was so far from the image he portrayed day to day at rehearsal. But I supposed the same could be said for me.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
His body went rigid. It was a minute before he answered me. “I guess I didn’t want you to see me differently.”
His confession hit home. His fears were justified. I had already started to see him differently. Internally, I had been obsessing over Erik Jones and not Devlin. I turned toward him, and he mirrored me. It was just us washing dishes, but it felt so intimate.
“You’re a gifted musician. I’m doing this because I want to help you. Nothing has changed,” I said. I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t bring it up again. I could only hope that when he felt ready, he might share more.
He nodded but didn’t add anything else. We’d been holding each other’s gaze again. All night we had been staring at each other like we were trying to figure something out.
He blinked and pushed off the counter. “I’ll make some tea.”
We chatted as he got out the kettle. I found the teacups and set them up. He told me about his struggles with his composition and how close he felt to breaking through. Hearing him talk about his music was something akin to magic. I wondered if the great artists of the past had people that they talked to like this. Did Beethoven have a partner he shared his work with over cups of tea on cold evenings?
When we finally stopped looking at each other, I said, “I guess I’ll get going.”
He pushed his empty mug away. “I’ll walk you out.”
At the door, I got unaccountably nervous reaching for my coat and ended up fumbling a bit.
“Here.” He wrapped me up in my jacket and I liked the way it felt to be buttoned up.
“Thanks.” I blinked up at him.
“It was pretty cold when my parents left.” His hands remained gripped in the collar of my coat, fussing with it to keep it closed.
“It was supposed to storm,” I responded. Were we talking about the weather or was he stalling? Maybe I just hoped he was.
He finally broke away to open the door. Without warning the wind pushed the door all the way open and out of his hands. A punch of frozen air sucked the breath from my lungs.
“Whoa,” I said.
We stared out the door. The tall pines surrounding the house swayed back and forth in the icy she
ets of rain falling sideways from the sky. Cold drops of water pelted my face, stinging my cheek and exposed hands. The porch and steps were covered in what looked frighteningly like black ice.
My palms instantly started to sweat. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone to check the roads.
“Thanks again for dinner and everything.” I took one step forward, and in a flash, I was going down.
My foot shot forward as my upper body fell back. Turns out, black ice did line the steps. Before I could even think about the sound of my head hitting the slate stones, strong arms caught me from behind.
“I got ya,” he said.
I looked up into his face and his surprised eyes stared back. He held me like a soldier kissing his bride before going off to war. His gaze moved over my face.
“I guess you’re staying here tonight.” His words warmed me from the inside out despite the assaulting rain.
I gulped.
Sleeping had never been easy for me. Actually, I slept fine if I wasn’t alone. Up until an embarrassingly late age in life I’d sneak into my parent’s room almost every night. Many mornings they’d find me curled up in a ball by the foot of their bed. After that last year at camp, it had gotten worse.
By the time the phone alarm went off the next morning, I’d gotten maybe three hours of turbulent sleep. I brushed my teeth and checked in with my parents. I got ready for my next lesson with Devlin in a fog. I missed my early morning workout, but from the scent filling my nose, I would at least get coffee before we got to work.
I had a few missed texts from Gretchen and Blithe. I quickly replied to our group chat: Can’t talk now, but have I got a story for y’all.
The texts back were not sympathetic, as expected. Patience had never been Gretchen’s strong suite.
The Treble With Men Page 11
