Living Out Loud

by Staci Hart

  “And you think that should be totally clear after one date?”

  “It wasn’t a date. And yes, it should. If two people are really vibing, isn’t it totally obvious? There’s no checking in with yourself to consider if you might have feelings for them. I’ve read about a trillion romance novels, and pretty much every one of them says so.”

  “Since when should you use romance novels to replace life experiences?”

  “Since it’s my only relationship experience at this point, and romance novels are gospel,” I said, impassioned. “They’re about overcoming, about learning what it means to love and to trust. They show us the very best we can expect from someone we love and sometimes the very worst. Every page, every word is powered entirely by love. How could I not have learned from them?”

  “Well,” she said, ignoring my argument, “some people expect to get to know someone before deciding we love them.”

  “Decide? There’s no deciding. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

  She frowned. “Don’t you think people fall in love after a time? Surely you believe that not everyone falls in love at first sight, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Like people like you, people who weigh things out and make pros and cons lists and wait.”

  “So, sensible people.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  She made a noise that sounded like a laugh and a scoff at the same time.

  “But I am ruled by sensibility, by feeling. I trust my instinct, and my instinct has no clear opinion on Greg. So that’s my answer.”

  Elle watched me with a sadness in her eyes, but she smiled. “Well, I’m glad you had such a wonderful day. I can’t wait to hear more. Tomorrow.”

  I kissed her forehead. “I love you. Go back to sleep.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  9

  Wishes And Dreams

  Annie

  I woke the next morning after sleeping like I was dead, feeling refreshed, if not a little foot-sore and jelly-legged. Everyone was awake when I exited my room, and I found Elle, who helped me wash my tattoo and rub on a little salve. But as I dressed and got ready for work, I found myself musing over the day before.

  It really had contained its own magic, something simple and subtle, something I hadn’t even really noticed or acknowledged until it was almost over.

  Greg was a good friend, the best kind of friend. The kind you could spend a whole day with and never lack for conversation. The kind you’d lose track of a whole stack of hours with.

  I tried not to think about the notion that he liked me as more than a friend. I also tried not to consider that I might like him as more than a friend too.

  Like I’d told my sister—when you know, you know. And I didn’t, which could only mean that it was all wrong for the romantic kind of relationship. On top of the fact that he had become my real and true friend, a friend I didn’t want to do without.

  I could do without kissing Greg, I told myself, but I couldn’t do without his companionship.

  A little voice in my head pointed out that I hadn’t ever kissed anyone, so of course I could keep doing without it.

  True as that might be, I’d said my piece and counted to three. Which was to say that I’d decided, and once I decided something, I’d be hard pressed to change my mind. It was a stubborn streak that had run in my family for at least three generations.

  I headed out of my room and into the kitchen that Sunday morning. The cook had set up a whole spread—eggs and bacon, pastries and oatmeal, breakfast potatoes and tortillas and salsa—and I loaded a plate as I greeted everyone.

  They sat at the table, eating without any ceremony, so I took a seat and tucked in.

  “I hope you had a nice time yesterday, Annie,” Susan started, smiling. “It was about time you saw the city for yourself.”

  “Oh, it was great,” I said between bites. “Did y’all have a good day yesterday?”

  “It was lovely, thank you. Oh!” she sang. “John. John!” She whacked his arm when he hadn’t looked up from his paper.

  “Hmm?”

  “Tell Annie about lunch yesterday,” she said with great intention.

  He shook his paper out and folded it closed, a smile brightening his face. “Ah, lunch.” He set the folded paper on the table and sat back in his chair, a little askew as he crossed his legs. “An old friend of mine, Kurt Dobson, and I had lunch yesterday. He’s been the head of the board of trustees at Juilliard for…oh, what would you say, Susan? Ten years?”

  “Twelve, I think.”

  He nodded. “Anyway, Valentin Fabre gives money to a large number of causes, including substantial annual donations to Juilliard. And while we were eating, I mentioned you to Kurt.”

  Numbness spread down my arms and across my palms, trickling down each finger. My fork hung suspended over my plate, loaded with a salsa-slathered bite of eggs.

  “You did?” I breathed.

  “I did. Your mother told me that by the time you graduated, you’d outgrown your piano teacher by a few years, that she was having a hard time finding music that challenged you, and it got me thinking. Kurt said the applications for next year were due December first, but he was interested in hearing what you could do and would make an exception, if you were interested.”

  Thank God he kept talking because I couldn’t speak.

  “He said for you to go to the website and take a look at the prescreening requirements. If you can get him everything he needs by Friday, he’ll consider you for auditions.”

  “I…how…”

  He waited for me to finish, but I couldn’t, my thoughts moving too fast for my mouth to catch one and speak it.

  Mama looked just as stunned as I did.

  But it was Elle who spoke. “Uncle John, that is an incredible opportunity. But…” She paused, her cheeks flushing, back straight. “We…we don’t really have the means to pay for Juilliard. Do they…do they offer scholarships?”

  John chuckled at that. “If Annie is accepted, her tuition will be covered. Don’t worry.”

  I dropped my fork and drew a startled breath.

  Mama finally found her voice. “John, we can’t accept that—it’s too much. Too generous. You’ve already done so much for us.”

  “Em, listen,” he said, his face soft but his voice was insistent. “The vast majority of my money is yours as much as it is mine. Please, let me help. I already donate to the school, why can’t I sponsor a scholarship? I can’t think of a more worthy cause.”

  “I…I just don’t know,” Mama said.

  Juilliard, my mind whispered. Could I even do it? Could I even make it past the first round of auditions? I thought the chances were beyond slim. I wasn’t that good.

  Was I?

  I had outgrown my tutor, and she had found difficulty to challenge me. I mean, there were things that were hard, believe me, but I mastered everything she threw at me, including Chopin’s Études, a few that I even memorized. We made a game of it; she would bring me a piece and give me a week to master it, and if I did, she’d drop a quarter into a jar she kept on her mantel. When I filled it up, we would go out to dinner together.

  I’d never missed a single week, and I’d earned dozens of dinners.

  The bigger truth was that this was an opportunity I wanted. It was everything I’d ever wanted but never thought I could have.

  There was nothing to do other than look my uncle in the eye and say, “I want to try.”

  He smiled broadly. “I thought you might—Emily, don’t look at me like that. I can give this to her. I can give her something that could change her life. Won’t you let me?”

  After a long, tearful look, she conceded with a nod. “Of course I will,” she said softly. “Thank you, John.”

  I pushed back from the table and stood, hurrying over to him to give him a hug swiftly enough to send a little oof out of him just ahead of a chuckle.

  “Thank you isn’t enough,” I said quietly.


  He patted my back. “Oh, it really is nothing. I only had lunch with a friend. The rest is up to you.”

  I straightened up and smiled. “Then I’ll do my very best.”

  “And I’m quite sure that will be more than enough.”

  Everyone broke out in chatter, and Aunt Susan pulled up the prescreening requirements on her phone, reading them off with her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. I’d have to submit a résumé and write an essay, submit my transcripts as well as academic referrals, and record a video of myself performing three pieces by memory, using a provided list as a guideline.

  My confidence wavered when I heard that list.

  The two sections of required selections were at the highest level—I didn’t know why I was surprised; it was Juilliard after all—chosen to show skill and speed, timing and movement, emotion and feeling. And the third was a piece of choice from a list of composers.

  I mentally flipped through the pieces I already had in my toolbox; there wasn’t time to learn anything new, not at that skill level. And, preoccupied with the task, I waved goodbye to my family and headed downstairs.

  Aunt Susan had called the driver, who was waiting for me at the curb, but I sent him on. Armed with several bottles of water, my notebook, an hour to kill, and the good fortune of a beautiful day, I decided to walk, to think, to plan.

  I set off up Fifth, turning into the park. I had plenty of time and decided to kill it by taking the long way around the top of the reservoir. Every ten minutes or so, I’d stop at a bench and open my notebook, my fingers tapping my leg as I thought through the pieces in my repertoire, my gaze roaming my surroundings and the chilly breeze cooling my skin, damp from exertion.

  By the time I reached the reservoir, I’d chosen my first piece—Chopin’s Études Op. 20, No. 6—and my sonata—Haydn, Hob 23—and I was trying to decide on my third piece as I stood at the rail, looking over the length of the lake at Midtown, the buildings in miniature at that distance.

  It started as a squeezing in my chest so complete that there was no point of origin. My breath slipped away, and I glanced down at my hands. My nail beds looked as if they’d been smudged with ink. And I couldn’t call out with empty lungs, couldn’t do anything but reach for the rail as darkness crept into my vision like tendrils of smoke.

  My knees gave out, and I sank to the ground, blinking out of consciousness.

  10

  White Knight

  Annie

  His voice came from what seemed like a long way away. An immeasurable amount of time had passed under me like a river. A moan crept up my throat. My lashes fluttered. And I opened my eyes to find him.

  His hair was as dark as midnight, eyes blue and crystalline, his nose elegant and lips wide, dark brows drawn together with concern. I rested easily in his lap, surrounded by him, more shocked at the sight and smell and sensation of him than that I’d fainted in the middle of the park.

  “Oh, thank God you’re awake. Are you all right? We were about to call an ambulance.”

  “No, no. I’m okay.” I would have sat up to prove it, but honestly, I didn’t want the moment to end.

  His eyes searched my face, stopping on my lips. He brushed the swell of my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Your lips…”

  “Yes?” I breathed.

  “They’re a little blue. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I sighed and finally sat, running through an assessment of my body. Heart was beating steadier than usual and with no pressure or pain or tightness in my lungs. “Yes, I’m sure. Thank you.”

  A few people had gathered around, but they seemed satisfied and went on their way. But the boy still sat at my side, angling toward me.

  “Man, that was scary. I’ve never seen somebody faint before,” he said, dragging his fingers through what had to be the most luscious hair I’d ever seen in my life.

  “I’m sorry. I…I have a heart condition that sometimes likes to make itself known.”

  He chuckled. “Does it always drop you like a bag of hammers?”

  I found myself chuckling back. “No, not usually. Thank you. For stopping and all.”

  At that, he smiled, and it almost blinded me with its brilliance.

  “I’ve never rescued anyone before. Not that I did much,” he admitted a little sheepishly.

  It was adorable.

  “Well, I’ve never been rescued, so it was a first time for both of us.”

  I noticed then that we were still sitting in the walkway and moved to stand, but he reached for my hand, helping me up, and once we were standing, he didn’t let my hand go.

  “I’m Will,” he said with his eyes locked on mine and his lips smiling in a way that made my insides feel effervescent.

  “I’m Annie.”

  He bowed dramatically. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam.”

  I giggled, offering a curtsy as he kissed my hand. “Why, thank you, good sir.”

  “Allow me to call on you tonight to inquire after your health. Prithee, would you honor me with your phone number?”

  I laughed, but a crackling fire burned in my chest, the cold in my hands and face dissipating to make way for a flush that I felt through my whole body like a fever. “That would be most agreeable.”

  He smiled and pulled my arm into the crook of his elbow. “Can I walk with you?”

  “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

  With a smirk, he said, “Doesn’t matter. I think I’d follow you anywhere.”

  And my only thought was that I’d died and gone to heaven after all.

  We’d taken two steps when I wobbled, and when he caught me, I was tipped in his arms, looking up at him with the cloudless blue sky stretching off in every direction.

  “Hold on to my neck,” he said with a smile.

  And when I did, he scooped me up like a princess.

  “Oh!” I breathed, cradled in his arms, the closeness of him overwhelming. “You don’t have to do that. I can walk.”

  “I’m sure you can, but this is so much better, isn’t it?”

  And I had to admit that it absolutely was.

  Greg

  Annie was the last thing I’d thought about when I fell asleep last night and the first thing I’d thought of this morning when I woke. And all I wanted to do when I saw her was ask her on a date—a real date. No more ignoring my feelings, no more wondering if she felt the same.

  I’d find out for sure.

  Lying in bed, trying to sleep, that little photo of her on the steps of The Met sitting on my nightstand, I had wished that I’d told her how I felt. I almost had—the words were on the tip of my tongue—but the truth was that I wasn’t sure how she felt, and the fear of rejection had stopped me.

  But not today, I told myself as I kept busy, waiting for her to show up to work, nervous as all hell.

  Because I knew how I felt and what I wanted, but what she wanted was a mystery to me. I’d dissected every moment, looking for signals. But Annie didn’t know how to send or receive signals. She really might not consider me as anything but a friend, and if that were the case, things were about to get real weird between us.

  The thought made me feel a little ill, but I bolstered myself with faith and hope.

  But the second she walked through the door, my hope drained out of me like soggy leaves out of a rain gutter.

  Her face was alight, flushed from either the cold or the proximity of the man whose arm she clung to. His eyes were on her face, his expression thick with wonder and maybe even a touch of adoration.

  And if it had been anyone but him, I might have found a way to accept it.

  Will Bailey was a version of the devil just as much as Jacques Poosteau, but the difference was that Will appeared harmless. No one would have questioned Jacques’s desire to separate your face from the rest of you. And of the two, Will was easily the more dangerous.

  When Annie approached the bar, the look of gladness and trust and complete joy on he
r face was a bucket of ice on the dying embers of my hope.

  “Greg!” she called as she walked toward me where I gripped the edge of the bar hard enough to turn my fingers white.

  Will met my eyes, his expression shifting to something colder, more calculated than he’d ever show Annie, not until he chewed her up and spit her out.

  “Hey, Annie,” I said, hoping I sounded casual and cool as my heart set fire in my ribs.

  “Oh my God, you will not believe what happened.”

  She burst into the story, her face open as a daisy and lips smiling like a bubbling spring, and I listened, that flaming organ in my chest sinking with every word.

  Because one thing was painfully clear: I had missed my chance.

  Discomfort gripped me, squeezing tighter at hearing she’d fainted. She was fine, she insisted, and she’d tell her doctor, she swore. And Will had saved her, she said emphatically. She spoke about him as if he’d slain a dragon or saved her from pirates or Vikings or drug dealers, her eyes wide and full of emotion so sincere, it scared me.

  Not because she felt it. But, because she believed it so fully, she would never see Will coming.

  When her story was told, Will chuckled and stepped back, separating them. Thank God for that because I was thirty seconds from dislocating the arm her hand was hooked in.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, “but I’ll see you tonight, Annie.”

  She blushed so fabulously, I was surprised she didn’t faint again. “I can’t wait.”

  “Me either,” he said with a smile, not sparing me a glance before he turned and walked away.

  Annie sat on one of the barstools and unwound her scarf. “Oh, and my uncle might have gotten me an audition with Juilliard!”

  My mouth opened and smiled and laughed all at once in disbelief. “Annie, that’s…that’s incredible.”

  “I can’t even believe it!” she mused. “I’m sure the chances are almost nonexistent, but even having the opportunity is just…” She shook her head and laughed. “God, I have never been happier in my entire life. I have a shot at Juilliard, I just met my dream guy, I have a real job, and I live in New York City. All of my dreams are coming true.”