Love at First Note

by Jenny Proctor

  She toppled forward, catching herself before she hit the floor, her eyes wide. “What? Your Grayson Harper?”

  I nodded. “Crazy, right? He’s living in Hendersonville. I guess he’s been back a few years now.”

  “And he still plays the cello? That’s totally hot. Wait, is it? Is he still hot?”

  “Maybe hotter,” I said. “I mean, he looks older, but yeah. He’s barely changed.”

  Trav leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbows and batting his eyelashes. “So are we talking like hotter-than-Elliott-Hart hot?”

  I shook my head. “No one’s hotter than Elliott Hart. So what was he like?”

  “He was really nice,” Lilly said. “You need to go over and introduce yourself.”

  “I can’t just walk over without a reason. That would be weird.”

  Trav gave a good-natured huff. “No weirder than Lilly inviting him to sleep on your couch fifteen seconds after she met him.”

  “He was going to sleep on the floor,” Lilly said. “And I knew he was a nice guy. He’s a Mormon.”

  “Ah, the Mormons,” Trav said. “Forever gleaming with the shine of good character.” I turned and tossed a dish towel at his head. He caught it with a smile and lobbed it back in my direction. “Just being Mormon is enough reason to go over there, right? Isn’t that all you people need to fall in love?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Besides,” Lilly added. “You have a reason. Your bishop said to welcome him to the ward. So go welcome him.”

  “At nine o’clock at night? I should make him cookies or something. Cookies could be my reason.”

  “Did Elliott serve one of those mission thingies? With the bikes? Name tags? All of that?” Trav asked.

  I nodded. “In French Polynesia.”

  “Seriously? Tahiti? I bet that was a rough two years,” Trav said.

  “Ask her something else,” Lilly whispered, leaning over the table. “Emma’s a fan.”

  “I’m not a fan. I’ve seen his videos. He’s talented. But it’s not like that.”

  “Where did he grow up?” Lilly asked.

  Denver. “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Where’d he go to college?”

  He didn’t. “No idea.”

  Lilly rolled her eyes. “How many siblings does he have?”

  “Okay, I really don’t know that one. Come on. I read the news. I know the basics. Maybe I’m a fan, if that’s what you call occasionally enjoying his music, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fanatic.”

  “Then go meet him.” Trav spoke with a gleam in his eye.

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah, right now,” Lilly said.

  “Without cookies?”

  “Emma, you don’t need cookies. Just be nice. ‘Hey . . . you’re a Mormon; I’m a Mormon. I’m your neighbor. Welcome.’ I’m sure you can handle that much without saying anything stupid. Just go knock.”

  Trav stood up. “Come on. I’ll go with you. And I promise not to mention how much you like him.”

  I lunged across the kitchen and pushed Trav back into his seat. “No, no, no. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “So you’ll go by yourself?”

  I left my water on the counter and walked to the door, pausing briefly to check my appearance in the mirror that hung in the living room. My primping was only fuel to Lilly and Trav’s fire, but after the day I’d had, I could look like Medusa, for all I knew. I pulled my dark hair out of its ponytail and shook it out over my shoulders. I didn’t look half bad. Two points for running into my ex-boyfriend looking not quite ravishing but still totally acceptable. My blue eyes looked bright against the green of my shirt, and thanks to the lower humidity levels of fall, my hair was actually kind of awesome—no frizz to be seen. I maybe looked a little tired, but there was no helping that, not without reapplying makeup, and there was no way I was giving Lilly that kind of satisfaction.

  “You look great, Em,” Lilly called. “Go knock him dead.”

  “I hate you,” I called over my shoulder.

  “You don’t, and you know it,” she sing-songed.

  I slipped on a pair of navy flats by the door, better than the tennis shoes I’d been wearing all night, and crossed the small entryway to Elliott’s door. I could hear the piano, just a few keys here and there, like he was puzzling out a melody. I leaned forward and listened. He repeated the same three notes, added a chord, and then suddenly it was a song. I stood with my fist inches from his door, completely mesmerized. I was a professional musician. I knew my strengths and had worked hard to build a career around them, but I’d never even attempted to compose. My brain wasn’t cut out for that kind of creativity—that kind of freedom. Listening to him build something where there had been nothing before was captivating.

  The music stopped, and something shifted, then footsteps sounded toward the door. I panicked, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, and pounded on the door with a little more than friendly force.

  The door swung open, and there he was with the hair and the eyes and the long, graceful fingers. He stood barefoot, wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt that clung to him in all the right places. I could see the things about him that made Lilly call him pretty. His features were almost delicate, from the curve of his lashes to the sharp angles of his cheekbones. But standing just a few feet away, seeing the scruff and the T-shirt and the long wiry biceps, he was decidedly masculine. And I was having a hard time getting air through my lungs.

  “Hello?” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, probably wondering what a girl with wide eyes and a frozen expression was doing on his doorstep.

  “Hi. I . . . um . . . from church.” Me caveman. You handsome. I shook my head. “Sorry. Let’s try this again. The bishop told me you were coming, and I just really wanted to see you . . . I mean, not see you like I’m spying on you, just see you to welcome you.” All those years of education, and that was the best I could come up with? “And I just wanted to tell you that I really love you . . .” I closed my eyes and felt my cheeks flame red. “No! I don’t love you. That would be weird. Sorry. What I mean to say is I’m glad.” What the what?

  “You’re . . . glad?”

  “Glad.” I repeated the word like it was weird he didn’t understand my incomplete babbling. “Yeah; I’m glad you’re here.” I finally finished my sentence. “You know. In the ward.” This was a train wreck; a disastrous, cars-ripped-from-the-rails, broken-in-half, consumed-by-fiery-flame train wreck.

  Not surprisingly, Elliott was unimpressed by my less-than-graceful greeting. “Uh, thanks.”

  I silently wished for the cookies I hadn’t made him. Having some physical reason to be there would have been way less awkward than just standing there staring.

  Make him feel welcome. The bishop’s voice echoed in my head. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “So, I think you’re going to like Asheville.” Of course, he probably moved because he already did like Asheville, but I was no longer in control of my words. “It’s a really great city. And the ward is great too. The singles, I mean, we aren’t huge.” Me and five other people definitely didn’t qualify as huge. “But we do have activities occasionally.” I shrugged. “I can maybe let you know when we do . . . um, you know, have them.” I paused long enough to wish for an errant black bear to wander through the yard to distract us out of our misery. Okay, fine. A bear might have been pushing it. I would have settled for an angry squirrel. “Oh. I’m Emma. I didn’t say that before.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and gave me a look—a weird blend of annoyance, pity, and sort of a condescending tolerance. “Right. Emma. Listen, I appreciate you coming by. But I really moved to get away from the singles scene. I’m not planning on attending the singles ward. Really, I’m not looking to be involved in singles anything.”

  “The singles ward?” Asheville didn’t have a singles ward. With so few singles, that would have been a really lonely ward.

  “I’m really ju
st here to focus on my music for a little while.”

  “Your music.” I closed my eyes. Why was I repeating everything he said?

  “Not socializing.” He pushed one hand into his pocket and rested the other on the handle of his front door. He didn’t seem to mind socializing with Lilly and Trav when they were helping him unpack. Lilly had raved about how nice he’d been. Why was he taking issue with me? You know, aside from the fact that I’d just acted like a bumbling fan who’d said I loved him before introducing myself.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking I’d only come over to fall at his feet and swoon. I might have blundered the last minute with my awkward staring and jumbled sentences, but it wasn’t too late to change things. Granted, it was going to be tough to undo the love comment, but maybe he’d forget that part of our conversation. So I lied. “You mentioned your music,” I said a little smugly. “What do you play?”

  He shot me a quizzical look. “Piano.”

  “Are you any good?”

  He had to know I was feigning ignorance, but I didn’t back down. It wasn’t like I could make things worse. He narrowed his eyes. “Good enough to pay the bills.”

  Yeah, and then some, I’m sure. There was something in his voice that turned me off. It wasn’t pride, really, not blatant pride anyway. But he sounded snobby, and it grated on my nerves. I thought about my own tight budget—the weeks between performances and gigs when my lessons brought in just enough to scrape by. I had made more money when I’d played in Cleveland, even more when I’d been on tour, but in Asheville I joined the ranks of musicians who were constantly juggling, playing in multiple symphonies throughout the region and working day jobs they didn’t love because there was no way music alone could pay the bills. It wasn’t easy, certainly not as easy as racking up the cash from a million views on YouTube.

  “That’s all, huh?” In my mind’s eye, I watched the shine of Elliott’s halo dim. I didn’t begrudge him his success, but I did resent him taking his success for granted. Enough to pay his bills? He’d been famous since he was seventeen. He had no idea what it felt like to really truly only have enough to pay the bills. But that was a conversation for another time. I needed to get out of there before I said anything else incriminating and really did make things worse.

  “Okay, so . . . thanks for stopping by.” He closed the door a couple of inches.

  “Oh, sure.” I took a step backward. “I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe I could hear you play sometime?” I regretted the words the moment I said them. What was I thinking? That he’d invite me in for a private concert?

  “Or maybe you could just look up a video on YouTube.”

  Ouch. “YouTube?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m gonna call it a night.”

  At least he paused long enough for me to nod a farewell before shutting the door in my face. I turned and slipped into my apartment, where I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

  “So . . . you don’t look like that went well.”

  I turned my head and looked at Lilly. “It was awful. I don’t even know what happened. First I forgot how to talk, and then when I did talk, everything that came out of my mouth was completely stupid. I’m pretty sure I told him I was in love with him, which didn’t make any sense since twenty seconds later I pretended like I didn’t know who he was and asked him what instrument he played. Then he got all smug and acted like I should know who he is ’cause he’s just so famous, and it just . . . I don’t know. It was bad. Worse-than-tenth-grade-debate-team bad.”

  “Way to hit a home run.” Trav spoke without looking up, his eyes glued to his Scrabble tiles.

  “Shut up.” I went into the kitchen and glanced over his shoulder. “Helix—right there. It’ll give you a double-word score.”

  “Ooh, good word. Thanks.” He added the tiles to the board, then counted his points. “Pretty sure that gives me the lead.” He looked at Lilly. “Want to bow out now before it really gets ugly?”

  “It totally doesn’t count. You can’t use Emma’s word and then rub it in my face like you’ve beaten me. You never would have come up with helix on your own.”

  I pulled a bowl out of the cabinet and retrieved the ice cream from the freezer. Playful bickering was the cornerstone of Trav and Lilly’s relationship. They seemed to thrive on it, but I wasn’t in the mood to listen to them squabble. I’d just ruined my one good chance to be friends with the only other single Mormon in all of Asheville. At least the only one who wasn’t an eighteen-year-old girl. Or Darren Fishbaum. Add that to my unnerving dinner with Grayson, who made me feel like my life was one giant heap of failed potential, and the only thing I wanted was a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a marathon of Friends reruns.

  “Oh, hey, Emma,” Lilly said. “Your sister called while you were next door.”

  I turned. “Did she? Did you talk to her?”

  “Yeah. I answered your phone since I knew she wouldn’t leave you a message. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. What’d she say?”

  “She wants you to call her. Something about an audition piece? I think she wants you to play it for her so she can hear all the dynamics and other blah blah musical terms I don’t understand.”

  As far as I knew, Ava didn’t have any auditions coming up, which meant she was probably working on the Barber Concerto for the video I’d offered to send to my professor at CIM. Ava working on the piece was a good thing. Ava asking me for help? That was a miracle. “Okay, thanks. I’ll call her back right now.” I grabbed my phone and my ice cream and headed for my room.

  “Emma,” Lilly called before I was out of earshot. “Don’t give up on Elliott. Next time will be better, I’m sure.”

  I waved my spoon in the air before rounding the corner of the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah.” Better like a toothache.

  Chapter 5

  I didn’t see Elliott for the rest of the week. It wouldn’t have been hard to scheme my way into a casual run-in. I heard him in the entryway more than once, and I could have found a reason to go outside at just that moment to check the mail or take out the trash or, I don’t know, take pictures of an angry squirrel. But I’d already set myself up as a twitterpated, lovesick fan. The next time he saw me had to feel completely organic. I couldn’t make it happen; it had to just . . . happen.

  But all my scheming to not seem like I was scheming? It totally backfired. So much so that I actually started avoiding him. Every possible encounter seemed like something I could have set up, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking I would do such a thing. It was much better to be guilty of avoiding someone on purpose than it was to be constantly seeking them out. Less weird anyway. Or so I told myself on Thursday afternoon when I sat in my car, my seat all the way reclined so Elliott wouldn’t see me as he crossed the street in front of our house and went inside.

  I pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes and groaned. I was being ridiculous. I knew I was being ridiculous, but—

  A sharp rap sounded on the driver’s side window, and I jumped. Ava stood beside my car, her hand propped on her hip and her eyebrows scrunched up in question. She looked annoyed, like she couldn’t believe she was related to someone who would do something as outlandish as recline the seat in her car. Never mind the fact that I was actually hiding from my super-hot neighbor. I sat up and looked past her, making sure Elliott was all the way inside, then motioned for Ava to move around the car and get in.

  “What are you doing?” The tone of her voice matched her eyebrows—all scrunched up and judgy.

  “Nothing. I was just . . . resting.”

  “It looked like you were hiding.”

  “I wasn’t hiding. I live here. Who would I be hiding from?”

  “Right. You live here. Which is why it doesn’t make sense that you’re resting in your car. Why not just go inside and rest on your couch?”

  Suddenly I was thirteen years old, trying to reason a five-year-old Ava
out of the sandbox at the park and back onto the sidewalk so I could walk her home. She could dig her heels in better than anyone I knew, stubborn to an I-will-drive-you-crazy fault, and she never backed down. Even when it was something stupid like her big sister sitting in her car a little too long. “What’s with the inquisition? It’s nice outside.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t buy it. Your windows weren’t down. I think you were hiding from your new famous neighbor. He’s in the same house, right? Is he home? Is that his car?”

  “What? That’s ridiculous.” I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to Mom. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”

  “It’s that black one, right? It looks expensive.” It took me a second to figure out she was still talking about Elliott’s car. It was an expensive car, more expensive than mine anyway. But this was stupid. Even if I did want to gush about Elliott’s car, it wouldn’t be with my little sister. I loved her, but she insta-posted everything—from the flavor of her breakfast cereal to the eye color of her current crush. She knew social media better than I knew music theory and wouldn’t let something as juicy as her sister living next to a famous pianist go unmentioned. I felt the need to call her off. I didn’t know for sure why Elliott had moved to West Asheville. Despite Lilly’s claims that it was cool and hip, which it totally was, it wasn’t exactly a popular haunt for the rich and famous. It made more sense that he really was trying to lie low and be off the grid for a while. Which meant Ava blabbing anything to her whatever-hundred followers was not what Elliott would want. Just what I needed to lock in my lovesick fan persona: a little sister revealing his secret location all over the Internet.

  “You haven’t posted anything online about Elliott, have you?”

  “What? No. Why would I?”

  “Because he’s famous, and . . . I don’t know why else. Isn’t that enough?”

  Ava shrugged. “I guess it’s kind of exciting, but it’s not like he sings or anything. None of my friends would even know who he is. I mean, he’s just some old guy who plays the piano.”

  “Old guy? He’s only a year older than me.”