“Okay, say something in Tahitian. I want to hear it.”
“I’m probably pretty rusty. It’s been a while. Let’s see. To say hello, you say la ora na.”
“La ora na.” I repeated the phrase back to him.
“You got it. If you’d like to say good morning or good evening, you change the last word. La ora na oe is good morning, and la ora oe i teie po means good evening.”
“That’s a lot of vowels.”
“Yeah, and you pronounce every single one. What about you? Do you speak any languages?”
I shook my head. “Just English. And music. I get to count that one, right?”
“I totally do,” Elliott said. “If you could learn any language, what would it be?”
“I don’t know. I took a few years of Spanish in high school, but I think I’d learn French. I know people say Italian is the most beautiful, but I like French better. Or maybe I just like France better and that’s affecting my opinion about the language.”
“You’ve been to France?”
I nodded. “Lilly and I spent three weeks there the summer after Lilly graduated. Her mother is French, so she has tons of family over there. We stayed with her great-aunt a few hours north of Paris.”
“Does Lilly speak French?”
“Probably not as well as you do, but she does all right. She knew enough to get us around Paris and communicate with her aunt, who doesn’t speak a word of English.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“No?” That surprised me.
“I’ve been to Russia, Germany, Japan, Scotland, Denmark, Austria . . . but never France. I changed planes in Paris once. That’s it.”
I paused long enough to listen to the robotic voice of the GPS tell me we were approaching our exit. “You speak languages for all those other countries too?”
He laughed. “A little bit of German. Definitely not enough to claim fluency. And Russian. I spent six months studying in St. Petersburg when I was sixteen and picked it up then.”
I shook my head and smiled. “You just picked it up? No big deal, right? Like picking up a gallon of milk or a loaf of bread or a language that uses an entirely different alphabet.”
Elliott looked down. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to brag. Languages are kind of a hobby.”
“No! You weren’t bragging. I didn’t take it that way at all. I’ve read that musicians are supposed to be better at languages, so collectively it’s good you speak five. It helps balance out that I only speak one.”
“I could help you learn French if you want. I bet you’d pick it up quick.”
I stopped at the end of the exit ramp and glanced at Elliott’s phone. “Did I miss which way I’m supposed to turn?”
“Right,” Elliott said. “Then you’ll take the first left just up ahead.”
I followed his instructions, slowing down in front of the large sign that marked the brewery’s entrance. I turned onto the wide, newly paved road that led past the brewery and to a large field where the festival was taking place.
Things were winding down, but I was still surprised by how many people were hanging around. Finding Trav suddenly felt a lot harder. I parked in an empty spot next to a long row of porta-johns and pulled out my phone. I tried to call Trav and then Buster, but neither of them answered.
“Now what?” I said to myself as much as to Elliott.
“I guess we go find him,” Elliott said.
I walked close beside Elliott. I wasn’t scared, really, but I felt a little out of my element. When we passed through a particularly raucous group of partiers, I took hold of his elbow, pulling myself even closer.
He reached over with his other hand, covering my fingers with his, and gave me a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”
I felt the heat of his touch all the way down to my toes. Lilly had asked about sparks? Yeah. There were definitely sparks. “I’m good. Just glad you came with me.”
“We’ll be fine. Just try not to make eye contact with anyone,” he said.
We circled the festival grounds twice before we found Trav slumped over the end of a picnic table, his head resting on his arm, a beer in his other hand.
“Emma!” Trav sat up, beer sloshing over the side of his cup, and smiled. “You came! You want a beer? I’m gonna get you a beer.”
“Where’s Buster?”
Trav’s face fell. “He’s gone, man. He left with some chick. Can you believe that? He just up and left me, just like Lilly did. But not you, Emma. You’re my one true friend in this world.”
Elliott put a hand on Trav’s shoulder. “Come on. Time to go home.”
“Elliott? You’re here too? Aw, man, ya’ll are awesome. You want a beer? I’m gonna get you a beer.”
“I don’t want a beer, Trav. We’re gonna leave now, all right?”
“Come on. I’ll buy. A beer for my friend Elliott Hart.” Trav raised his voice. “Yeah, you heard me. The famous Elliott Hart. He’s here with me.”
Elliott’s jaw tightened. “Trav. Shut up. It’s time to go.” He positioned himself on one side of Trav, looping his arm over his shoulders, and motioned for me to do the same. Trav grumbled a little but didn’t hesitate as we started walking back to the car, an ungainly trio.
“Lilly’s real mad, isn’t she, Em?”
“Yeah, she’s mad. You weren’t very nice to her.”
“She’s gonna forgive me though, right? She won’t stay mad. Lilly loves Trav.”
Elliott rolled his eyes. “You start taking that for granted, and you may be begging her to keep you around.”
“Beg? Naw, man. I won’t beg for nothin’!”
We were within sight of the car when I took a wrong step and stumbled, falling to my knees. I scrambled back up and found myself face-to-face with a very large, very foul-smelling man wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that bore a single word: STUD.
“Hey, sweetheart. You looking for me?”
“Sorry. I just need to catch my friends.” I moved to the left to get around him, but he lunged sideways, blocking my way. I turned the other direction, and he did the same thing. “What’s the matter?” he said, his tone mocking. “Can’t get past?” He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “I think that means you ought to stay right here with me.” The heat of his body seeped through my clothes and pressed into my skin. I leaned away, trying to find a pocket of air that wasn’t soured by the sticky, sweet smell of alcohol on his breath. It was enough to turn my stomach.
I pushed against his chest. “Let me go.”
He only held me tighter, laughing and trying to sway to the music.
A cry of help froze in my throat when I saw Elliott approaching, fury in his eyes. He grabbed the guy by the shoulders and yanked him backward, spinning him around so they stood facing each other. Elliott was a good three inches shorter and wasn’t nearly as broad through the chest, but he had the element of surprise on his side. Also, he was sober.
He swung a punch, his fist colliding with the guy’s jaw, and knocked him back several steps, where the guy tripped over a chair and landed on the ground with a graceless thud.
Elliott grabbed my hand. “Time to run.”
We covered the short distance to the car at lightning speed. “Your keys, Emma.” He moved around to the driver’s side door.
“What?”
“Your keys. We need to get out of here.”
“Oh.” I pulled them out of my bag and tossed them to him.
It was good he was taking charge. I was still so stunned by my encounter with the massive, sweaty drunk man I hardly knew what end was up. “Trav, get in the car,” Elliott said.
Despite his inebriation, at Elliott’s command, Trav managed to get himself into the backseat with relative ease and speed. As soon as we were all in, Elliott took off, tearing through the parking lot so fast spinning gravel sprayed up from either side of the car. I’d never been so happy to be reckless.
I was still in shock. Had that guy really just g
rabbed me? What would have happened had Elliott not been there?
Trav hummed in the backseat, his fingers absently tapping against the window as he stared at the trees flying past.
“Are you okay?” Elliott finally asked, his voice gentle.
“Yeah.” At least I thought so. Everything had happened so fast. I was relieved and grateful Elliott had intervened, but it was hard to get rid of the fear that still sat in my belly, an immovable dead weight pressing into me, through me, reaching every nerve ending in my body. I’d had very little control over a situation I’d been in just ten minutes before. When I looked down at my hands, they shook. I balled them into fists, not wanting Elliott to see.
“I think you gave that guy a fat lip,” Trav slurred from the back. “He was a big dude too.”
“He deserved it,” Elliott said under his breath. He looked my way one more time. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded. “Thank you for helping.” My voice was a squeaky whisper. Elliott’s brows scrunched together, and he frowned but said nothing more.
When we finally pulled into the driveway on Maple Crescent, Trav snored loudly in the backseat.
“Are we going to take him home?” I asked.
Elliott shook his head. “He can sleep it off at my place.”
“I’ll help you get him inside.”
It took fifteen minutes of juggling limp arms and legs and a lolling head, but we finally managed to get Trav onto Elliott’s couch. I pulled his shoes off and shoved a pillow under his head, then draped a blanket across his shoulders.
Elliott stared at the near-stranger sleeping in his living room. “That’s more than he deserves.”
“Yeah, but it’s what Lilly would do.”
Elliott leaned against the wall opposite the couch and yawned. “You think they’ll work it out?”
“I don’t know. This isn’t typical Trav behavior. I’ve never seen him this drunk. But . . . Lilly’s pretty tired of the whole scene. If he’s not willing to give up beer festivals for a woman like Lilly, she should probably get out now.”
Elliott flexed the fingers on his right hand and winced.
“Elliott—” I moved to where he stood and reached for his hand, holding it gently. His knuckles were slightly swollen, one of them split and bleeding. “Oh my word. You can’t punch people with these hands!”
“What would you have had me do? Leave you there with that guy?”
“No, but your hands are so much more important than everyone else’s! Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Emma, it’s fine. Nothing’s broken. I’ll be okay in a couple of days.”
“Please—just let me do this.” I turned and hurried across the hallway, retrieving a washcloth and a first-aid kit out of my apartment. Back at Elliott’s, I pulled him into his kitchen, where I washed and treated his split knuckles. I worked in silence, trying to hide my shaking. Stupid hands. It had to be nerves from being so close to Elliott. The drunk man was gone. I was home. Or almost home. But the replay of what might have happened ran through my head like a never-ending movie reel. Strong hands. Rank breath. How I pushed and gained nothing. I took a deep, steadying breath.
“Are you okay?” Elliott asked. “You’re trembling.”
I looked at my hands and tried to smile. “I’m probably going to have ‘what could have happened’ nightmares for weeks. But I think I’m okay. It’ll pass.”
Something flashed through his eyes, a glint of steel reminiscent of the fury I’d noticed seconds before he’d strong-armed the guy off me and punched him to the ground. “I’m sorry, Emma. Some guys are stupid. And when the stupid ones get drunk, it’s worse.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said again, rubbing my hands together. “I’m just glad you were there to help.”
He pulled me into an embrace, resting his chin on the top of my head. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek against his chest.
He held me a moment longer before his grip loosened and I pushed back, afraid he might see how much I enjoyed feeling the weight of his arms around me or the tickle of his breath through my hair.
“I should get some sleep,” I said softly. “We both should.”
He nodded. “No nightmares tonight, all right?”
I smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Chapter 13
“It doesn’t matter what his motives were. He hugged you. He pulled you against his body and wrapped his arms around you. Guys don’t do that if there isn’t some flicker of interest.” Lilly lay on the worn braided rug that covered our living room floor, her legs propped up on the couch. “Are you going to let me eat any of that popcorn, or should I assume you only popped it for yourself?”
I passed her the bowl. It was Monday night, a rare free night in for us both, and we’d decided unanimously that navel oranges, popcorn, cheese, and crackers made a perfectly acceptable dinner menu. “But big brothers hug their little sisters all the time. What if he was just feeling protective and angry and somehow obligated to make up for the stupidity of his gender?”
“It wasn’t a half-shoulder squeeze. It was a ‘Hey, baby, wrap your arms around me’ hug. Just own it. The guy’s into you.”
“Okay, true-confession time.”
“After all these years, you really feel like you have to qualify the conversation?”
“Shut up. I’m just saying now I’m getting ready to say something serious so you need to listen and not make fun of me.” I tossed another piece of popcorn into my mouth and grabbed a slice of orange off the plate.
“No making fun. Got it.”
“How do I decide if I like Elliott because he’s someone I would like no matter what or if I like him because he’s famous and talented and gorgeous?” I picked at the orange peel.
“Emma. You’re too smart to fall for someone’s celebrity status. If you guys do wind up together, it won’t take you long to decide whether or not he’s a guy worth your attention, YouTube views notwithstanding.” She grabbed a cracker, smeared it with Boursin cheese, and handed it my way.
“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enthralled with his music career,” I said, taking the cracker. “I mean, I was a total idiot when I first met him because I couldn’t believe it was actually him. I was starstruck, no matter how foolish it makes me feel to admit it.”
“But is it his fame, really, that you’re enthralled with? Or his talent?” She made another cracker for herself. “Do you care about the media attention or the online presence or the record label? That’s exactly why you stopped touring yourself, right? Because you didn’t like all the hype?”
Fair point. After Juilliard, invitations to be a guest soloist poured in from symphonies all over the country. For six months, I traveled, returning to New York in between performances. It’s what I’d always wanted, and yet it wasn’t at all what I’d expected. There was so much about it that didn’t have anything to do with the music: parties and photos and socializing and schmoozing; it sucked me dry. Returning to Ohio for a full-time position in the Cleveland Orchestra had been a welcome relief from all that pressure. At least there I was among friends.
But Elliott’s fame was a totally different animal. I’d only dealt with hype that existed inside the small and somewhat exclusive symphony world. Everyone knew who Elliott was. “I’m just worried I’m using all the hype and excitement of who he is to propel my feelings forward faster than I would if the circumstances were different.”
Lilly tossed a piece of popcorn at me, hitting me squarely in the middle of my forehead.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“’Cause you’re being stupid. Trust me, Em. You’re not that kind of girl.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“If Elliott was a struggling musician, teaching lessons out of his living room and playing the piano at a local jazz club, would you still be interested?”
“Absolutely, yes.”
“What if he wasn’t a musician at all?”
/> That one took me longer to answer. I loved that music was so important to him, and, yeah, I loved that he was so talented. But I also loved the way he entertained a classroom full of three-year-olds and spoke five languages and saved me from STUD guy without a single hesitation. Those things didn’t have anything to do with his musical abilities. “I love that he’s a musician because it’s something we have in common. But yes, even if he weren’t, I think I’d still like him. I’d still be interested.”
“Are you physically attracted to him?”
“Is the sky blue?”
Lilly pushed herself into a sitting position. “Okay, you pass. I declare you officially not shallow and give you permission to pursue Elliott simply because you want his body.”
“I don’t want his body.”
Lilly cocked her eyebrow, reaching over to steal the last slice of orange.
“Okay, fine. But it’s not the only reason I like him.” I grabbed the popcorn bowl, sliding it out of her reach before she swiped the last handful. “For real? You’re terrible at sharing,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes. “It might not be the only reason you like him, but it is the most fun. Don’t stress over it. You like him; he likes you. It doesn’t have anything to do with his career or his fame.”
I wanted to believe Lil was right, but an hour later when she came bursting into my room seconds before I fell asleep, I wasn’t so sure. “Emma, are you asleep?” She crawled onto my bed.
“Yes, completely. Please go away.”
“You need to see this.” She handed me her phone.
In my almost-asleep fogginess, it took me a second to figure out what I was looking at. It was a picture on an online photo-sharing app. I had to read the caption three times before I actually processed what was in the photo. “Elliott Hart fist fighting at a beer festival? If this dude isn’t him, he should get a job as his look-alike. Cast your vote below: Is this Elliott Hart?” I read out loud. The photo was blurry and only caught the side of his face; even that was in shadow from the hat he’d put on before we’d left. It looked like him, for sure, but had I not been at the festival myself, I wouldn’t have been able to vote with any certainty.
Love at First Note Page 11
