When a second encore brought him back onto the stage, he carried a microphone. Just before he started to speak, he glanced over his shoulder, looked right at me, and smiled.
“Thank you.” His voice was deep and resonant as it filled the auditorium and sent chills all up and down my spine. “It’s an honor to be with you tonight. If you’re willing to indulge me, I’d like to finish the evening by playing something I wrote myself. It’s my most recent work, something I titled ‘Le Coup de Foudre.’” He glanced over his shoulder, meeting my gaze one more time. “It’s a French title, but when translated into English, it means love at first sight.”
Love at first sight. I repeated the words in my mind, hoping against hope they meant what I thought they meant. If he loved me then, surely he still loved me now.
Before sitting at the piano, Elliott crossed to my chair and held out his hand. “Play it with me?”
I swallowed once and nodded my head, then took his extended hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Elliott said into the microphone, “your concertmaster for the evening, the lovely and talented Ms. Emma Hill.”
From the very first notes of the song, we were connected in a way that showmanship or bravado couldn’t ever explain. It was different from anything he’d played all evening because it was his. I wasn’t just playing with Elliott Hart; I was playing his heart. Every ounce of his emotion poured into the music like his life depended on my hearing it. Because even though we were playing in an auditorium filled with thousands of people, it was me Elliott was playing for. And when I joined in? I was playing for him.
Had I had time to really internalize it, I might have been uncomfortable with so many people having a front-row seat to my love life. Playing with Elliott was personal, almost intimate, and anyone with even slight observational skill could probably see exactly how we felt. My parents were in the audience. And my little sister. My ex-boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend’s in-laws, probably my bishop. Not to mention a New York Times reporter, a record producer from L.A., and the slimy Najim Berkley. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. Nobody mattered but Elliott.
I was crying by the time we finished because, well, of course I was crying. There was no way I could make it through a performance like that without tears. Elliott rose from the piano and took two steps across the stage, stopping right beside me, and reached for my hand. We bowed together, the applause growing louder by the second, and Elliott squeezed my hand. He looked my way, leaning in just enough for me to recognize his raised eyebrows as the invitation they were meant to be. He might have been satisfied with a small kiss, something chaste and appropriate for our captive audience, but I wouldn’t have been. I dropped his hand long enough to place my violin on the back of the piano, then launched myself into his arms right there in front of everyone and their in-laws.
Funny, after an evening of so much incredible music—Prokofiev, Dvorak, Tchaikovsky, and Hart—nothing had brought the house down quite like that kiss.
There was a post-concert reception at a restaurant just down the street from the performance hall. I knew as soon as Elliott was in the room he’d be consumed by those anxious to talk with him. I wished I could have even a minute alone with him first, but there were people everywhere. Any alone time with him felt a long way off. By the time I put my violin away and made it to the reception, he was already standing with Greg and a man I presumed to be Richard Schweitzer. Agnes stood off to the side with another woman and a couple I didn’t recognize.
Even though Elliott was completely engaged in his conversation with Greg, I could still tell he was looking for me, glancing toward the door every few moments. I moved into his field of vision, my heart tripping over itself when our eyes locked and he smiled. The smile was an invitation, I could tell, but I didn’t join his conversation. Only because I knew if I did, it would take only a matter of moments before Greg said something about my joining Cleveland for the spring tour. A part of me still hoped Elliott wouldn’t figure out my involvement in upping the significance factor of his audience, but when he looked across the room, catching my gaze for a second time, I could tell by his expression he already knew.
For nearly half an hour, Elliott worked his way across the room, signing programs, talking, smiling, posing for photographs. I hung back, waiting for him, not wanting to make a scene, even though I was pretty sure quite a few people in the room really wanted us to make one.
I killed some time finding and thanking Agnes for all she had done. “Oh, the pleasure was mine,” she told me. “You weren’t wrong about him, Emma. He’s sensational—the best I’ve ever seen. And, good grief, to get to stare at that face all night . . . I’d have enjoyed the evening even if he’d been awful.”
“Did the woman from the Times—Jeanine—did she like the performance?”
“Well, you know how they are, so close-lipped about things, not sharing their opinions until they can write them up properly, but just between you and me, I saw tears during the second encore. I’m sure her review is going to be fantastic. It didn’t hurt that she was sitting next to Yvonne, who was just riveted by the entire evening.”
I took a deep breath. They were the words I’d been hoping to hear. “Thank you,” I said again. “For everything.”
I found my family next, trying my best to field the specific questions my mother tossed at me. Did you know he was going to ask you to play? Was the kiss rehearsed? Is he staying in Asheville? What happens now? Has he proposed? I laughed out loud at that one.
“It was a beautiful night,” Grandma said. “Your best performance, Emma—ever.” Gram had seen more of my Cleveland performances than anyone, which made her compliment feel huge.
“Thanks,” I told her. I reached out and gave her a hug.
“That really was some kiss,” she said.
“It was way more than a kiss,” Ava said, her voice a little dreamy. We all turned in unison to look at her. She folded her arms across her chest, looking slightly panicked by her new captive audience, but then she thrust her chin out and rolled her eyes. “I mean, whatever. The kiss part was totally cheesy, but when you played together, it just seemed like it was . . . more.”
“I think I’m inclined to agree with your sister.” I felt Elliott’s hand on the curve of my waist the same moment I heard his voice.
“See? What did I tell you?” Ava said. “He agrees with me, and he should know better than anyone.”
Elliott gave me a quick squeeze, then extended his hand to my parents. We all visited together for a few minutes before my family turned to leave, Dad and Gram walking beside Mom’s chair and Ava trailing behind. Finally alone, Elliott put a hand on each of my shoulders. “Want to get out of here?”
“Can you?” I asked. “Have you talked to everyone you need to talk to?”
He gave me a pointed look. “I don’t know. Maybe you should tell me if there’s anyone else I need to talk to.” If his eyes hadn’t been smiling, I might have worried he was annoyed.
“I . . . have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Don’t play coy with me. Greg spilled it. You’re busted.”
“He’s terrible at keeping secrets.”
“You shouldn’t have done it, Em.”
“I should talk to Greg before we go. Have you seen him lately?” I spotted Greg and started weaving my way through the restaurant to reach him.
“Don’t ignore me. I’m serious.”
I stopped and looked Elliott right in the eye. “You can’t tell me I shouldn’t have done it. Not after how successful tonight has been.”
He huffed. “But that’s not fair. You put so much on the line. You didn’t know if it would work. You didn’t even know if I’d play.”
“But I did know. And it did work. And come on—what did I get out of the deal? A four-month tour of Europe? Not a bad bargain if you ask me.”
“A four-month tour you never would have chosen had it not been for me.”
A flock of smilin
g symphony patrons descended upon Elliott, asking for autographs on their programs. A few asked for mine as well, which was slightly surreal and more than a little unnerving, but I still managed to break away before Elliott, so I was on my own by the time I reached Greg.
“Congratulations on a successful evening, Emma.” He smiled and glanced back toward Elliott. “Looks like things happened just as you’d hoped.”
“It wouldn’t have happened without your help. Thank you for getting Schweitzer here. I won’t forget it.”
“I have no doubt I’m getting the better end of the deal. You’ll be sensational on tour. Especially if we can get Elliott on stage beside you. He’ll be busy working on an album, but I’m taking his name back to Cleveland, and I’m calling his agent. We’ve got to work something out. The crowds will love the two of you together.”
I couldn’t even process half of what Greg had said. Elliott working on an album. Elliott on tour? Elliott on stage with me? I’d had high hopes for the evening, but we’d just officially crossed into too-good-to-be-true territory.
“That all sounds wonderful.”
Greg said good night with a promise to be in touch as soon as he was back in Cleveland. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” he told me. “I’m looking forward to it.”
* * *
“Do you want to come in?”
I stood with Elliott in the entryway between our apartments. I nodded. “Yeah, just give me a minute. If you leave the door open, I’ll be right there.” I slipped into my apartment long enough to drop off my violin and kick off my shoes. Lilly and Trav sat curled up together on the couch, watching a movie.
“How was the reception? Did everyone love him? Did he get a new album deal?” Lilly launched her questions too quickly for me to answer.
“Everyone loved him. The deal isn’t a sure thing, but I think it will be soon.”
“The concert was really great,” Trav said. “I’m glad you and Elliott finally got your stuff together.”
“Thanks. It took us long enough. I’m going across the hall.”
“Ya’ll behave over there,” Lilly called. “You need me to come chaperone?”
“Haha. Good night.”
I let myself into Elliott’s apartment, pushing the door shut behind me, then headed for the couch, but he stopped me before I could get there.
“Wait,” he said. “Don’t sit.” He closed the distance between us and kissed me with a fervency that took my breath away. One hand wrapped around my waist while the other moved to the base of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. I pressed my palms flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rapid pounding of his heart through the fabric of his shirt. He pulled his lips away but kept his forehead close to mine. His voice was low and a little husky. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my forehead against his chest, my brain still a little foggy from his kiss. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” His grip around me loosened, but I only held tighter. “No, don’t let go. Not until you kiss me again.”
He seemed happy to oblige.
We settled onto the couch, and Elliott took my hand, rubbing his thumb over my fingers. “Okay,” he said. “I need details.”
“You need details? I need details. I want to know exactly what Schweitzer said. And did you talk to the Spzilmanns? I didn’t get to meet them before they left.”
“I did meet them. They were great. And Schweitzer loved the concert. We’re meeting next week in L.A. to talk about the next step. He wants to do an album—all original, maybe a few classics.”
“Rhapsody in Blue, maybe?” I grinned.
“Ha. For you, I’ll see if I can work that one in. He does want to record ‘Le Coup de Foudre,’ though. I’ll need you for that one.”
“For the recording? For real?”
“You think I’d find a different violinist?”
“I’ve never done studio work before.”
He smiled. “I think you’ll be able to handle it. Now, stop avoiding my question. Details. What’s your commitment?”
I hesitated. “A year: the tour for the first four months, then ten concerts over the next eight months.”
“Ten concerts. That doesn’t seem like enough to justify living in Cleveland full-time.”
“It isn’t. I think I’ll probably come back to Asheville and just travel up to Ohio when I’m needed.”
“So everything—Schweitzer, the Spzilmanns, the lady from the Times—Greg set all that up just because you agreed to the tour?”
I shook my head. “Schweitzer was Greg’s doing, but I brought the lady from the Times on my own, and Agnes Rockwell brought the Spzilmanns. Though, Agnes and Greg are friends, so I guess that was Greg too. He did ask her to help.”
Elliott leaned back and shook his head, an expression of wonder on his face. “I can’t believe you did all this to help me.”
“I believe in your music, Elliott. And I knew others would too.”
He pulled my hand to his lips, kissing the tops of my fingers. “If Greg hadn’t told me about your bargain, were you just going to let Brian take the credit?”
I sighed. “I was afraid it would make you feel guilty, like I was trying to buy back your favor. And I didn’t want it to be about us. Because I still would have done it. Even if we’d never worked things out, if you’d moved back to L.A. and hooked up with some blonde soap opera actress, I would have made the same deal. I needed this to work for you.”
“Please don’t underestimate how much I appreciate what you’ve done when I say this, but, Emma, I was ready to walk away from my music. To stay in Asheville and teach piano lessons and play organ for the local women’s choir if that’s what it took to be where you are. What makes me happy is you. I’m not sure I need anything else.”
I closed my eyes, wanting to soak up his words and feel them sink all the way into my soul. It was what I’d wanted to hear all along, that there was an us he thought was worth fighting for. But I wasn’t enough. I knew that. And if he really thought about it, he would know it too. I shook my head. “That’s not true.”
“What’s not true?”
“You need your music. Plus, you have too much to give. I’m too well acquainted with what you’re capable of to let your gifts waste away behind the organ of a women’s choir.”
He leaned forward and kissed me, slower this time, his thumbs brushing across my jaw line, past my ear, and down the curve of my neck. “I love you, Emma. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”
I felt like there should have been trumpets playing a fanfare in the background, something, anything to celebrate the moment. “I love you too. I’m sorry it took you so long to say it too.”
He laughed. “You need me to say it a few more times to make up for the lack?”
“Yes, please. Once an hour for the rest of forever.”
He took my hand and turned it over, tracing the words onto my palm and up onto my wrist, sending shivers up and down my arm. “There you go. But that’s it. I’m cutting you off until”—he glanced at his watch—“2:00 a.m. And not a minute sooner.”
“Do you think Greg will make it happen? Get you on the tour?”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll be there anyway. I’m going to follow you wherever you go.”
“You want to be my groupie? I’ve never had a groupie before.” It wasn’t lost on me that Elliott really had groupies, which somehow made my joke feel less funny.
“I’d rather be your boyfriend than your groupie. I hear they get better seats at performances.”
He leaned back and pulled me against him, my head resting on his shoulder.
“Was it really love at first sight?” I asked.
“It was probably more like love at first note.”
“When we played together through the wall?”
He nodded. “It was like a punch to the gut. Every time I heard you practicing, I realized how much I wanted you to know I wa
s more than just crazy videos and cover songs. I wanted you to think I was good enough for you to notice.”
I reached for his hand, tracing the arch of his long, graceful fingers with my thumb. “Mission accomplished.”
“When you played the next Sunday in church, I was done for. That was when I knew.”
“And then after the wedding . . .” My heart hurt to think of the pain I must have caused him.
He sighed. “That was a dark six weeks for me. I loved you. I knew I did. But I wanted to be what you needed, and I wasn’t sure I was. I didn’t want to hurt you any worse than I already had.”
I sat up and pulled my hair out of its twist. It was late, and all the excitement of the evening was settling in my shoulders. I shook my hair loose. “Elliott, nothing hurts worse than thinking about those awful words I said. Please know I didn’t mean them. I don’t love extra attention, and I don’t particularly love the limelight. But I do love you. Anything that happens, anything the media throws at us or demands of us or says about us, it won’t matter. There’s not a single thing in this world that will keep me from loving you. As long as you’ll always love me too.” Not too bad for a girl who was terrible with words.
He reached up, brushing the hair from my face. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
Four months later
City lights reflected on the shimmering surface of the Seine, big-band music floating out of the corner bistro in Paris where I’d just finished dinner. The tour was nearly over. Two more stops in Florence and London, then our final performance back in New York and we were finished. I hadn’t seen Elliott since he’d performed with us in Amsterdam five weeks before, and it was nearly killing me. He would meet me in New York, but that was still ten days away. Ten days felt like an eternity.
I turned the corner, glimpsing the hotel lights twinkling at the end of the block. A man emerged out of the darkness that stretched between the hotel and me. I could see only his outline at first, but everything from the shape of his shoulders to the cadence of his walk felt familiar. I rushed forward.
Love at First Note Page 27
