Harmony

by Karis Walsh

  “You played so well tonight, babe,” she said, pulling Andy’s lips to hers in a fierce kiss. Even in her confusion over Brooke’s actions, Andy couldn’t help but respond to her touch and kiss her back. She pulled away, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out why Brooke was suddenly acting like a lover.

  “Brooke Stanton, Lyssa Carlyle,” she said briefly, noticing Lyssa’s angry red cheeks.

  “Oh, hi,” Brooke said casually as she shook Lyssa’s hand. “Didn’t you play a solo, too? It sounded pretty good. I know this cold weather can make it hard to keep your instrument in tune.”

  Andy bit her lip to keep from laughing at Lyssa’s furious expression. She was saved by the conductor who asked to see all the soloists for a few minutes after the rehearsal.

  “Ms. Carlyle, Ms. Taylor, are you planning to join us?” he called impatiently,

  “Be right back,” Andy said to Brooke, squeezing her arm lightly.

  “Good,” Brooke said, tracing a finger down the buttons of Andy’s white shirt. “And when we get home I’ll show you just how proud I am of you.”

  Andy turned away, fighting to keep a straight face as she and a fuming Lyssa walked over to the conductor. Brooke sat in Andy’s chair next to her viola case wearing a smug smile.

  Andy returned shortly and grabbed her case and Brooke’s hand. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, tugging Brooke to her feet. “I don’t want the two of you getting in a fight in the middle of the stage.”

  “I hope you didn’t mind that kiss,” Brooke said. “But I heard her insulting you, and it just made me so mad I had to do something.”

  “Well, the gesture was a bit overdone, but appreciated, babe,” Andy said, dropping Brooke’s hand once they had left the stage. “She was right, though. I rushed the tempo of my sixteenth notes.”

  “I really did think you were wonderful,” Brooke said, bumping against Andy’s side and getting a smile in return. “Is she always so bitchy about other people’s playing?”

  “Well, yes. And she’s still mad at me for walking out on our, um, conversation a few weeks ago,” Andy explained. “It made her feel better to criticize me, but it doesn’t matter.” She shrugged, realizing that for once it was true. Lyssa’s words hadn’t hurt her feelings or her self-confidence. “I know what I did wrong, and I’ll play better at the concert.”

  “I’m sorry for what I said about tonight, about when we get back home,” Brooke stammered. “I didn’t mean we really should…”

  “I know,” Andy said, staring straight ahead as she walked to the car. “You have a flair for the dramatic, Brooke. It’s not a secret around here that I’m a lesbian, so you just came out on stage, in front of the entire orchestra.”

  “I know,” Brooke echoed Andy’s words. “I’m sure Cindy can’t wait to tell the book club. But it was worth it to watch Lyssa turn so red.”

  Andy finally let herself laugh at that. “I especially liked the part about the weather. Did you notice that she was retuning her violin when we left the stage?”

  Andy stowed her viola in the trunk, feeling strangely lighthearted after the evening’s stresses. Brooke had come running to her rescue. And that support had helped Andy break free of Lyssa’s ability to erode her confidence.

  “Thanks again for intercepting my phone call and inviting yourself to the rehearsal,” she said, leaning back in the passenger seat as Brooke drove them home.

  “Ooh, such a gracious way to say thank you,” Brooke said.

  “You have a better way in mind?” Andy asked.

  “You can buy me dinner,” she answered haughtily, pulling the car into a parking spot near one of their favorite restaurants on Broadway. “I feel like Mexican food.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Andy spent nearly as much time in the bathroom getting ready for the concert as Brooke usually did. She finally came out to find Brooke curled on the couch with a book.

  “Do I look all right?” Andy asked nervously, fidgeting with the outfit that she only wore during the holiday season.

  “Very nice,” Brooke said as her eyes raked over Andy’s black outfit, from her slim velvet pants to her silky blouse. She stood and casually adjusted the collar of Andy’s top, her eyes as bright and unrevealing as crystals.

  “You, too,” Andy said, her mouth suddenly dry at the sight of Brooke in her simple black dress with its expensive-looking cut. She couldn’t seem to stop from reaching out and moving her hand along Brooke’s hip, feeling the black lace overlay slide on the satin lining.

  Brooke frowned slightly and took Andy’s hand from her hip. “Come in here for a minute and let me fix you,” she said, tugging on Andy’s hand to get her to follow into the bathroom, ignoring her protestation that she didn’t need to be fixed. She propped her against the counter and took a bottle of hair gel off the counter.

  “There. Much better,” Brooke said with a short nod after she rubbed the gel on her hands and raked them through the sides of Andy’s hair. She turned her to face the mirror.

  “Wow,” Andy said, staring at her reflection in surprise. With the sides slicked back and her bangs a little spiky from the gel, she had a more put-together look than before. The style swept the hair from her face so the angles of her cheekbones and her arched brows were accentuated. Her eyes met Brooke’s in the mirror. “I like it.”

  “I told you there’s more to hair care than a bottle of shampoo and a comb,” Brooke said, giving Andy a quick kiss on the neck.

  Andy turned away to hide her desire at Brooke’s simple kiss. “C’mon. We’ll be late.”

  They were silent as Brooke drove them to the hall, holding hands like they had on the way to the dress rehearsal. When they parted company in the hall’s garage, Brooke put her hands on the sides of Andy’s face and looked her in the eyes.

  “You’ll be great tonight,” she promised, giving her a brief kiss. “I’ll lead the standing ovation.”

  Andy smiled grimly and lugged her viola backstage, pushing thoughts of Brooke and that kiss out of her mind as she mentally reviewed each section of the night’s program. She realized in a moment of panic that she had completely forgotten the first measures of her own concerto, and as soon as she entered the room where the other players were warming up she started searching for the sheet music.

  “I do hope you got that timing problem corrected,” Lyssa said, standing over Andy as she pawed through her case. Andy’s eyes traveled up the length of her, unable to keep from registering how the harsh black outfit suited Lyssa, making her fair skin look like porcelain. She watched a similarly reluctant look of admiration cross Lyssa’s features when she noticed Andy’s hair.

  “Yes,” Andy said shortly, mentally adding that she had the timing down, but had apparently forgotten most of the notes. “And I presume that you’ve got your violin in tune?”

  “Why don’t you worry about your own playing. Too bad my solos aren’t after yours so if you mess up, the audience could still leave on a good note.”

  She walked away, and Andy was left to wonder where all of her confidence from the night before had gone. She finally found her music and flipped it open, hoping a quick refresher would jog her memory. There was a brightly colored sticky note on the first page of the sixth concerto.

  “Stop worrying, you haven’t forgotten the notes,” Brooke had written in her barely legible handwriting. Andy smiled and closed the score, suddenly not feeling so alone. Damn, but it felt good to have someone know her so well and to be there at exactly the right time.

  The musicians were given their fifteen-minute notice, so Andy hurriedly tuned her viola and played a brief warm-up. Once onstage, she stuck Brooke’s note on her music stand underneath the score. Although she couldn’t hope to see past the bright stage lights and find Brooke in the audience, just knowing she was out there believing in her gave Andy the confidence to get through the night. As a seasoned orchestra player, the Brandenburgs were very familiar to her, so she easily played through the first five conce
rtos. She had never had a chance to play the sixth for a paying audience, but she managed to get to her place in front of the orchestra without falling over, her knees shaking only slightly. Once she started playing, the notes seemed to fall from her viola without much effort on her part. Her tempo remained steady, and the six instruments bounced the music back and forth like an intricate game of catch. She couldn’t help smiling broadly as they finished, and she saw her expression mirrored on the other players’ faces.

  As well as it had gone, Andy was relieved when the concert finally came to a close. Her shoulders and jaw ached from the extra tension she had held all evening as she concentrated on getting every aspect of her playing right. It was all she could do to carry her viola case to the car.

  Brooke was waiting for her with a huge smile that helped to melt some of Andy’s tension. Brooke gave her a hug and pried the viola case from her hand.

  “Let me,” she said with a small frown. “You look exhausted.”

  “I’m all right,” Andy assured her, watching to make sure her viola was carefully stowed away. “Just the normal let down after a concert. You helped, though. How did you know I would panic about forgetting the notes?”

  Brooke laughed. “Lucky guess. You doubt yourself more than anyone I know, and you have less reason to.”

  They were getting in the car when another viola player walked by. “Great job tonight, Andy,” she called. “Will we see you at Mickey’s?”

  Andy shook her head. “Thank you, but I think we’ll pass tonight. See you next week.”

  Brooke started the car. “Is it because of me? I heard you say no after the dress rehearsal as well.”

  “It’s not you,” Andy assured her. “I’m just too tired tonight. There are a few of us who meet at the bar sometimes after rehearsals or concerts, but I don’t go every time. We can if you really want to.”

  Brooke shook her head. “I’d rather get back to the apartment.”

  They drove in silence, and Andy was worn out enough to allow Brooke to carry her viola up the stairs. She disappeared to take a long, hot shower while Brooke made up the sofa bed. Andy came out in her sweats to say good night, but Brooke gestured at the table next to the couch.

  “I brought you a beer,” she said. “Come sit with me for a little while.”

  Andy thought the beer would help her relax, but sitting in bed with Brooke definitely would not. She felt too wound up to go straight to sleep after the stress of the day, however, so she pushed aside her common sense and sat on the edge of the bed. They made small talk about the concert and some of the other players until Andy started to lose some of her tension. She brought them two more beers from the kitchen and leaned more comfortably against the back of the sofa.

  “I could give you a back rub,” Brooke suggested. Andy gave her a look of alarm and she laughed. “I’m not planning to molest you,” she said. “But you keep rubbing your neck like it’s sore. Come here.”

  Andy reluctantly moved between Brooke’s legs, her back held stiffly to avoid any contact with her.

  Brooke leaned toward Andy’s ear. “Relax,” she demanded as her fingers started to knead Andy’s tense muscles.

  She worked across Andy’s shoulders, feeling her slowly give in to the gentle pressure and lean in to the massage. Andy groaned quietly when Brooke found a knot of tension, and Brooke felt her own body respond to the sound. She moved her hands to Andy’s upper arms, then to the front of her shoulders, pressing Andy back against her.

  “Brooke, what are you doing?” Andy asked, still not resisting Brooke’s touch.

  “Just giving you a massage,” she answered, rubbing her hands under Andy’s collarbones and barely touching the swell of her breasts. “Please, let me make you feel good.”

  “You do, and that’s the problem,” Andy said. As worn out as she was, Andy found the strength to stop Brooke’s hands before they reached her breasts. Dating her was fun, and their occasional kisses were wonderful, but Andy couldn’t go any further until Brooke knew what she wanted. She twisted around to give Brooke a kiss and then reluctantly pulled out of her arms.

  “Thank you for being there tonight, Brooke,” she said, trying to ignore the desire she saw mirrored in Brooke’s eyes. She went into her bedroom before she could change her mind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Monday before Thanksgiving, Andy emerged from her music room earlier than usual. Brooke was at the dining room table, making yet another list of ingredients for her dinner.

  “Hey,” Andy said, resisting the urge to cross the room and give Brooke a good morning kiss. Since the concert, her desire to touch Brooke had been growing stronger, fueled by the knowledge that Brooke wanted her too. She had to keep her distance until Brooke decided whether she wanted Andy for keeps, or just for a night. She busied herself at the sink instead, washing her coffee mug. “I don’t have lessons today since it’s a holiday week. Do you want to go to Pike Place and get some food for Thursday?”

  “I’d love to,” Brooke said, waving the piece of paper she had been writing on. “I have the menu finalized, so we can get our produce there at the market, then stop at Whole Foods on the way home for the rest.”

  “Sounds good,” Andy answered, glad to see the excitement in Brooke’s eyes. Her mood seemed to be lifting as Thanksgiving approached, and Andy wanted to encourage that as much as she could. Even if it meant turning her small kitchen into a disaster area.

  The fall day was clear but chilly, so Andy pulled a fisherman’s knit sweater over her T-shirt then grabbed her car keys. Normally she wouldn’t drive downtown for a shopping trip, wanting to avoid the hassle of city parking, but she figured Brooke would have too many bags of groceries for them to comfortably carry on the bus. She was winding a scarf around her neck when Brooke came out of the bathroom.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, as Andy avoided her eyes.

  “Nothing,” Andy said. “You look very nice.”

  Brooke looked down at her navy turtleneck sweater and jeans. “Really? I thought this outfit seemed a little ratty,” she said, tugging at the hem of her sweater. Andy made a strangled sort of sound as Brooke’s movement made her turtleneck pull even more snugly across her breasts. She slapped lightly at Brooke’s hand.

  “Stop doing that,” she said. “You’re driving me crazy.” Andy held Brooke’s windbreaker for her to put on, but she didn’t move toward it.

  “Do I need to change?” she asked, confused. “You’re looking at me like I’m wearing my underwear on the outside.”

  Andy sighed. “I’m looking at you like that sweater shows every curve of your body and makes your eyes look like incredibly blue diamonds,” she said, flapping the windbreaker slightly to make Brooke move. Brooke turned and slipped her arms into the jacket. “And your ass looks amazing in those tight jeans,” Andy added, giving her a playful swat. She was rewarded with one of Brooke’s laughs and a light kiss on the cheek. Those little intimate gestures, when Brooke acted like they were a couple, turned Andy on more than any overtly sexual move ever had.

  Andy drove toward Puget Sound, luckily finding a parking place on one of the side streets near Pike Place Market. There were people everywhere, and they jostled their way among the masses, Andy only occasionally placing her hand on Brooke’s back to keep them from getting separated. She was careful to drop the contact immediately once they were in a more open area. Although Andy didn’t like the crowds, they were worth enduring just to feel Brooke’s mood change. Everything about her became more animated, from her gestures to her walking speed, and her interest flickered rapidly from one subject to the next. This Brooke was such a different woman from the one Andy first met, sitting alone in the coffee shop, closed off from the world around her. They wandered aimlessly, checking out the produce stands stocked by local farmers and peering at the bakery display cases. The breeze off the Sound was getting colder, so Andy steered them into the covered section of the market.

  “I used to come here with my grand
father when I was little,” Brooke said, a contented smile on her face as she stopped to take a taste of some locally harvested honey, picking out a subtle hint of blackberries in the sweet aftertaste. “I remember how exotic it seemed, with people speaking different languages, and the smells of spices and fish and salt water. I used to pretend we had sailed to a foreign country. Ooh, look!”

  She darted across the aisle with Andy in tow and accepted a piece of organic pear from a vendor who was cutting up samples. “Wow, try this.”

  She fed Andy a bite of her pear, using a finger to wipe away some juice that caught in the corner of her mouth, lingering there a moment before she withdrew. It was such an innocent touch, perfectly safe in public. Brooke’s thoughts were anything but.

  “It’s very good,” Andy said.

  Her voice gave nothing away, but when Brooke saw Andy touch her tongue to the spot where Brooke’s finger had rested, and then smile, Brooke had the suspicion that Andy felt the same desire she did.

  “Do we need pears for Thanksgiving?” Andy asked.

  “No, but we should get some while we’re here.” Brooke shrugged, paying the farmer for a bag of fruit. So I can feed them to you when we get home, Brooke added silently. She handed it to Andy. “Now, isn’t there a cooking store around here? I need some pans.”

  “As your regular dishwasher, I beg to differ,” Andy muttered, but she pointed across the street. “There’s a place right up here, and it’s next to a nice wine shop.”

  Now that they were acclimated, they started shopping in earnest. She and Andy argued good-naturedly over the pattern of serving dishes, spent over half an hour debating which local wines to pick, and reached simultaneously for the same bouquet of flowers for the table. They were shopping together like a couple, Brooke decided, and the thought worried her. She enjoyed their comfortable rapport and could hold her own in any decision they made, but she worried she was getting too relaxed with Andy. Would she be able to separate herself from Andy’s stronger presence when it came to bigger decisions than what color napkins to buy? Brooke’s concern over their easy domesticity made her self-conscious about the closeness she felt with Andy. Every time they touched, she would lean into the contact and then pull away quickly. Occasionally their hands would brush, and Brooke would feel Andy’s fingers start to tighten on hers before she suddenly discovered something she needed to touch or pick up. The crowds and the constant push and pull of their connection were starting to exhaust her, and seemed to be wearing on Andy as well.