Page 11 of Not Another Love Song

She practiced for the next hour, and as she was packing up, the woman from the admin office knocked on the door before letting herself in.

“Gwen? Xander Thorne paid for your rehearsal time. He said he took up most of it?” She held the cash Gwen had paid an hour and a half ago out to her.

She clenched her jaw. That wasn’t exactly incorrect, but just not in the way he was implying. She sighed. She wasn’t a charity case.

“Can you keep it? Pay it forward to one of the students maybe?” Gwen tugged her tote bag onto her shoulder and thanked her before heading home.

CHAPTER THREE

By rehearsal on Wednesday, Gwen had pushed Xander Thorne far out of her mind. Or at least she’d tried.

She arrived at the rehearsal space on Eighth, pulling the door open just as Ava Fitzgerald stepped out of her cab.

“Good morning, Gwen,” she said with a smile, the sparse streaks of gray in her dark hair gleaming in the morning sun.

Gwen’s heart jolted, just like it did any time Ava Fitzgerald spoke to her. As first chair of the Manhattan Pops, Ava was technically Gwen’s boss, but more important, she was her hero. She’d had a career as an international soloist for years—the kind of career Gwen would kill to have—before taking over first chair in the Pops, the orchestra her own father had founded.

Mabel had rolled her eyes when Gwen asked why Ava Fitzgerald had stopped her solo career to join the Pops. “Because she’s an idiot, that’s why. Any symphony would have had her, as guest soloist or as first chair, but she threw it all away.” Mabel had slammed the register drawer closed and flown over to scream at the children pounding on the keyboards.

Even as a kid, Gwen had known there was something more behind Mabel’s irritation. Mabel never talked about how she knew Ava Fitzgerald, but Gwen had seen her at the music shop more than once, trying to convince Mabel to apply for grants or offering her help with advertising ideas. Mabel turned her away every time. The first time she had been properly introduced to Ava, Gwen had just finished tuning her violin an entire half step up in an attempt to play a trick on Mabel. Gwen had been playing in the practice rooms, waiting for Mabel to notice and tell her something was off when she heard a woman arguing with Mabel about some kind of application.

“I don’t need your help—”

“I didn’t say you did. I just saw the application and thought of this place—”

“Gwen!” Mabel had called out, and Gwen jerked. She peeked her head out the door. “Come meet Ava Fitzgerald.” The woman—Ava—had smiled at her, and her eyes had dropped to the violin in her hands as Mabel continued, “Ava is the best violinist in the world”—and then grumbled—“just ask her.”

Ava glared at the back of Mabel’s head before pushing a curl away from her face with a deep breath. Ava settled her eyes back on Gwen and smiled.

“Hello, Gwen. You play violin?”

“Yeah—yes.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“Um, almost two years.” Gwen ran the hair of the bow across her fingertips, pulling her eyes away from Ava’s smooth curls.

“That’s wonderful. Can I hear your scales?”

As Ava leaned against the doorjamb, smiling softly, Gwen finally placed her. The woman who had given her a one-hundred-dollar bill in the 14th Street subway station. Her heart pounded, and her fingers buzzed in anticipation. She lifted the violin to her chin and set the bow to the strings.

And winced—she’d forgotten about the tuning she’d done to mess with Mabel. The scales sang out at a half-step up. It wasn’t noticeable unless you had an ear for it, so Gwen pressed through some arpeggios, hoping to make up for her nerves.

When she pulled the bow away and looked up, Ava had a familiar expression on her face—the same look Mabel had worn when Gwen had first played scales two years earlier, asking her for a third time if she’d ever been trained in violin before.

Ava tilted her head. “You play in the subway stations, don’t you?”

Gwen felt her entire body sing. She swallowed as her throat tightened. “Yes, sometimes.”

Ava smiled. “I remember you.”

She blinked quickly, unsure how to respond.

“Keep playing, Gwen,” Ava said, adjusting her Louis Vuitton purse on her shoulder. And just before she disappeared from the doorway, she said, “Oh, and ask Mabel to take a look at your violin. It’s tuned half a step up.”

Gwen had stared at the space Ava Fitzgerald had occupied, her skin tingling and her breath short. It was as if a record player had just clicked, the needle finally finding the grooves.

She’d noticed the tuning. Mabel hadn’t noticed it. Maybe they were the only two people in the world who could hear it.

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