Page 21 of Not Another Love Song

Gwen was there twice a week, listening to the lessons in the practice rooms, wincing at a new trumpet player’s scales and dozing to a good violin solo. Eventually, the shop owner turned to her at closing time and handed her a business card. “Do me a favor, kid? Give this to your mom so she knows where you’ve been spending your time. Don’t come back anymore if you’re going to lie to me or her.”

Gwen looked down at the card. Mabel’s Music Shop. Mabel Rodriguez, owner. The address and phone number.

The owner—Mabel—started closing, counting the cash in the register, cleaning the instruments, running a quick vacuum over the thin carpets. When Gwen didn’t move, eyes turned down, fingers bending the sharp edges of the card, Mabel finally shook her shoulder to tell her the shop was closed.

Gwen glanced up at her with dripping eyes. “My mom died, so I can’t give this to her. Please let me come back.”

There was no worthless pity in Mabel’s expression as she looked her over. No empty words like her teachers gave her, no condolences or sorrow. She just took a deep breath and said, “You give that card to whoever is in charge of you, you hear? Now, go home. We’re closed, and it’s getting dark.”

Mabel didn’t mention it again. But the following week was when she started teaching Gwen violin. In this very practice room.

Gwen rolled her shoulders back and let the memory drain away, listening to Mabel finish with the difficult woman up front. A few minutes later, once the woman left with a slam of the door, Gwen joined her at the counter.

“Wish I still had you for deliveries, kid. Would love to never see her again.” Mabel hummed as she filed the paperwork. A lock of her dark hair fell across her face, and Gwen was shocked to see how much gray had grown in while she wasn’t paying attention.

Once her arms were free, Mabel spun back to her, ready for her hug. Gwen curled over her and breathed in the smell of rosemary spice.

Mabel gave the best hugs, the kind that crunched your bones and soothed your muscles all at once. Gwen was thirteen the first time she got a Mabel Hug. She couldn’t remember what it was for—maybe just hello or goodbye—but she had been swept into Mabel’s short arms and held next to a heartbeat for the first time since her mother had died.

“What brings you all the way out here?” she asked against Gwen’s shoulder. “You don’t need to be restrung for another month.”

Preparing for the worst, Gwen pulled back and said, “I have news.”

Mabel watched her shrewdly and gestured for her to continue.

“I just had an audition with Ava, Nathan, and the board. They offered me first chair.”

Even the words themselves sent a rush of excitement and pride through Gwen’s veins. But Mabel’s face didn’t move.

“They can’t have.”

Gwen blinked at her. “Well—”

“You might have heard them wrong.” Mabel’s brows came together, scrutinizing. “Second chair is…more likely, but still also a long shot.”

She swallowed. She’d known this was going to be the reception. She just didn’t realize how badly she’d wanted a sincere “congratulations” until she had to mourn it.

“No, it’s first chair. Concertmaster. Ava is retiring to the board.”

Mabel’s eyes narrowed. “And why offer this to you? You’ve been there two years.”

“Almost four, actually,” Gwen said with a bite of bitterness.

“Still not long enough. It takes years to garner that much respect and seniority.”

“Ava Fitzgerald took first chair when she was in her twenties,” Gwen snapped.

“Oh, and are you the next Ava Fitzgerald?” Mabel lifted a brow and stuck her hands on her hips. “Is that what they sold to you today?”

Gwen looked down at the violin in her hands. The violin that Mabel had given her.

“I was hoping you’d be happy for me,” she whispered.

She heard Mabel take a deep breath, and then warm arms were wrapping around her middle. “Of course I am.” She kissed her shoulder, the only skin she could reach. “I just don’t want anyone using you and throwing you away.”

Gwen’s mind wandered to that deep voice, the words hissed against her forehead—

Be careful with them. They can take it all away from you.

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