Page 90 of Not Another Love Song

“Wine is fine, thanks.”

Alex grinned, and Gwen didn’t miss the way Jacob’s fingers squeezed his bicep before dropping away. Jacob opened the fridge door, blocking Alex from view, and spun to Gwen with a dramatic Oh, my GOD! expression. Gwen snapped a dish towel against his thigh.

Jacob and Gwen had had more than three people over before, but trying to get everyone situated in Gwen’s bedroom using only a loveseat, three folding chairs, and their collection of TV trays was more complicated than she’d imagined.

“Declan, tell us your juiciest case as a lawyer,” Mei said. “Break all your NDAs.”

“I’m not the juicy kind of lawyer. I do paperwork mainly.”

“What kind of paperwork?” Alex asked.

“Contract negotiations. Branding. Filing for copyrights.”

“Did you at least go to Harvard Law? Can I call you my Harvard friend?” Mei said around a mouthful of salami and rice.

“You can call me your SUNY friend.”

“Imma call you my Harvard friend.”

“Xander,” Jeremy said, “are you going on tour this year?”

“Probably in the summer,” he said. “But nothing like last year. Just a few cities.”

Declan noticed Alex’s watch then, and Declan, Jeremy, and Alex spent the next ten minutes talking about Breitling versus Rolex. Mei pretended to nod off several times.

As the conversation turned to cars next, Jacob turned to Mei and Gwen. “Damn, ladies. We povvos did good for ourselves. Men who know cars and watches? I’ll just look pretty for the rest of my life, thank you.” He whistled and poured himself another glass of wine.

“What part of town are you in, Xander?” Declan asked as he started clearing dishes.

“Uh, the East Side.”

“Oh like, the Village?”

“Um, no.” Alex scratched his neck. “Like, near the park.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Mei said, “Gwen, what the fuck am I doing on a folding chair in your bedroom?” She looked at Alex. “We’re doing this at your place next time, right?”

Alex laughed and took Gwen’s hand. “You guys are welcome.”

In the mornings before rehearsal, Gwen would crawl out of bed and sneak into the studio while Alex worked, listening to the songs he wrote. She’d sit and drink her latte and work on her bowing markings. She found this was where his moods were best, so she always tried to talk him into the Valentine’s Day duo concert in the mornings. He would frown and say, “Lorenz is talking with the programming director. We’ll see what they come up with.”

Gwen didn’t know what that meant, but it was better than an outright “no.”

Sometimes Alex would practice music for the Pops or Thorne and Roses, but most of the time she found him trying new pieces she’d never heard. He asked her to play a duet with him one day and set up a tripod in his studio. Despite her protesting, he didn’t let her see the sheet music beforehand. She focused on the page, not the camera, and it was pretty good. She felt free. They co-posted the video to their Instagrams, and it was the most likes she’d ever received on a single post. A thousand new followers.

Whenever she heard Alex play an original song in the mornings, she’d try to get out of him what he intended to do with it, if maybe he wanted to record those as well. But most of the time he’d shrug and confess he had no plan. He was just creating.

“What did you play in the subways?” he asked her one morning.

She looked up from where her chin rested on her knees, which were curled up to her chest. “Um. Pop songs mainly. They bring in better tips. But also the recognizable Beethoven and Mozart pieces.”

“Did you ever write anything yourself?”

She shook her head. “No. People only give money to songs they recognize.”

He seemed to think about this for a moment. “What about at home? Just for yourself?”

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