Page 2 of Broken Chords

“Hey,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “What’s up? Did you need something?”

“Oh, uh,” I swallow again and scratch the back of my neck, unable to meet her eyes anymore. “Not exactly. I heard someone playing and thought it sounded interesting. I was trying to figure out if that was Debussy or someone else.”

She lets out a laugh. “Ah, no. Definitely not Debussy.”

“Yeah, I decided that. Is that something you’re working on for your lessons? Twentieth century stuff already?”

Another burst of laughter, and she bites her lip, her eyes sparkling with more life. And it strikes me that she still hasn’t put her glasses on, but her focus is as clear up close as when I was farther away. She must not need a very strong prescription.

“Twenty-first, actually.” Her voice sounds more clear, less husky than when we first met a few weeks ago.

I adjust the straps of my cello on my shoulders. “Oh yeah? Anyone I’ve heard of?”

Her head tilts to the side. “Um, you could say so.” The smile she’s been biting back overtakes her face, and she looks … like another shiny spark.

And I know I’m in danger of getting burned. But like a moth, I lean in closer. Waiting for her to reveal the mystery composer. “Who?”

She turns so that her hip is holding open the door and executes a little bow, complete with a wrist flourish. “Me,” she says as she straightens. “It’s not anything. Just me messing around.”

I take an involuntary step back in my surprise. “Wow. I didn’t realize you compose. Does living with Lauren make everyone a composer? Got an extra bedroom? Maybe I could get some writing mojo too.”

“Composing sounds so fancy. I don’t think I’d go that far. And no. We’re not in the market for another roommate, but I’ll let you know if there’s an opening.”

I grin back, unable to help my response to her. She’s light and charming, and I want to keep her talking so I have an excuse to stay near her.

Her eyes trace the line of the cello case sticking up above my head. “You heading out?”

“Yeah. I try to be done by ten thirty. I’m a late night practicer. It’s quieter. Not as many distractions.”

She nods, her gaze returning to mine. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that. I tend to be here later, too.”

“Maybe we could play together sometime.” The words are out before I can think to stuff them back down. She has that same infectious brightness as Lauren, and I’m powerless to resist when it’s sitting in front of me. I force my jaw closed, not letting any more words of witless explanation escape so I can retain some dignity when she inevitably turns me down.

But to my astonished pleasure, her eyes light up like she can’t believe her good fortune. “Yeah. That sounds like fun. We could jam sometime. Like, do you want to schedule something or just see when we run into each other again?”

My smile finds its way back to my face, unable to stay repressed since she’s excited. “Tomorrow? I’m not sure about jamming. But I could dig out some piano and cello sonatas that could be fun.”

“Yeah. That sounds good. Nothing too technical, though. Dr. Gomez assures me that while my musicality is better than most students my age, my technique is worse than any freshman he’s ever taught. And since I’m an old freshman, it’s even more dreadful.”

Since her words are delivered with an edge of self-deprecating sarcasm, I give her shoulder a squeeze. “Dr. Gomez likes to tell everyone their technique is appalling. Or dreadful. Sometimes horrifying. Don’t take it too personally.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile remains in place. “Yeah. One of the other piano majors mentioned that Dr. Gomez told him the same thing, more or less, his freshman year. It’s funny, though, because that sounds like such an insult, you know? It should be upsetting, but he’s so nice and he sounds so concerned when he tells me how awful I am that instead of getting angry or sad, it just makes me want to try harder.”

My fingers slide over the bare skin of her arm as I let go. “I know what you mean. I had him as a chamber music coach last year. He was like that with us too. But by the end of the semester we were playing better together than we would’ve ever thought possible at the beginning. And he’s as free with his praise as his criticisms, so you know when you’re really getting it. He’s fun to work with.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” She glances back in the room before looking at me again. “Let me grab my stuff, and I’ll walk out with you. I need to head home and get through some homework tonight.”

“Sure.” I reach out and hold the door for her while she slides on her glasses and swipes the pile of music off the piano. Once we’re outside, she stops and locks the door with a key she pulls from her pocket. The piano majors’ practice rooms stay locked, that way random people don’t go in and mess with the nice pianos.

I shorten my steps so she can keep up with me easily. She doesn’t quite come up to my shoulder. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, she stops and glances at the door to the parking lot. “Do you take your cello home? Or leave it here?”

“I usually leave it here. I have a locker. I don’t play at home. I made a deal with my roommates, Zeke and Jason, that we’d all practice at school so we don’t start hating each other for practicing while the others are doing homework or trying to watch a movie or whatever. Jason’s the worst, since he drums on everything. He can’t really practice at home, though. His instruments are all here. But I don’t want to listen to Zeke on the trombone anymore than either of them wants to hear me playing cello.”

She nods. “Makes sense. Lauren and I don’t have anything that formal worked out, but so far she only practices here. I have an electric keyboard that I sometimes play, but it’s not the same as the baby grands. I really miss the full size grands. One of these days I’m going to sneak into the recital hall and practice in there.”

She flashes a grin, and I grin back, mesmerized by her smile. “Invite me along. I’d love to hear you play in the hall.”

Her head dips in a brief nod. “Sure. We can do it together. Play one of those sonatas you find.” She pulls her phone out of the pile of papers and books she holds against her chest, wincing at whatever she sees on the screen. “I really do need to head home and do homework, though. If I don’t get started soon, I’ll be worthless tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me too. Want to grab dinner tomorrow, and then we can play together after?” I hold my breath on the inhale after that impromptu question escapes. Something about her has me asking for things I’d normally deliberate over for days before tentatively bringing up. Instead I’m just vomiting them out. But she was excited about my suggestion that we play together. Maybe dinner’s not such a stretch.

Her eyes find mine. “That sounds great. Meet here at five?”

“Sure. Yeah.” I sound like a moron, stumbling over my agreement as though I didn’t suggest dinner. “It’s a date.” Oh shit, did I just say that out loud?

But her smile pulls wide again. “It’s a date.”

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