Page 5 of Broken Chords

Chapter Three

Half step:the smallest interval, or distance, between two notes in Western music. On a piano keyboard, a white key and a black key are a half step apart, as are the two white keys without a black key between them.

Whole step:an interval consisting of two half steps

Damian

Sunlight streams through the wall of glass windows into the lobby of the music building, illuminating Charlie standing alone next to a grouping of chairs, pacing slowly and nibbling on her thumbnail. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I stop in the opening of the carpeted hallway to take her in. Her head is tilted down, her gaze on the terrazzo tile of the lobby, but her short hairstyle leaves her profile visible. She has her glasses on, her lips painted a deep red, a sharp contrast to her pale skin and the muted earth tones of her clothes—a long, rust-colored top over skinny jeans and brown knee-high boots, the strap of a leather messenger bag crossing her torso. The sun glints off a shiny pendant hanging on her chest, the one flashy thing about her outfit. But she doesn’t need jewelry to sparkle. She does that all on her own.

Adrenaline spikes in my bloodstream, kicking my heartbeat to a higher tempo. Some part of me half expected her to not be here. I’d dawdled after Strings Seminar, hoping to give her enough time to get here so I wouldn’t be standing around waiting for her like an idiot. Which I’m making her do right now.

Wiping suddenly sweaty hands down my thighs, I clear my throat and take a step onto the tile. Her head snaps up, and her eyes meet mine. She drops her hand from her mouth, and a smile spreads across her lips as she steps toward me. I love seeing her smile. “Hey. How’d your seminar go? Did you play today?”

Her voice has that husky quality it sometimes gets right now that sends a little electric shock down my spine. The best kind. “Not today. Next week.”

“Cool. What are you going to play?” Her pale blue eyes have a ring of navy around the rim, and her pupils are tightly contracted against the sunshine, allowing me an unfettered view of the feathery patterns in her irises as she gazes up at me.

“The Dvorák cello concerto.”

“Oh.”

My smile grows wider. “Haven’t heard it?”

Her eyes drop from mine. “Uh, no. Not yet.”

“Maybe I’ll play it for you tonight. After we play together.”

She meets my gaze again, her smile bright. “I’d like that.” We stare at each other for a second, my attention captured by her eyes again. She clears her throat and glances outside, her fingers skimming over the top of her ear like she’s pushing her hair back. “I’m starved. Ready to get dinner?”

“Right. Yeah. Dinner. Of course.” The smile she once again directs my way has me stumbling over my words like a moron, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.

She turns and heads for the doors that face the center of campus. I’m surprised, since the main parking lot is at the end of the building, but I catch up quickly, my long legs eating up the distance between us in a few strides. “You scored a spot over here?”

“What?” She glances up at me as she pushes the door open.

I catch it above her head and prop it open for her, following her out. “You parked on the side?” I tilt my head to the left. “I usually park over on the end. I was running late and had to park out at the back of the parking lot.”

Her laugh trips across my nerves, pleasure flaring at the sound. I’d love nothing more than to listen to that laugh all night. “No.” She shakes her head. “I’m parked over there too. Probably as far out as you, since I got here in the middle of the main performance seminars. We piano performance majors have our seminar in the recital hall on Tuesday afternoons while you’re in orchestra rehearsal. Since we have to be available to accompany everyone else.”

“Are you accompanying anyone yet?”

She shakes her head, a grimace twisting her berry-colored lips. “Terrible technique, remember?”

I chuckle at the pained expression on her face that I know isn’t real because of our conversation last night. “In all honesty, it can’t be that terrible. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been admitted. Or gotten the standard scholarship offer.”

She looks away, her hand curling around the pendant of her necklace. “Right. True.” Then she smiles at me again, and whatever question I was going to ask about her weird reaction flies away. “Anyway, we were going to dinner. I usually eat in the campus center. Is that not what you had in mind?”

With a bark of laughter, I shake my head, daring to place my hand on the small of her back to guide her toward my car. She stiffens under my touch, just a little, but I notice and quickly drop my hand. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I just … It’s, um …”

Her face looks troubled, and I jump in, not wanting to make her feel like she needs to defend herself. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to startle you. But no. I didn’t intend to take you to eat in the cafeteria. We said this was a date, right? Dinner and making music. Maybe a little unconventional as dates go, but I think it sounds perfect.”

“I think it’s perfect too.” She bumps my arm with her shoulder, relaxed once more. “Everything about me is unconventional. Why would I want a conventional date anyway?”

“Right. Exactly. But there’s no way I’m taking a date to the cafeteria for dinner.”

She laughs again. “Got it. No cafeteria. So where are we going?”

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