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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Matt’s wordsricocheted in Ivan’s mind all the way to the SISO studio off Frederica Road. He chained his bicycle inside the building by the stairwell. What Matt had said still bothered him as he pounded the steel treads up the stairwell to the third floor, where the string section was rehearsing.

Dude, I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want you to hurt the girl.

Ivan knew that Matt meant well. He always did. He had been a better older brother to him than Quincy could ever be.

Still…

Brinley isn’t a Christian.

That was Matt’s whole point.

Ivan flung open the door to the third floor. He panted and stopped to catch his breath, his violin case heavy on his back. As he dragged himself across the old harlequin floor to the practice room, the elevator in the hallway opened. Emmeline O'Hanlon backed out of the elevator, rolling her enormous concert grand harp.

Ivan held the door for her.

“Thanks, Ivan.”

“No problem.”

Emmeline leaned against her harp. “I don’t know why the brass section gets the first floor and we get the third. It’s a pain to drag this harp up and down the floors.”

“Get minions to help you.”

“You’re going to stand there, then?”

“I’m not your minion, Em.”

“You’re nobody’s minion, Ivan.”

What does she mean?

Emmeline tipped her eyes toward him. “You were amazing last night.”

“Huh?”

“Paganini. Rimsky-Korsakov.”

“Oh.”

Emmeline smiled that sweet, ethereal, siren smile.

Ivan didn’t return it.Never return Emmeline’s smiles.He did it once eight or nine months ago. Next thing he knew they had ended up an item for at least several months afterwards. Maybe it had something to do with their proximity in SISO. Oh yes, and that purely emotional kiss backstage after that giddily exuberant summer concert in Jacksonville.

Purely emotional.

That was what his two best friends had tried to warn him about.

Do I think a lot with my emotions?

Ivan shoved his hands into his pockets.

Emmeline had gone ahead, chatting with some cellists. Ivan didn’t follow them as he made an abrupt turn into the men’s restroom. He washed his hands and dried them thoroughly with paper towels. He did that so that he could have clean hands before he touched the violin, especially since it was borrowed. He treated the Vuillaume as if it were a Stradivarius. He might never be able to play a Strad again after the auction last night, but at least he could try to make the best of what he had been given.

Grandma Yun had taught him to be thankful to God.

He was thankful for Brinley too.

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