Page 24 of Healing Hearts
"Not as much as I'd like," he admits. "But sometimes, after a long shift, I'll dust off the old sax. It keeps me sane."
"I'd love to hear you play sometime," I say, surprised by my own boldness.
Trevor's gaze locks with mine, and the air between us crackles with electricity. "I'd like that," he murmurs.
In that moment, I want nothing more than to close the distance between us. But uncertainty holds me back. There's still a large part of my life Trevor doesn't know about, so many secrets I'm keeping. Can I really let myself fall for him? It may be too late for that, though. I’m pretty sure I’ve already fallen over that cliff.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Trevor reaches across the table and takes my hand. His touch is gentle, grounding. "Hey," he says softly. "No pressure here. Let's just enjoy tonight, okay?"
I nod, grateful for his understanding. As we continue our meal, trading stories and laughter, I allow myself to relax into the moment.
I lean back in my chair, the gentle rocking of the boat mirroring the rhythm of the jazz playing softly in the background. My wine glass catches the moonlight as I raise it, gesturing emphatically.
"You shouldn't discount the healing power of music, Trevor. Especially jazz." I can feel my eyes lighting up as I speak, passion coloring my words. "There's something... transcendent about it. The way it can soothe your soul or set your heart racing."
Trevor's eyebrows raise, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
I nod, memories washing over me. "A few years back, I stumbled into this tiny jazz bar in New Orleans. It was this hidden gem, all exposed brick and dim lighting. And there was this indie artist playing... God, I'd never heard anything like it."
As I speak, I can almost hear the haunting melody, feel the vibrations of the music thrumming through my body. Trevor leans forward, his blue eyes intent on my face.
"What was so special about them?" he asks, genuinely curious.
I pause, trying to find the right words. "Him. It was raw, you know? Like he was pouring his entire soul into every note. I swear, the whole room was holding its breath."
Trevor's hand finds mine across the table, his thumb tracing circles on my skin. The touch sends shivers up my arm. "I can see why you'd remember that," he says softly.
His gaze is so intense, I have to look away. My eyes land on the bookshelves lining his cabin, and I'm reminded of my own love affair with literature. I go to look at the spines of the books, get an understanding of what makes Trevor tick by his choice in reading materials.
"What about you?" Trevor asks, breaking into my thoughts as he follows me to the bookshelf. "Did you always want to be a school librarian?"
I laugh, shaking my head. "Not exactly. But there was this librarian when I was a kid..." I trail off, lost in the memory of Mrs. Holloway's kind smile and endless patience.
"Tell me about it," Trevor prompts gently.
I take a deep breath, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "She saw something in me, I guess. Encouraged my love of reading, introduced me to worlds I never knew existed. In a lot of ways, she saved me."
Trevor's hand tightens on mine, and when I meet his eyes, I see understanding there. For a moment, I'm tempted to tell him everything – about Sophie Quinn, about my secret life as a novelist. But the words stick in my throat, held back by years of carefully guarded privacy.
Instead, I squeeze his hand back, offering a small smile. "So, in a way, I guess I'm just paying it forward."
Trevor's blue eyes search mine, a mix of curiosity and something deeper, more intense. "But was it your dream?" he asks softly, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
My heart races, torn between the desire to open up and the need to protect my secret. I take a deep breath, the scent of saltwater and Trevor's cologne filling my lungs. "Well, not exactly," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've always wanted to be a full-time novelist."
His eyebrows raise, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Really? That's fascinating, Brooke. Have you written anything?"
I laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Oh, you know, just some short stories here and there. Nothing published." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I push through. "It's more of a dream than a reality right now."
Trevor leans in closer, his breath warm on my cheek. "I think you'd be amazing at it. Your way with words... it's captivating."
My skin tingles where his lips nearly brush my ear. I turn to face him, our noses almost touching. "You're pretty captivating yourself, Dr. Jacobs," I murmur.
In an instant, the air between us charges with electricity. Trevor's hand slides to the nape of my neck, drawing me closer. Our lips meet, tentative at first, then with growing urgency as I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair.
We break apart, breathless. "Brooke," Trevor whispers, his voice husky with desire. "This is me not being chivalrous. Tell me to stop if you don’t want this."
“Trevor. I…I want this, but I’m scared of the afterwards.” I tell him honestly.
