Grayson appeared beside me, and I started to feel a little panicky. Last he’d heard, I was bringing a boyfriend to his wedding. I silently cursed Bruno for staying away for so long. His super-grandpa status down in Florida was making Grayson a regular fixture in the symphony.
Grayson looked from me to Blake, then smiled. “Great rehearsal tonight, Emma. Is this him? Your boyfriend?”
I winced. “No, this is Blake. We actually just met.”
“Oh! Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have assumed. Though, I guess there are worse things I could have accused you of. I’m Grayson.” He reached out to shake Blake’s hand.
“Blake’s from Utah,” I blurted, my words rushed and slightly frantic. An undercurrent of please-don’t-make-me-explain-where-my-real-but-not-real-boyfriend-actually-is clung to every syllable I spoke. “He’s in town visiting his aunt, and she’s a friend from church, so . . . yeah. We’re just going to go get something to eat.”
It was awkward. Totally awkward. I didn’t want Blake to think I had a boyfriend, because it would have been rude of me to say yes to his date if I did, which meant I really needed Grayson to be cool and not say anything else incriminating. If I kept flinging unnecessary details at him, maybe he’d just hurry and leave.
Fortunately Grayson was a suave guy, so he handled my detail flinging with grace. “Welcome to Asheville,” he said to Blake. “Emma knows all the best places to eat. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.” He touched me lightly on the elbow. “Later, Em. Good night to you both.”
I turned my attention back to Blake. “Sorry. That was . . . weird. He’s an old friend.”
“An old boyfriend?”
I shrugged. “Yes. But it was a long time ago. He’s actually getting married in a few weeks.”
“Yeah? I guess that’s cool. And, hey, now I can mark ‘Run into your date’s ex’ off my dating bucket list.”
“That is so not on your bucket list.”
“Sure it is. I just added it,” Blake said.
He was adorable—great lines when he smiled and killer brown eyes that got all bright and happy as he talked. I was generally one to go for the dark, brooding, artistic types, and this guy was definitely not that. But there was something appealing about the openness and genuine friendliness of his face.
“See? That guy?” He motioned in the general direction Grayson had gone. “That guy’s smooth. You can just tell by the way he carries himself. He’s never going to be embarrassed on a date or worry he’ll say the wrong thing. He will never go anywhere and get caught with his fly down. He probably has specially engineered pants so he’s never at risk for fly exposure.”
I laughed. “Sometimes being smooth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I think your honesty is more impressive.”
“Phew. I’m never sure about that first impression. My mother told me once I act like an overeager puppy. No matter how much I try to be cool and calm, it’s those words that plague the first ten minutes of every single first date.”
“That makes it sound like you’ve had a lot of first dates.”
His cheeks colored. “No! I mean, enough I guess. Enough that I think I’ve finally figured out what I’m looking for.”
His comment hit me right in the gut. It sounded like this guy was playing for keeps. I didn’t want to hurt him, but every second I was with him just cemented the fact that my head was not in the same game. I tried to go for cool and casual, maybe even a little indifferent. “It must be nice to know what you want.”
We walked out of the auditorium and through the lobby.
“You don’t know?”
Yeah, I did. And his name was Elliott. “I don’t know. I thought I did. Maybe I still do.”
Blake chuckled. “That’s the most unconvincing statement I’ve ever heard.” We hit the sidewalk, and he pointed to the lot across the street. “I’m over here. Want to ride with me?”
“Yeah, that’d be good. Are you hungry?”
“Absolutely. Where are we headed?”
“I was thinking we could stay downtown and go over to the Chestnut. Great food, and they serve dinner late so we won’t have trouble getting a table.” I glanced at my watch. “Actually, do you feel like walking? We could drive in five minutes . . . probably walk in fifteen or so.”
“I’m up for a walk,” he said. “You want to put your violin in your car? Or my car, if it’s closer.”
My eyes went wide. No way, no how was I leaving my violin in any car anywhere.
Blake held his hands up. “Or we can just keep it with us. That’s cool too.”
“Sorry. It’s . . . Violins aren’t cheap. I’d rather keep it with me.” I pulled the strap of my case over my head and settled the instrument comfortably across my back. We turned and headed down Haywood Street into the heart of downtown.
“I was reading up on the inner mechanics of the symphony while you were finishing rehearsal.”
“Yeah? What’d you learn?”
“I read about the conductor. He’s the most important one, right?”
“That’s Dr. Williamson. He’s our music director and conductor and is definitely the most important one.”
“And then there’s someone called the concertmaster? And he’s like the next guy down, sort of second in command?”
“He or she,” I added.
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. Wait—is it you?”
“Yes, but it’s not that big a deal.”
“Sure it is. It sounded like a pretty big honor. You have to be the best one to do all that jazz.”
I shrugged. “I guess so, yeah.”
“That’s pretty sweet,” Blake said. We moved around a street magician wowing a small crowd with a deck of cards, the top card hovering in the air above the others. A woman passed her hand under the hovering card and gasped as the crowd started to clap.
Blake smiled. “This is a great city.”
“It’s never boring, that’s for sure.” Though it was just past ten, people were everywhere, gathering on street corners, spilling onto the sidewalk in front of the bars and restaurants that made Asheville famous. “The city is mostly about food and beer,” I continued. “That’s what people come for.”
“I read something about all the microbreweries in the area.”
“They’re everywhere. But the food is great too. Lots of farm-to-table and eat-local stuff.”
We crossed the street to the next corner, and Blake turned and grabbed my arm. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “What is it?”
I smiled. “That’s the drum circle at Pritchard Park. Come on. We’re almost there.”
“The drum circle?”
“It happens every Friday night. People just bring their drums and jump in.” We moved across the street and stood right on the edge of the park. The circle was probably twenty people strong, a mash-up of rhythms that shook into the ground, then reverberated up through the sidewalk and into our feet.
“This is seriously the coolest thing I have ever seen.” Blake started swaying, his shoulders bouncing to the rhythm of the drums pouring out of the park.
“Welcome to Asheville,” I said with a smile.
“Have you ever done it? I totally want to do it.”
A Jamaican man standing beside us turned. “You want to try? Here. Use my drum. There’s a spot for you right there.”
“For real? Do you want to do it?” Blake turned and looked at me, his eyebrows raised in question.
“No, this is all you. Go ahead.”
He grabbed the drum and jumped into the circle like a, well, like an overeager puppy. His mom was totally right. I moved to an empty park bench and sat down, my violin case lying across my lap, and pulled my cell phone out of my purse. I had a text from Elliott. Remember when I said you on a date with someone was cool? I didn’t mean it.
My heart started to race, and I glanced up at Blake as if he would know just from looking at me I was texting another guy. He was fully engaged in his drumming so I turned back to my phone. Yo
u sound a little like a jealous boyfriend.
I was going for more of the older-brother vibe.
You spend much time kissing your sister?
No. No, I don’t.
I shouldn’t have brought up the kissing. No way I was keeping my head in the game with Blake if I was reliving my make-out session with Elliott.
I think about that night all the time, he wrote.
I read his text, then quickly turned my phone over, dropping it into my lap. This was so totally not a while-dating-another-guy kind of conversation. But, then, it wasn’t like I could just leave Elliott hanging. I scooped my phone back up, flexing my fingers as I tried to figure out what to say. Finally I keyed in a response. That’s breaking the rules. You’re only supposed to think in music notes.
His response was almost immediate. The rules are stupid.
You’re the one who made the rules.
Permission to reconsider? Staying away from you is only making things worse.
You’re only saying that because now I’m out with someone else.
That’s not true. It’s why I wanted to take you to dinner. Because I wanted to tell you I was wrong about being just friends.
Oh my holy cow. I snuck another peek at Blake. Much to my relief, he was still facing away from me, not noticing my insta-grin or trembling hands.
Well then, I guess that’s different, I wrote.
Is he a nice guy?
He’s a very nice guy.
Name?
Blake.
Last name?
I rolled my eyes. Blake Johnson. Mormon. Attorney. From Ogden, Utah. Visiting his aunt and interviewing for a job with an Asheville firm. About six feet, blond hair, brown eyes. Anything else you want to know?
Sorry. I’m being rude.
I’m willing to forgive if your reasons are good enough.
Blinding, maddening jealousy?
“Emma!” I looked up. Blake was standing at the edge of the drum circle next to the Jamaican man from earlier and a kid in a backward baseball cap who had been dancing his way around the park. “You got to see this kid! Come watch what he can do.”
“Just a sec,” I called. I glanced back at my phone. Gotta go. Call you later?
Yes, please.
It took all my willpower to put my phone away and give my full attention back to Blake.
We spent a few more minutes in the drum circle, watched the crazy dancing of a kid we decided for sure was going to be famous someday, then headed to the restaurant and had a nice dinner. It was nice. Blake was nice. And funny and charming and thoroughly entertaining. And it was a good thing because had he not been all those things, there was no way I would have made it to the end of the night without bailing and heading to Elliott’s.
It was just after midnight when we made it back to the concert hall. Blake leaned against the side of my car while I unlocked the door and put my violin inside.
“I had a nice time tonight,” he said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Really?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and scrunched his eyebrows.
“Yeah, really. It was fun.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure I believe you.”
Okay. Weird. “Do I sound like I’m lying?”
“No, I was just trying to figure out if what my aunt said was true.”
Uh oh. “What did she say?”
He grimaced. “Only that you might not be interested in going out with me since you’re hung up on someone else.”
My cheeks flamed red. “I don’t . . . There’s not . . . Why would she say that?”
“I wasn’t trying to make it sound like a bad thing. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“It’s fine. I guess I just forget how observant my fellow ward members are. I don’t always understand their persistence in wanting to marry me off.”
He chuckled. “It’s a cultural thing, I think. They just want you to be happy.”
“I guess so.”
“So are you interested in someone else?”
There was only one way to answer his question. I’d tried to have an open mind about Blake, but it was hopeless. I couldn’t get Elliott out of my head. “Blake, if I had a single friend, you would be at the very top of my list of guys she should date.”
“But I’m not on your list.”
“I’m sorry. This thing with this other person—I didn’t really know what was going to happen when I agreed to go out with you. Things are still kinda new, but . . . I think I have to give it a chance.”
“Oh, I totally get it.” His tone shifted. “I mean, it’s not like I could really compete with the glitz of fame and fortune anyway. If that kind of thing makes you happy, I guess I wish you well.”
My eyes narrowed. Guess dear old aunty hadn’t held back. “Okay, that was an entirely inappropriate thing to say. You don’t know anything about what makes me happy.”
He huffed. “Right. You girls are all the same.”
We girls? Blake’s demeanor had changed so suddenly I felt like I was looking at a different person. Not five seconds ago he’d been apologizing for embarrassing me, and now he was smug and judgmental? And for what? Because he was jealous of a guy he didn’t even know? I resisted the urge to defend myself and insist my feelings for Elliott were based on way more than money or fame. But I didn’t owe Blake an explanation. I didn’t owe him anything. “You know what? I really believe you’re a nice guy. Don’t say something stupid and ruin it.”
“You know the last girl I dated had a poster of him on her wall?”
Wait? What? “A poster of Elliott?”
“Yeah. She talked about him all the time. How stupid ironic is it that two dates in a row both girls have a thing for the same famous guy. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
My brain was having a hard time moving past the whole poster-of-Elliott comment. Did people even still do that? Buy actual posters of people and hang them on their walls? Better question: did grown women buy posters and hang them on their walls? I’d joked about them when I was determined to show Elliott I wasn’t really a fan, but I was just being facetious. I didn’t really think posters were still a thing. “I guess that is sort of a weird coincidence,” I finally said. “But, Blake, Elliott and I have a lot in common. This isn’t a poster-on-the-wall kind of thing. I don’t own any Elliott posters. We’re just getting to know each other like normal people do.”
He heaved a sigh. It sounded like defeat. Or maybe just resignation. “Man. Dating stinks.”
I leaned against the car beside him, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. The temperature around us had dropped, and a chill crept through the thin fabric of my jacket.
“I agree,” I said. “Dating absolutely stinks. But only until it doesn’t.”
“For real? That’s your take? It only stinks until it doesn’t?” At least he was smiling again.
“So maybe eloquence isn’t exactly my strongest skill,” I joked. “I’m just saying, one day you’ll meet somebody, and suddenly dating won’t stink anymore. And all that time that stuff felt rough won’t matter because you’ll realize the timing with this new person is just what it’s supposed to be and everything makes sense. You just have to wait for it.”
“You make it sound way easier than it is.”
“It’s not easy. More like awful. I moved to Asheville and thought I’d committed dating suicide.”
“But then you met somebody.”
I shrugged. “I hope that’s the way things are going.” I stifled a yawn, and Blake smiled.
“Sorry. I know it’s late.” He gave me a hug. “Thanks for tonight, and I mean that for real. I swear I’m not actually a jerk.”
“I believe you,” I told him.
We said good night, and I drove home preoccupied with the idea of Elliott posters plastered all over America’s walls. It wasn’t so much that it bothered me. It was just . . . weird. I wondered if it bothered Elliott—the idea of women fixating on him, staring at his picture, imaginin
g conversations, kisses, relationships that wouldn’t ever actually exist.
I texted Elliott as soon as I was in the driveway. There was a light on in his window, which I hoped meant he was still awake. You still up?
Waiting for you. Want to come over?
He was standing in his doorway when I made it inside. He gave me an appraising glance but kept his distance.
“How was your date?”
“It was fine, thank you.”
“I’m glad you had a nice time.”
Ha. Right. “Are you really?” I gave him a playful smile that he returned with a little half grin and a cocky shrug of his shoulder.
“It’s possible I was hoping the night was a total bust.” He crossed the entryway, finally, and stopped right in front of me, hooking his pinkie finger around mine and sending my heart into an annoyingly obnoxious frenzy.
“It wasn’t a bust. He was nice. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He slipped an arm around my waist, and I leaned in, breathing him in. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said softly.
Every ounce of me wanted to stay right there in Elliott’s arms and forget about the conversation we’d had about timing and careers and albums and focus. His text had said he’d been wrong about staying away, and by the look in his eyes, he really meant it. But my doubt was still there like a heavy piece of jewelry I didn’t want to wear. “Elliott, what are we doing?” I finally asked.
“Come on.” He motioned to his apartment. “Let’s go sit, and we’ll talk about it.”
I followed him into his living room, where he pulled me onto the couch.
“I think I finally understand what you mean when you say people don’t see you,” I said. “They only see your fame.”
“Where did that observation come from?”
“Blake’s aunt told him I was hung up on you, which I don’t know how she would even know. But then he got all defensive, saying garbage about how he couldn’t compete with the glitz of fame, and if that’s the kind of thing that’s important to me, then good luck.”
Love at First Note Page 16