Jane looked . . . overwhelming? There wasn’t really a better word. She was a tiny person, probably not five foot three wearing heels, but her wedding dress literally made her as broad as she was tall. The princess skirt filled the entire aisle as she passed, the train extending at least ten feet behind her. I couldn’t imagine how they would ever bustle that thing. Elliott leaned over, his mouth just beside my ear, and whispered, “Not even close.”
* * *
Five minutes after the dinner plates were cleared, one of the bridesmaids approached Elliott. We’d been lucky with our dinner companions, an older couple who were neighbors to the Rockwells, and Bruno and his wife. They hadn’t seemed to care who Elliott was. But the bridesmaid had a look of hunger in her eyes, and I found myself reflexively reaching for Elliott’s hand.
“I, um, so, I wasn’t sure it was really you at first, but, oh my word, I’d know your face anywhere, and I just . . .” She waved her hands in front of her face. “I just want to tell you how much I love your music.” She was visibly trembling, which kinda made me feel sorry for her. It wasn’t like I’d managed to have all that much grace the first time I’d talked to Elliott. “I voted for you every single time you played on Talent Hunt,” she continued. “And it was the most amazing thing when you won.”
“Thank you,” Elliott finally said. “Tell me your name?”
She beamed. “I’m Jenna.”
“Jenna, I really appreciate your support.”
Oh, he was good.
“Do you think maybe I could get a picture with you? Would you mind?” Jenna looked at me, a question in her eyes. Elliott shot me an apologetic look.
I shook my head ever so slightly, just enough for him to know I didn’t mind. It was actually kind of entertaining. “Here. I can take it for you.” I stood and took Jenna’s phone, feeling more than a little glee when Elliott didn’t put his arm around her but instead kept both his hands pushed deep in his pockets. It was entertaining, sure, but that didn’t mean I wanted someone else snuggling up beside him. I opened the camera app on the phone, took a couple of photos, then handed it back.
“Thank you so much,” she gushed. “For real, it is such an honor to meet you.” She turned to me before she left. “Are you a friend of Jane’s?” She was likely trying to figure out just how far removed she was from Elliott’s circle.
“I went to high school with Grayson,” I answered. “I’m Emma.”
There was no trace of recognition in her eyes, and I was glad. I had no desire to be the subject of Jane’s or her bridesmaids’ conversations. Jenna thanked Elliott again and hurried across the room to her fellow bridesmaids, who received her with open arms and huge smiles.
“You were very gracious,” I said to Elliott as we sat back down.
“I can usually manage. As long as no one asks me to sign their bra.”
“And that’s happened before?”
“More than once.”
Across the table, Bruno’s eyebrow went up. “Exactly what line of work are you in, son?”
“Emma.”
I turned to find Grayson standing behind me. I stood and gave him a quick hug. “Congratulations,” I said. “Everything’s been really nice.”
“I’m glad you came.” He gave Elliott an expectant look.
“Grayson, this is my boyfriend, Elliott Hart. Elliott, Grayson Harper.” I did a little internal victory dance that I’d managed not to trip on the boyfriend part of my introduction.
“Elliott Hart?” Grayson said. “You were on that TV show, right? You play the piano?”
“That I do.” Elliott extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Man, had I known you were coming, I’d have made sure there was a piano in the reception hall. Jane’s a big fan.”
“I appreciate that,” Elliott said. “I hope you’ll introduce us before the night is over.”
“Grayson, what on earth has taken you so long?” An older woman I immediately pegged as Agnes Rockwell descended upon our little circle. She wore an elaborate gold dress complete with a high-standing collar, a la Queen Elizabeth II, and a cape. As in a for-real, I-could-be-a-vampire cape. The cape was attached to the sleeves of her dress so when she held her arms out, putting one arm around Grayson and the other around me, I had a sudden vision of a pointy beaked vulture landing next to a smear of road kill, its wings flapping as it came down on its prey. “Where is the enchanting Emma Hill I’ve so much wanted to meet?” She pushed on my shoulder, turning me so she could see my face. “Oh, it’s really you, darling. Greg told me you were even prettier up close, but even that doesn’t do you justice. You’re stunning!”
Greg?
Grayson finally spoke up. “Agnes, this is Emma Hill and her date, Elliott Hart.” He looked back at us. “This is my mother-in-law, Agnes Rockwell.” He managed the fancy pronunciation, An-yez, without a single pause. I wondered if Jane had made him practice when they’d first met.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I managed. “I’m sorry, did you say Greg?”
“Of course! Once Greg knew there was a possibility you’d be here, I told Grayson he simply couldn’t let up until you’d promised to come. Greg’s an old friend. All he had to do was express a desire to see you, and I was determined to make it happen.”
I could only think of one possible Greg who might have any interest in seeing me, but I was having a hard time fitting him into the Rockwell/Harper wedding. “Greg McKenzie?” I finally asked.
“Who else?” Agnes said, like it had been clear all along. “Now you must stay right here while I find him.” She turned and scanned the crowd. “I wish I knew when this wedding turned into such an elaborate affair. I honestly have no idea who half these people are. Oh, wait. There he is. He’s coming this way. Emma, be a dear and spend some time with Greg, won’t you? He’s had such a desire to see you; he’s hardly talked of anything else. Grayson? You’re with me, darling. I have someone else I want you to meet.”
As quickly as she had arrived, she was gone. Grayson glanced over his shoulder, his eyes apologetic, then allowed himself to be dragged off across the terrace. I watched as Agnes flapped her cape wings over to Greg, pausing long enough to kiss his cheeks and point him in my direction.
“So . . . Greg?” Elliott asked.
I spoke as I looked up and caught Greg’s eye. “Greg McKenzie is an assistant conductor in Cleveland.”
“The jilted lover assistant conductor?”
I winced. “The very one.” Greg was only a handful of steps away, but I knew he would bring up the spring tour. It had to be the only reason he wanted to speak to me, and I couldn’t fathom Elliott hearing about it from him instead of me. “Um, also? Don’t be mad. I should have told you before now, but Greg has been e-mailing me all week. Cleveland invited me to tour Europe with them this spring . . . as concertmaster. They want me to come back.”
There wasn’t time for Elliott to respond.
“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Emma Hill.” Greg leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “You look beautiful, as always.” He gave Elliott a once-over, then turned back to me, his eyebrows raised.
“Greg, this is my boyfriend, Elliott Hart.” They shook hands but didn’t speak. It almost felt like they were sizing each other up. “What are you doing here?” I finally said to Greg.
He shrugged. “The Rockwells are old family friends. Jane’s father and mine grew up together.”
“How did you even know I would be at the wedding?”
“Nothing but luck. An overheard conversation between my mother and Jane’s. Fortuitous though, isn’t it? That we both happen to be here? Maybe now you’ll finally answer my question.”
I sank into my seat. This wasn’t anything close to what I’d expected from Grayson’s wedding. Elliott moved some chairs around so there was room for both him and Greg to join me at the table.
“I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your messages,” I said. “It’s been a busy week. And I wasn’t sure how to
respond.”
“You’re considering it though, right?” Greg stuck his finger in his collar as if to loosen it, then glanced over his shoulder at the bar. “I could use a drink. Do you want anything?”
“Let me get the drinks,” Elliott said. “What are you having?” He waited for Greg’s answer, then headed to the bar.
Greg sat back and crossed one leg over the other. He studied me with such quiet intensity I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. He motioned to Elliott with a light nod of his head. “Is he the reason you don’t know how to respond?”
“No.” My answer was immediate. “He’s a musician too. He understands things like this, but I did have my reasons for leaving, Greg. And none of those reasons have changed.”
Greg pulled a sheet of paper out of his suit pocket and unfolded it before sliding it across the table. The paper was a full-page ad for the spring tour, with a list of tour dates and locations, all superimposed on a close-up of me. I remembered the photo; it was from a final concert with Cleveland. It was taken in that moment of perfect stillness after the endnotes of a piece, when the vibrations of sound are still humming through your body, and though you can’t hear the music anymore, you still feel it. My eyes were closed, my face revealing every ounce of emotion I’d felt while I’d played.
Elliott returned just in time to see the ad. “That’s an amazing photo.”
“Magical, isn’t it?” Greg said. “They want you to be the face of the tour, Emma. This is just a mock-up, but it’s all the board can talk about.”
“Why me? It’s not like there’s a shortage of talented violinists in Cleveland.”
“But it’s more than just your talent as a musician. It’s your ability to lead a section, to communicate with others, to inspire people both on and off the stage. You’re also young, attractive, and an alumnus of CIM, which makes you extremely marketable. Let’s be real. The past few years, Cleveland’s audience has gotten, well, old. Ancient, really, and if we’re going to pull in a younger demographic, we need a fresh face to show the world.”
It was flattering—beyond flattering, even—but there was too much to consider. I looked up. “Why is this invitation coming from you?” It hadn’t occurred to me to wonder until then, but it didn’t actually make sense that Greg, an assistant conductor, was the one responsible for wooing me back to Ohio. “Why not Sandra or Dr. Hamilton?” Sandra Richards was executive director, and Dr. Hamilton the music director. The invitation would have made a little more sense coming from them.
“It was my idea to bring you back.” He glanced at Elliott. “They thought I might have the most luck convincing you to say yes.”
I motioned to the advertisement. “So this is all because of you?” I didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but I also didn’t want to make a major career decision (or not make a decision because, hello, I wasn’t going back to Cleveland) based on motives that weren’t 100 percent musical in nature. If Greg had asked only because he hoped the one kiss we’d shared would turn into something more, the offer wasn’t even worth consideration.
“It’s the right move for the symphony. I promise my motives are pure.”
I couldn’t say it wasn’t tempting. But I’d worked too hard to make peace with leaving the first time around. Going back couldn’t be an option. I shook my head. “I can’t do it. I can’t leave the life I’ve created here for a marketing campaign. I have students and a quartet. I have a symphony here now.” Also Elliott, my brain supplied. And Mom.
“This is about more than a marketing campaign, and you know it. We want you to play for a symphony that is worthy of you. It’s where you belong.”
I looked Greg right in the eye. “You know it’s not that easy.”
He took a deep breath, forcing it out through his nose in a noisy huff. “It should be. I can’t fathom how your priorities could place anything over an opportunity like this. Just promise me you’ll think about it. Take a few months. Rehearsals won’t start until February, so there’s still plenty of time to decide. You have to at least give me that.” He picked up the paper and folded it into thirds, then reached for my hand and pressed it into my palm. “You’re destined for great things. Don’t squander all you’re capable of.” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, then disappeared into the crowd that filled the dance floor.
“You okay?” Elliott put a hand on my back, giving me reassurance I didn’t realize I needed until it was there.
“Not at all. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“Are you thinking about going? Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
“No. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t thinking about going. I mean, it’s Europe. I’d love to go, but . . . I can’t. I can’t ignore all the reasons I came back home in the first place.”
He motioned to the ad I still gripped tightly in my fist. “Musicians dream of that kind of face time with the press. You’d be the face of the tour. That’d get your name out there in a big way.”
I dropped my hands into my lap. “Last week I found Mom in her bedroom, where she’d been working for more than twenty minutes just to put on her socks. Her days of mobility are dwindling, Elliott. How can I leave when she’s at such a critical point with her health? She needs people around her who can help.”
“Emma, I believe you. But you said it yourself: if your mom knew you were sacrificing your career for her, she’d never forgive you. More than she wants your help, she wants you to be happy and successful and fulfilled.”
“But I’m not unhappy. Europe would be nice, but I like my life here.”
He hesitated but eventually nodded his head. “Okay. I believe you.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly. “If it matters, I like your life here too.”
I unfolded the ad Greg had given me and looked at it one more time.
“What can I do for you right now?” Elliott asked. “Do you want to sit here and make a list of all the reasons why staying in Asheville is a good idea? Or we could dance, maybe? Go for a walk? Bust out of this joint and go get some cheeseburgers? Tell me what you need.”
Despite the turmoil I was feeling inside, I couldn’t help but smile. “No lists,” I said. “I don’t want to think about this anymore. Not tonight anyway. But dancing sounds fun.”
He shrugged out of his suit coat and hung it on the back of his chair, then offered me his hand. “Your wish is my command.”
The next forty-five minutes were filled with the most fun I’d ever had at a wedding reception. Elliott was a great dancer. No, that wasn’t the right way to say it. He was a good dancer, but he was so completely unaffected by what other people thought of him his ability to cut loose turned him into a great dancer. As fancy and stiff as the Rockwells seemed, I hadn’t expected the reception to take such a turn, but by nine thirty, it was a full-on dance party. I introduced Elliott to a few people I remembered from high school, one who made him promise he wouldn’t leave until she’d found something he could sign for her. He also met Jane, who was much more decorous in her compliments. She and Grayson looked really happy together, something I was glad to notice.
By the time Elliott had signed the back of a catering menu for my old friend, the cake had been eaten, and the bouquet tossed—nope, I didn’t catch it—I was ready to be done wearing heels.
“You ready to get out of here?” Elliott asked.
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
Rather than cut back through the hotel, we left the terrace and walked through the dimly lit gardens surrounding the Grove Park. The stone walkways curved up and down and around, following the contours of the mountain that hugged the entire resort. The air was cool against my skin but not uncomfortable, a slight breeze lifting the tendrils of hair that had fallen loose throughout the night.
“It feels amazing out here,” Elliott said. “I’m glad it warmed up.”
I grabbed hold of his arm, bracing myself as I removed my shoes. It wasn’t so cool that I minded walking barefoot. “This is much more typical of October,”
I said. “Last week was unseasonably cold. Normally it’s just like this: beautiful fall colors, amazing views of the mountains, and nights that feel like this, when the humidity is gone and it’s just . . .” He held my gaze with such building intensity I couldn’t even finish my sentence.
“Perfect?” he finished for me. He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled my hand to his chest, holding it there with his own.
“That’s the word I was going for.”
He smiled. “Want to hear my confession?”
“Okay.”
“Every minute I’m with you I worry I’m nothing but a word away from screwing things up,” he said.
“You shouldn’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
He leaned his forehead against mine and hugged me tighter.
“You know you could also just kiss me,” I whispered. “I promise that’ll never screw anything up.”
He leaned in slowly, but the kiss was well worth the wait.
When we broke apart a moment later, we were both breathless.
“Nope, that didn’t screw anything up for me,” he said. “You?”
I laughed softly and shook my head. “Not even close.”
Chapter 21
Elliott kissed me good night right outside my apartment. Even after all the time we’d spent together, it was still disconcerting that he only had to cross the hallway to go home. Knowing that if I wanted to see him it would only take fifteen seconds to get to his door made it incredibly difficult to get him out of my head. But after the wedding, I was happy to have him consume my thoughts. Replaying the night’s events was the perfect way to fall asleep. Everything really did feel perfect.
A knock sounded on my apartment door at 8:00 a.m., when I was seconds away from jumping in the shower to get ready for church. Thinking it might be Elliott, I threw on some yoga pants and a hoodie and hurried across the living room. I swung open the door, and he stalked in, agitation clear on his face.
“Has anyone contacted you?”
“What?”
“Any press. Have you gotten any calls?”
“I don’t think so. My phone’s been silenced since the wedding. I haven’t checked. What’s going on?”
Love at First Note Page 19