“You, beg? Never,” I said, grinning. “I’m sure there is someone else you could invite to go with you.”
“There is no one other than you I want to take to Cleo’s Ensemble,” he said, his tone changing from playful to serious.
I was elated that he wanted to see the performance with me. Even if I knew going out tonight meant I’d start the day tired at my temp job. I didn’t want to stop spending time with him, though my head warned me that no matter how we looked at it, going out with Paul in the evening was a date.
“Okay, but not too late,” I said. “I’ve been curious about the ensemble since you mentioned the music on the train. Hmm. You said you thought I was a member?”
He grinned impishly. “I knew you weren’t, but I had to keep you talking.”
I smiled. So, he hadn’t just been my knight; he had been flirting.
I looked down at my jeans and shirt. “Can I change first?”
“We can, if we leave soon,” he answered, and packed up his bag. “We also have to bring an instrument to play. At the end of their set, they invite the audience to play like an orchestra.”
I scrunched up my face. “What a disaster.”
“You might find yourself pleasantly surprised, Ms. Irving,” he mused. “Now we’ll go pick out two instruments we care little about.”
I was sure all the instruments were top of the line and definitely things he cared about, but I got up and followed him into his music storage room. He picked out a violin for me to tune, and a guitar for himself.
“You play guitar, too?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “My first instrument was the guitar. I believe my father wanted me to be Paul McCartney. They named me after him. If I had been a girl, I’d be Linda.”
“I like that,” I said, and tuned the violin. “My mom probably looked at the first page in a dictionary of names, got bored, and chose mine.”
“I’m sure she put more thought into it than that,” he replied.
“I doubt it,” I muttered. He didn’t know my mom. Back then, she had been operating at one hundred miles a minute. She wouldn’t have wanted to waste any time she might have used on something else more important.
He then played and sang The Beatles’ Something. It was hard to keep my breath and pulse even as he serenaded me. His baritone was rich and sultry.
“You look turned on,” he teased. “You have a thing for musicians.”
My mouth dropped open. Had he ever looked in the mirror? “Not necessarily.”
Just for gorgeous men like you, who sing romantic songs on a whim.
“I don’t believe you. How many of your ex-boyfriends were musicians?” he asked.
“Isn’t that question a little too personal?” I asked.
“I’ve kissed you and seen you naked. There is no going back now.”
I flushed at the reminder, which wasn’t helping me feel less attracted to him. Paul’s perception of my discomfort showed mercy.
“I like how free you were that night. I like how easily you talked with me then. I want to bring back that casual vibe we had going. Even if you’ve turned me down,” he replied bluntly.
Paul was being unfair, and he knew it. Choosing not to get involved secretly was hardly turning him down, but I wanted our easiness to return just as much. “Okay.”
“Now answer my question,” he said. “Were your past lovers musicians?”
I made a face. “Lovers? That makes it sound like they swept me off my feet or were all over me. It was more hangouts that turned into sex. Maybe mutual admiration?”
“Sounds boring and sad,” he joked, and strummed the guitar faster.
I laughed. “The relationships were sad in some ways, to be honest. The sex ruined our friendships. I’ve usually dated people I already knew. I dated musicians in college, though my last short-term one was a lecturer. He was an unbelievable asshole. Now it’s my turn: were all your lovers… ardent?”
“No,” he said. “Just the ones I remember fondly.”
My brows knitted, and I realized I didn’t want to hear about Paul’s lovers. That would be an off-limit topic for the friendship we were trying to develop. “That’s great, I guess.”
“That was a joke. You’re a tough crowd,” he said, and winked at me. “Sex alone never sustains a relationship. If there is nothing else between two people, it’s not real.”
“You really have an issue with things being real,” I pointed out, having heard his insistence on that aspect of things before.
“I do,” he admitted. “When you deal in art and fame, you’re constantly looking to find it. People start by trying to impress you and give you gifts. They want to know what you like. You never discover who they really are. I never really feel like I truly know the people around me. I thought it would get better in time, but the more successful I get, the less genuine people are. That’s what I most enjoy with you.”
“That I’m as real as they come,” I said, and shook my head. “I’m not perfect. I don’t spill my life story often, unless forced.”
He laughed. “I know. I like that. I feel everything I know about you is because you feel comfortable with me.”
“Not really,” I said. “You’re my boss.”
“Not exactly. I think of you as my creative partner,” he said, and smiled, letting the title roll around in his head. “The more we know about each other, the further our music will be in sync.”
I nodded and turned my head. I supposed kissing helped with that too, and I didn’t want him to stop even though I had kind of turned him down. “We should get going.”
“Yes, we should,” he said, handing me a piece of paper. “You’ll need this code for the elevator. It leads to my private garage.”
We went our separate ways, and reality set in. Most people had left for the day. I used his private code to reach the garage and waited in the car until he arrived, even though I felt what we were doing was wrong. But then he appeared, and everything else faded. He put me at ease by talking about the show, and everything was all right. When we reached my building and we got out the car, his hand was on my back, escorting me to the door.
“I’ll be back in forty minutes to pick you up. Is that enough time?” he asked.
“Yeah, see you soon.”
I watched him for a few minutes as he returned to his car. I couldn’t believe he wanted to complicate his life for me. I also couldn’t believe I’d turned him down. I didn’t want us to be over before we even began. What was I going to do?
Destiny had met someone in France and had been spending more of her off days there. She wasn’t due back until tomorrow, and so it thrilled me when I saw that she’d returned early. However, she wasn’t alone. She was in the middle of a lively conversation in French with a good-looking guy sitting next to her on the couch. She beamed at me and got up to give me a welcome and introduce us.
“Enzo.”
He stood and kissed my cheeks in greeting.
“Be right back,” she told him, as he grabbed her waist and kissed her in parting. She laughed, and I wanted to know more so we both sat down on my bed for her to tell me all about it.
“He’s a soccer player,” she gushed. “We met a few times on his team flights and hung out in France together after his games. He didn’t want to wait until Sunday evening to see me again and flew back to hang out with me. He has to do another six-hour flight home for training tomorrow. He’s insane.”
I beamed at her. “He’s smitten. Oh, la la. C’est romantique,” I said in the most terrible French accent in the world, and we laughed together.
She touched her smile. “It is. He’s so easy to hang out with. We’re taking it slow. We’ll probably end up being good friends.” Destiny was optimistic about love for everyone else, but she never felt the same for herself.
“Oh, come on. You’re here together,” I said. “That’s more than friendship.”
“We were going out to a movie, but we could stay here with you and
watch one on Netflix?” she offered.
“Actually, Paul invited me out to see Cleo’s Ensemble with him tonight,” I told her.
She lit up like Christmas day, and I gave her a quick rundown of the evening, including the part about Daniel because it was still bothering me.
“Daniel wins for the cattiest bitch of the week, but don’t worry about him. He’s just trying to throw you off your game,” she said when I finished.
“He can’t throw off what doesn’t exist. I don’t have game.”
“You do,” she said. “You’re Aubrey Extraordinaire. Paul has been helpful with your work and job. He nurtures your art. I haven’t seen you happier in a long time. You wanted to kiss him, or you’d have knocked him back. Give him time and focus on the good that’s coming, and not on office bull crap. Enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll try.” I got up and pulled a scoop neck dress and a jacket from my closet.
“Try harder,” she said.
“You do the same. Give you and Enzo a chance,” I said. “You deserve it.”
Destiny the Fashionista couldn’t help but add a decorative scarf to my outfit before returning to Enzo.
As always, Destiny’s advice was sound, though I wasn’t sure I could follow it. Still, I showered and changed.
Destiny and Enzo had left when I returned to the living room. As I continued to get ready, the doorbell rang. I pressed the call button to speak to Paul. “I’ll need a minute. Would you mind coming upstairs?”
I rushed around before going to the door to open it for Paul—and paused to drool as I watched him walk down the hallway. He wore a dark shirt with a leather sports coat and dark jeans. He’d left the scruff on his chiseled face. And when his amazing eyes fell on me, he stared intently.
I immediately started to babble as nervous excitement ran through me. “Do you want a drink, or would you like to turn on the TV? I need to change my handbag and finish my hair. It won’t be long.”
He smiled down at me and my pulse sped up. “Relax. I’m fine.”
I left him in the living room. It didn’t take me long to put my hair in a ponytail. When I returned, I found Paul leafing through a sci-fi book I had on the table.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s a depressing Dystopian-future story. It dooms everyone, but yeah, it’s great.”
“A ringing endorsement, then?” He laughed.
I liked the thought of him having something of mine. “I’ve finished reading it, but sometimes I like to re-read the parts I liked the most,” I said. “Why don’t you borrow it, and we can complain to each other about how depressing it is after you finish it?”
He eyed me for a few moments before answering, “I’d like that.”
I went in my bag to switch it over. It annoyed me to find there was a hole in it. Using the island counter, I took things out. He approached. One item was an old photo key chain.
He picked it up. “Is this you and your father?”
“Yes. He liked to buy cheesy stuff sometimes. I don’t use it, but when he died, it became something I couldn’t throw away. I forgot it was in here,” I said, and bit my lip.
“You look so much alike,” he said, smiling at it. “Me, my dad, and my granddad all look like each other. The Crane gene is strong.”
“Ours split to each parent. I took after Dad with my dark brown hair and green eyes.” My heart panged as the tip of his finger traced my father’s face.
“My sister Faith looks like our mom. They’re very close,” I added quietly.
He handed back the key chain, and I hesitated before placing it in my replacement handbag.
“Good choice,” he said. “I also keep a photo of my family with me.”
He took out his wallet and showed me a picture. Jonas, I recognized, and a pretty woman he pointed out as his stepmom, reminding me her name was Lily. His sister, Darling, looked like them both. The other two people in the picture were an elegant older blonde with a radiant smile and a guy who looked like John Lennon with the glasses, long hair, and beard.
“That’s my mom, Dani,” he said. “She’s a true hippy. She believes we’re all stardust and golden. She has crystal vision.”
I grinned at his description of her. “I like that.”
“I kind of wish I had waited for her to finish her yoga class, so you could’ve met her,” he said. “She’s super laid-back, always open and loving to everyone. I thought she tried too hard to be the cool friend, but now that I’m older I think she was a good balance to my dad’s tougher approach to parenting.”
He paused and waited for me to share, and I took several moments to find words to say about my mom.
“My mom was… is conservative,” I told him. “She grew up with a family that had everything and lost it. She had hoped she’d become wealthy again, but she ended up falling in love with a dreamer, as she called my dad. He tried to give her the things she wanted. He tried to give us all that we wanted. When he died, her life changed.”
All our lives changed. Hers broke into a million pieces.
Why I shared that with him, I wasn’t sure. It left me feeling too exposed. Paul—as keen as ever—picked up on my discomfort. He ran his hand up and down my arms soothingly, warming me.
“I know it’s hard, and I can see you struggling now, but I promise it won’t always be this way. I’m happy you shared something about your family with me. I honestly want to know everything about you.”
My stomach fluttered. I wanted the same.
Paul pointed to the man he hadn’t mentioned in his photo. “That’s Alan, Mom’s husband. They spend a lot of time in India of late.”
“For yoga and meditation instruction?”
He nodded. “That’s the news my dad came to tell me. Alan’s been trying a homeopathic treatment for colon cancer. Unfortunately, his cancer has progressed, and he’ll need to start chemotherapy. They were all best friends at one time.”
“I’m so sorry. You should spend time with your family, instead of going out with me,” I suggested.
“Mom and Alan aren’t home. They are doing a yoga intensive,” he replied. “It’s two days of meditation, chanting, and lectures. Dad’s taking Lily and Darling to the ballet. I’ll see them next week. If I didn’t go on with whatever I’m doing, it would be against their philosophy. They believe negative thoughts bring negative energy into their lives. What I need is something light,” he said, and though he smiled, I could see that it hurt him.
I took his hand, and he pulled me into a hug. He was warm and smelled good. I could’ve remained there all night.
“Let’s go have fun,” I said against his chest. “I’ll agree to be as inappropriate as ever, and you can impart your wisdom, whether I want to hear it or not. I’d also like to not worry for one night. Deal?”
“Deal.” He brushed his lips against my cheek, and I could’ve used that time to remind him of our friendship boundaries, but then I saw the genuine happiness on his face and decided not to.
“I’m already enjoying myself,” he said with a lift to his voice.
I was too.
The trip to Brooklyn was filled with nerves and anticipation. I hadn’t seen a classical performance in years, and I wasn’t sure how it would affect me. Paul kept our conversation light, sharing samples of their music for me to hear on the way, so I didn’t have much time to think about it. Before I knew it, we’d parked in front of an old brewery. Inside, it had the original factory stonework with all the modern touches of recess lighting, plastered walls, and steel windows. The attendees filled most of the seats, though some patrons grouped around the recession stands and immediately gravitated to Paul when we walked in. I’d spent so much time with him I’d forgotten about his celebrity status. Paul kept my hand in his as a security guard came to our side and navigated with us.
“The first set is over,” he said. “I’d like to go back and say hello to the band before they start the second one.”
“I can wait for you s
omewhere,” I offered.
The crowd was a melting pot of ages and backgrounds. I recognized a few people from the New York Symphony. A few others I thought I’d seen in college. What if someone recognized me, or knew what had happened when I left?
“You’re not leaving my side already, are you?” he wondered, escorting us behind a velvet curtain to a stage area. There was the setup of instruments for tonight’s performance, which included an upright piano, cello, violin, guitar, bass guitar, and drums.
A pixie blonde I recognized from the band’s photos online as Cleo stood and hugged Paul. She touched on his arm as he shook hands with the rest of the players in the ensemble. All were staring at him, equally sucked in by his charisma. Before she offered him her seat in their circle, Paul asked for someone to bring out a seat for me. They eyed me curiously, and right on cue, he announced, “This is the amazing violinist, Aubrey.”
I smiled and shook their hands politely, following his lead. They were discussing their new album, which I complimented, even though I hadn’t listened to all of it. He paused a moment to lean close to my ear. “I’m glad you’re here. Cleo went to Juilliard too.”
“Small world,” I said, touching my stomach.
He laughed and told Cleo.
“You went to Juilliard? What year?” Cleo asked with a lift to her tone. Her brown eyes shifted between us.
“Years ago,” I said absently.
“It’s been ten years for me,” she said to my relief, but then she added, “I still stay in touch with a few professors. I’ll mention I met you. You’re Aubrey …?”
I looked anywhere but at her. “I’m sure no one would remember me.”
“Yeah, but they might,” she said. “Aubrey…?”
“Irving,” I mumbled.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but thankfully the hostess came in and announced that it was time.
Paul and I stood, clearing the area for them to start. We didn’t go far. Our seats were in an alcove to the right of the stage.
Unfinished Sympathy (Absolution Book 1) Page 18