Page 62 of Love and Other Goals

No one else will understand what that comment means, but I’m the only one who needs to hear it.

Mateo, being the sweetest boyfriend on the planet, tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Lana. You don’t have to play. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I look into his eyes—his tender, sweet, captivating eyes—and can’t resist. “No, it’s okay, we can play.” I nod to my dad, who stands up to retrieve his cello, and I move to the piano before I can talk myself out of it.

The music for The Piano Guys’ arrangement of “A Thousand Years” is still right there at the top of the stack in the bench. My dad quickly tunes his cello next to me as I glance back through the music to remind myself of the places I made alterations. As much as I’d like to be as good a pianist as Jon Schmidt, I am not even in the same orbit, so there were a few spots I simplified.

“Lana, let’s do a quick C scale so I can warm up my fingers,” my dad says, but I know he’s making this request to give me a second to warm up my fingers and chill my nerves. The piano is situated so that Mateo is diagonal to my back, which is good because I’m not sure I could concentrate if I accidentally made eye contact with him. Although, it also means he has a perfect view to watch me play—possibly badly considering how nervous I feel. When I glance at my mom out of the corner of my eye, she gives me an encouraging smile, so I take a deep breath and nod at my dad.

He counts us in, and I press my fingers into the chords of the intro melody until Dad comes in on cue. I’m grateful the music is arranged so that the cello takes center stage for the first verse, giving me some time to block out my worry and settle into the song.

Just like it did this summer, the music draws in my emotions as my fingers move across the keys and I hear the steady, soothing sound of my dad’s cello. The arrangement and the lyrics running through my mind grip my heart in a new way.

All summer, my heart cried those lyrics as I played, thinking about how long I had liked Aaron, feeling like I had waited a thousand years, longing for him to pursue me. It sounds super dramatic, but hey, I’m a mildly hopeless romantic.

But today as I’m playing, my heart is stirring with different thoughts—all of them filled with Mateo.

While I was pining for Aaron, Mateo was harboring feelings for me. Did he believe all along that he would find me, that time would lead my heart to his, or did he almost give up hope? I’m so thankful he didn’t give up. More importantly, why did it have to take me this long to find him? What’s he thinking now?

The thoughts and emotions overflow my heart, burning behind my eyes as my dad’s bow and my fingers fly into the bridge interlude. I force my mind to concentrate on the trickiest part of the arrangement. I make a few mistakes but play forward through them, the number-one rule of duets.

The music winds down to the final seconds of the song until I lightly play the concluding notes. Everything is silent for a few seconds after I lift my hands from the piano till my mom begins softly clapping, soon joined by Olivia and Mateo. I smile at my dad next to me and then swivel on the bench to see Mateo’s eyes full of moisture and face full of emotion as he claps.

I think I love you, my mind proclaims as my heart catches at the tender passion in Mateo’s gaze as he looks at me.

I’m not really sure how to transition out of our mini performance, but my dad saves me by standing up and giving a flourishing bow, then extending his hand toward me. I giggle and stand up to give a curtsy as my mom praises us. She then further saves me by announcing that we should check on the progress of the turkey and rotate a casserole into the oven.

Everyone follows her to the kitchen, but Mateo pulls my hand to a stop in the hallway. Turning me to face him, he kisses the pads of my fingertips. Voice low and husky, he says, “Lana, that was…captivating. You were beautiful.” His voice trails off as he leans in toward me, my back against the wall.

For a moment I think (hope?) that Mateo might kiss me. But then I remember that my family is a doorway away. Instead, he cups his left hand on the base of my neck and leans his forehead against mine. “I won’t ever forget today, Lana,” he whispers.

I reach my hand up and run my fingers along the stubble of his jawline. He pulls his forehead back and turns to kiss the palm of my hand. Drawing in a shaky breath, he takes a step backwards. “We should go see if your mom needs help.”

“Yep,” I say breathlessly and turn to lead Mateo toward the kitchen, my feet moving on autopilot.

My pulse is silently pounding a steady, I love you. I love you. I love you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The remainder of the afternoon is spent chatting and playing cards amid my mom’s choreographed dance with the oven. Mateo even offers to join the twins in their video game for a little bit, as if he needed any other brownie points with my parents.

His absence gives Olivia the opportunity to teasingly wave her phone in front of my face, with a photo she took on the sly of Mateo watching me play the piano. “Olivia Jade!” I whisper yell at her, pulling out her middle name like I’m her parent. I push her into the mudroom for further scolding.

“What were you thinking?! You can’t just take pictures of my boyfriend without his consent!”

Her face morphs into feigned innocence. “But look at it, Lana. It’s so sweet. And hot.”

I look at the photo more closely. She’s not lying. My heart warms and does a little flip flop at the look on Mateo’s face.

“He loves you,” Olivia teases, a little too loudly. I slap my hand over her mouth and give her my best death glare.

“This is inappropriate behavior, young lady. A gross invasion of privacy. You need to delete that photo,” I say, crossing my arms.

“I already sent it to my friends group text,” Olivia declares. I groan because that one hundred percent tracks with something she’d do. I snatch the phone out of her hands and pull up her text messages. Sure enough, all her besties have sent back responses of fire or dead emojis and fainting GIFs.

“I cannot believe you,” I mutter under my breath as I delete the photo from the conversation. As I’m pulling up her photo gallery, she grabs the phone out of my hands and angles away from me. I try to reach over her shoulder to get the phone back, but she holds me off long enough to tap a few buttons.

“There!” she declares. “I deleted it from my phone. I just had to text it to you first.” She looks at me with a victorious smirk. My eyes are still narrowed, but no further reprimand crosses my lips. I do want to have that photo.

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