Page 11 of Texting Mr. Stranger

“Hey, that’s why I’m here …” I’m tempted to touch her shoulder in a gesture of support—she looks so disheartened—but I don’t want to overstep. “Do you want to keep going?”

She stiffens her lip. “Yeah. Definitely.”

As we work, I push down the jealous flares that writhe in me every time I look at her instrument. She has a Stradivarius, which is insane, as intrulymind-bogglingly insane. Only somebody familiar with the instrument would understand. A piece like that, crafted over two hundred years ago, must’ve cost atleasttwo million dollars. Sometimes, I used to scroll antique websites, dreaming of using one. As far as I know, only around six hundred exist.

Suddenly, the five hundred per hour makes much more sense, but it leaves me with another question. How are these people sorich?

In my head, I hear Emily warning me about gift horses again.

All too soon, the hour has passed. Sofia glances at the clock. “I’m taking up too much of your time …”

“Not at all,” I tell her. “I’m happy to keep going. No extra charge.”

“Are you sure?”

“One thousand percent.”

So, for the next twenty minutes, we continue, but when her bow slips and a loud scratch noise squeaks through the room, she huffs and lays down her violin, almostthrowingit down on the bed. For the first time since meeting her, I find I resent her wealth.

“Careful with the poor girl,” I say, gesturing at the Stradivarius and trying to make it lighthearted.

“Oh yeah,” she murmurs, then reaches over and playfully pats the violin. “Sorry.” Maybe she sees how I’m looking at it because a moment later, she says, “Would you like to play it?”

Giddiness grips me at the idea of playing an instrument like this, but I do my best to hide the excitement pumping through me. I don’t want them to realizehowmuch poorer I am than they are, though they must already know.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” she says, handing the instrument to me. Then she hands me the bow.

I swear I feel a jolt of electricity when I take it. It’s like all the anticipation I stowed up during those long hours of admiring these pieces. Just holding it feels like a privilege. I’d wait in line for five hours for this. When Sofia looks at me with her eyebrow raised, it’s like she’s reminding me.

Holy hell. I actually get to play it!

As I slowly stroke the bow, I’m stunned by the responsiveness. The instrument is alive and talking to me as if we’re communicating to produce the music. It’s like the music is playing itself. I’ve had this experience with my violin before, but only rarely. With this, it was like it wasmadefor this exact feeling.

Time loses all meaning. I’m only jolted from playing when Sofia applauds and Matt, too, I realize when I look up. At some point, he entered the room. Now, he’s standing in the doorway. There’s no mistaking the twitch at the corner of his lip this time. The smile on his face makes me far prouder than I should be.

“Thank you,” I say, my hands trembling as I hand Sofia the instrument back … before I lose my cool entirely and snatch it away from her. “That’s truly an amazing piece.” I lick my lips, feeling like Matt is staring at me. “Just incredible,” I finish lamely.

“Incredible whenyouplay it,” Sofia says as she puts it back into the case. “This proves we made the right choice for a teacher, right, Matty?”

“Definitely.” Matt’s dark eyes are fixated on me when I look up. “I’ve never heard Tchaikovsky sound like that before.”

A tremor shudders through me when I realize he recognizes the music. I assumed Sofia was the only one with a taste for it. Not that it should matter, but it’s … interesting. Yeah, that’s the word.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up too much.

“I just need to use the restroom. Is that okay?” Sofia asks.

I nod. When she leaves, it’s just me and Matt. He approaches me, reaching a hand into the pocket of his suit jacket. “Ninety minutes. So that’s seven hundred.” Pulling out his wallet, he counts twenty-dollar bills from a big roll.

“No, it’s okay …”

He sighs heavily, looking so disappointed in me that I almost apologize to this stranger. “You deserve this, Bella.”

“We agreed five hundred.”

He walks right up to me, leaning down and softly touching my wrist. Soft or not, it produces an almost electric experience, even more intense than holding the violin. He pushes the cash into my hand and then closes my fingers around it.

---