Page 28 of Symphony of Salvation

“For the future. No girlfriend? Marriage plans?”

I opened my mouth to say… something but closed it again when the words didn’t follow. After a long string of failures, I was about ready to give up on love and relationships. They weren’t meant for me.

Likely sensing my awkwardness, August blustered. “I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have… Ignore me.”

“No girlfriend. No marriage plans. I’m in my midforties and single. That ship has sailed, and I’ve made peace with it.”

“You sound sad about it.”

I shrugged. “I kind of assumed at fifteen that I would likely never have kids, so…”

Watching August peer mournfully into his empty wine glass, I retrieved the bottle, giving us a refill.

He thanked me and drank deeply, no longer playing wine connoisseur. “Can I tell you something? It’s unpleasant and casts me in a negative light.”

“In that case, sure.”

“I never wanted kids.” The confession brought a pained smile to his face. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it? Please don’t tell Constance. I love her. I do. It’s just…” He touched the spot where his tie would usually sit. Finding it absent, he lowered his hand to the table.

“I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Chloé. I made every other excuse in the book for why having a baby was a bad idea, but I never told her the truth. Damn. Listen to me ramble. You didn’t ask for this.” August glanced at the time on his phone. “And especially not at almost midnight. I should go.” He moved to stand.

I stilled him with a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. Stay. Help me finish the bottle, at least. Sleep is overrated, and there’s nothing better for a wine hangover than being a high school music teacher. Thank god for aspirin. At least you get to sleep in.”

August’s face fell, eyes widening. “Oh god. Now I feel worse. I never… Shit. I don’t think.”

Chuckling, I held up my glass. “It’s not my first time playing deviant. Relax. Besides, I like hearing about your imperfections. It makes me feel better about myself.”

An unexpected laugh burst from August’s chest, crinkling the sides of his eyes and bringing out a single dimple in his cheek. “Well, if imperfections are what you’re after, get cozy, I have a running list.”

The hour was late, and I’d already had two glasses of wine with Koa, so any hostility I might have felt toward August had been dampened by alcohol. Plus, his down-to-earth side, the boyish dimple and spark of humor, stirred something in my core. It amounted to an attraction I wanted desperately to deny. Without a stage or audience, a spotlight shone down on him, and I couldn’t look away.

“Now you’ve done it. Spill the beans, Maestro.”

Without a second thought about the late hour, August drank wine and shared the story of meeting Chloé, about Constance’s unexpected conception—thankfully without details—and some of what came after.

“I was fresh out of Juilliard, barely three months playing with the Mariinsky Theatre Orchestra, when a contact I’d made at school asked if I’d temporarily replace a conductor in Vienna whose wife was terribly sick. It was an honor I couldn’t refuse. Mariinsky held my spot, and off I went to Austria.

“Chloé is a mezzo-soprano and used to perform regularly at the Graz Opera. She came to Vienna for a special solo performance night, accompanied by the philharmonic. It was a one-night show. Spectacular. We spent the afternoon organizing and rehearsing, and I was mesmerized by this woman. Awestruck. Chloé’s voice is like an angel’s.

“I was twenty-six at the time, the youngest conductor she’d ever worked with. To hear her tell it, she was smitten and wanted to take me out for dinner after the performance. Chloé has eleven years on me, so my comrades teased, reminding me not to call her mama in bed.”

I laughed, and August’s dimple appeared.

“You’re shameless.”

“I am. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Perhaps.”If I was attracted to women, I wanted to add but didn’t.

He paused to drain his wine and slid the glass across the table, motioning to the bottle. “May I?”

I reminded myself that the easy smiles, flushed cheeks, and sideways glances had everything to do with the alcohol, not me. But the more August talked, the more enraptured I became.

Smirking, I refilled both our glasses and slid his back. “I’m not sure how you’re getting home, Maestro. I was drinking with a friend earlier, so I’ve officially gone over my driving limit.”

“I, too, indulged in a few drinks before venturing out. Don’t you have cars out here? Taxis?”

“We do.”

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