Page 101 of Symphony of Salvation

“You recognize it?”

“Of course I do.Hamlet.I dated a classics-obsessed English teacher, remember?”

“Koa. Right. It’s fitting. You are true to who you are, Niles. You don’t strive to please other people. You don’t hide behind false fronts or adjust your entire life to fit within the boundaries of expectation.”Not like me,I wanted to say.

“That was four.”

I smiled. “And number five. You’re not afraid to risk your heart. You’re not afraid to love.”

His throat bobbed. The sunsets turned misty. “Incorrect, Maestro. I’m terrified of risking my heart… especially with you.”

It stung, but his concern was valid. I’d never risked my heart for anyone.

Until now.

“Play for me. Please.”

With a searching look that traveled the contours of my face, seeking something I couldn’t identify, Niles submitted. Withonly faint hesitation, he turned and again settled his hands over the keys.

Then he played. A distinct difference existed between the music a musician played from a score and the music from within. The piece Niles performed was original, and knowing what I did of his past, the infusion of emotions shone through. It reeked of melancholy, of heartache, of pain. Its morose undertones flayed the listener, opening them to raw sentiments they might not want to experience.

It was beautiful, dark, and haunting.

It embodied Niles’s vulnerable heart so completely, I listened, awestruck at all he revealed. No wonder he didn’t want his heart exposed. It had been abused. It was fragile.

In under five minutes, Niles abruptly stopped midsentence and dropped his hands to his lap. “That’s all I’ve written. It’s one of my more complete pieces but far from finished.”

“What do you call it?”

“I don’t call it anything. It doesn’t deserve a name.”

I could have offered a dozen suitable titles, but I didn’t. The oven timer went off, summoning me to the kitchen. I didn’t move, staring at Niles’s glum profile, at the sorrow blanketing his mood, and all I wanted to do was reach out and make promises I couldn’t keep.

It was true. Love happened when you least expected it, and in a small northern town in Ontario, I’d been utterly blindsided.

Chapter twenty-three

Niles

Dinner was fabulous. The rich flavors of the moussaka danced across my tongue. Heavenly. Better than Koa’s, but I would never admit that to my best friend, who enjoyed cooking every ethnic dish imaginable.

August had been quiet through the meal. I caught him staring more than once, an expression of perplexity altering his features. Our undefined relationship had grown complex over the past two weeks, and I could no longer categorize our liaison as casual. I could no longer look upon August without wondering about the future.

We cleaned the kitchen together, poured more wine, and again wound up at the piano. It was a comfort to us both, a safe spot, and despite my adamancy to not play for August, I’d broken down and shared something deeply personal. True to his promise, he hadn’t criticized, but did he understand the sentiment behind the composition?

August dug through a mountainous stack of sheet music until he found what he sought. He cradled the pages to his chest, smirking. “Constance found this piece the other day. She wantedto present it as an option for your duet, but I told her I’d prefer you and I tackle it. I hear rumors that you like to open concerts with a personal solo. Since we are co-teaching, I say we perform a duet, and this one is terribly fun.”

He presented the composition.

“‘Linus and Lucy.’ The Peanuts Theme?” I chuckled, removing it from his hand to have a look.

“It’s more fitting to our age bracket than Constance’s. Do you want to try it? It’s not terribly complicated, but it would be entertaining. Many of the parents will recognize it.”

I scanned the sheet music, noting the two sections intended to be played together. It was true. I always performed the opening solo at concerts. Koa thought the reason stemmed from a self-conscious urge to prove to the parents that although I didn’t have the same credentials as the rest of the faculty, my skills as a musician weren’t in question. If there was truth to his theory, I couldn’t admit it, even to myself.

Playing alongside August felt like accepting doomsday. Before I could say no, he took the score and spread it on the rack. Knowing August’s skill at memorization, I doubted he needed the music in front of him and did it as a courtesy.

He took the higher end of the scale, leaving me with the lower range and less complex melody. Was it a dig at my skill? I reviewed the notes, and we began. The tune was familiar, and my sight-reading ability was strong. Before long, the binds of my insecurities broke. Because the earlier section of the piece leaned heavier into the higher end of the scale, I upped the tempo to keep August on his toes. He laughed but barely flinched, fingers flying as he kept up without a struggle.

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