Page 118 of Symphony of Salvation

“What’s in Chicago?” I asked when he moved to my neck.

“Work.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is.”

“You swear you’re coming back?”

August’s formidable body blanketed my own. I noted every place we touched, absorbed his warmth, and clung to his certainty. He nuzzled my collarbones and fanned his lips over my sternum, breathing, “In time.”

“How long?” If asked enough, maybe he’d tell me.

“I can’t say.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m being as honest as I can.”

“Take the job.”

He stopped kissing and found my gaze in the shadowed darkness of the bedroom. “What?”

“Take the job. My job. Stay. Please. I’ll find something else. I’ll go back to school if I have to.”

He softly laughed, shaking his head before bumping our noses together. “What a horrible idea.”

“School? Why?”

“Not school. My teaching.”

“Oh. You’d manage.”

“Do you know what I’ve discovered in the few months I’ve been here?” He kissed my eyelids and cheekbones.

I closed my eyes, reveling in the connection. “That you aren’t a fan of teenagers.”

He chuckled. “That too, but no.” He combed his fingers through my hair, brushing it back off my forehead and staring wide-eyed at the contours of my face. “I’ve discovered how incredibly brilliant you are at your job. You have something I don’t, Niles. For all the study and performance I have in my background, I can’t teach music to save my life. I see everything that’s wrong but not how to make it right. I can criticize, but I can’t problem-solve solutions. I haven’t the patience to nurture a gifted student, and I lack the common sense to shut my mouth or find tactful ways to translate problems.”

“Then how is it you conduct orchestras?”

“Conductors are the most meticulous, arrogant, and nasty people on the planet. We don’t coddle musicians. We demand results. Our expectations are almost unachievable. We’re brash, rude, and unforgiving. We insult and complain until our visions are realized. You need thick skin to perform in an orchestra, and I know you think it’s an opportunity you missed in life, but you were never cut out for the stage, Niles.”

My spine prickled, and I wanted to shove him off and tell him he was wrong, but he held fast, knowing I wouldn’t take kindly to the observation.

“You have a different gift, and Dr. McCaine would soon realize the error of her ways if she hired me. She has the best music teacher already. I don’t want your job. I never have. You are exactly where you were meant to be, and so am I.”

“Which is far away from me.”

“Oh, Niles.”

I cupped August’s face, his five o’clock scruff rasping my delicate skin. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He took my hand and kissed the center of my palm. “I must, if only for a little while. Please trust me.”

“I’m trying.”

“Will you do something for me?”

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