Page 24 of Symphony of Salvation

“What’s your name?”

“Dean.”

“You have the right attitude, Dean. If you persevere, you’ll go far. I have an ear for these things. You have talent.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “Now go pick something harder. Don’t shy away from a challenge.”

With a boyish smile, he put his instrument down and headed into the back room.

The auburn-haired teen who’d been smitten with my daughter played a short distance away. Unlike Dean, he’d chosen a piece beyond his skill level and was butchering it. I crossed the room and waited for him to finish. Despite my decision not to interfere, I offered the youth the advice I’d given Niles.

“You’re making it harder than it has to be. Slow your tempo. Disregard whatever the recommendation is at the top. Considerallegroa suggestion, not a rule, until you figure out the notes.Trust me. Your dynamics will shine, and you’ll be able to catch all those runs with a modified pace. Better to command the piece than to always feel like you’re stumbling to catch up.”

When I motioned for him to try again, I kept metronomic time by clapping. It was a world better, and the youth smiled.

“How’d that feel?”

“Way easier.”

“Well done…” I quirked a brow. “Your name?”

“It’s Cody.”

“Well done, Cody. Much better. Did you hear the difference?”

“I did.”

“In the future, don’t tackle something far beyond your reach.”

And stay away from my daughter, I wanted to add but didn’t.

“Keep it up. Also, you overlooked the repeat at the end. Missed it both times. That’s a grave error in my books.”

Cody puzzled the sheet music. “Oh shit… shoot.”

I left him alone to practice and scanned for the object of Cody’s affection.

Constance had set up her music stand beside Niles’s desk. He looked over her shoulder, watching as she played a complex piece that far surpassed the level of her peers. Dean might have to battle his way into Juilliard, but Constance was already on their watch list.

A smile touched the corners of Niles’s mouth, and despite my daughter’s impeccable performance, it was the music teacher who stole my focus.

I couldn’t look away. Although he’d pulled his hair back again that day, several shorter strands escaped the elastic and framed his face, curtaining his trimly bearded jaw. Dappled in the afternoon light shining from a high window, Niles was an autumn sunset, aglow with pride, warming the room with his presence. I couldn’t seem to shake the attraction, and it worried me.

So many questions roared through my head. Was he married? Was he single? Was he attracted to men?

None of it mattered. I’d sworn decades ago that I wouldn’t entertain baseless desires. I was an adult with self-control. The appeal was rooted in loneliness and frustration, of which I had ample supply since October. Nothing more.

Constance finished playing and lowered the violin, glancing expectantly at Niles. He spoke, his voice quiet among the cacophony of instruments as he pointed at sections of the sheet music, offering feedback, I presumed. Constance listened and nodded with more attentiveness than she’d ever given me.

Niles spoke again, and she laughed.

When Constance leaned the violin against the side of the desk and reached for a pen and paper—I assumed to respond as she’d done with me at the restaurant—Niles stopped her, clasping her hands between his. His expression changed as he communicated something that looked serious.

Good,I thought. He was addressing the infuriating silent act and informing my daughter she needed to use words.

But when Niles released his grip on her hands, Constance used ASL to respond. My mind stuttered and stalled.

Niles held up a halting hand and said something. Constance repeated the gestures, only slower the second time.

Niles nodded as he carefully watched, brows furrowed.

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