Page 3 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

Even as I say it, I know I’m lying. I’ve got my phone resting on the coffee table in front of me, switched to speaker, because both of my hands are currently wrapped in ice packs.

“Hm,” Karina mutters. I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “Well, hey! I’ve got a great idea, now that you have the summer off!”

I drop my head back against the sofa cushions. “What?”

“Come stay in Mermaid Shores with me and Andy! We’ve got a spare room in the cottage and it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I pause to consider it. Going to Cape Cod sounds a lot more pleasant than hanging around Chicago all summer. Especially since it’ll put me even further away from my parents and their impending disappointment back in Eugene.

Plus, it would be nice to see Karina again. She’s basically my only friend. Training to be a classical violinist from the age of five doesn’t leave much room for friendship. In school, I was the weird girl who knew more about Beethoven than Britney Spears. My parents were big on things likededicationanddiligence, which meant that I didn’t have time to go to sleepovers or play sports or do any of the normal things that kids my age did. I didn’t even date until I was at Juilliard, and even since then, I’ve never had much room for romance in my life.

Karina is the complete opposite. Despite the fact that our moms are sisters, they’re extremely different. Karina had a normal childhood, and now she’s enjoying a normal adulthood. She has a normal job as a personal trainer and a normal husband with a normal job of his own. She also has perfectly normal social skills, a ton of normal friends, and a wonderfully normal relationship with her parents.

And yet, Karina has never treated me like I’m abnormal simply because my violin has practically been surgically attached to me for the majority of my life. I have a feeling she’s exactly the person who can help me get through what is sure to be a very long and demoralizing summer.

Still, I find myself protesting, “I don’t want to impose, Karina.”

“Nonsense! Iinsistyou come. In fact, I’ll send someone to come and kidnap you if necessary.”

“Karina…”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m literally logging on to kidnap-my-cousin-dot-com right now.”

That gets a laugh out of me. “Okay, fine. But what did you say this town is called again? Mermaid something?”

“Mermaid Shores!”

“Right. Okay. I guess I’ll… look up flights.”

In reply, Karina lets out an excited squeal that’s so loud I have to clamp an ice-pack-wrapped hand over my phone so that it doesn’t wake the neighbors.

***

“Here we are! Home sweet home for the summer!” Karina announces in a singsong voice as we pull into a smoothly paved driveway lined with stately pines.

A mere ten days after that fateful meeting with Diana Crane has found me in the passenger seat of the midsize SUV that Karina and her husband, Andy, just bought. Back in Chicago, the heat and humidity were already encroaching fast, but here on the coast of Massachusetts, the sea-scented breeze is fresh and cooling.

I’m trying really hard to look on the bright side of things.

I stare through the windshield at where I’ll be living out my exile from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for the next couple months.

Although Karina described it as a cottage, it’s actually a majestic old colonial that’s been converted into a duplex. We’ll be sharing the front porch and the main entrance with another family, but at least it has private beach access. If I can’t perform this summer, at least I can wallow about it while laying in the warm brown sand.

Again, bright side.

“It’s cute,” I force myself to say. Really, the houseiscute. I’m just having a hard time expressing positivity at the moment. Which, thankfully, my dear cousin understands.

Karina beams at me, her white-blonde hair pulled back in a messy braid.

“Come on. I’ll have Andy grab your bags.”

I nod, hauling myself out of the vehicle. There is one bag, however, that I don’t trust anyone else to handle but myself.

My violin case.

I couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind. I know I’m supposed to be resting, and that the point of a medical leave is to do everything I can to get better, but surely there’s no harm in practicing every once in a while, right?

Because I don’t really know who I am if I’m not playing the violin on a regular basis.

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