Page 57 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

The music has stopped, but I’m still here.

Deep down, I know I should go now. I know that I’ve played my part, that I’ve shared my opinion, and that I’m no longer needed. I know that Karina and Andy have dinner ready next door, and that they’re probably wondering where I disappeared to.

Despite that, I can’t bring myself to leave quite yet. There’s more that needs to be said, and I’m afraid that if I let this moment end, I’ll never be brave enough to push past the old roadblocks that have kept me from exploring the truth underneath the intensity of my feelings for Gabe.

The sound of the song he composed hums inside me like a vibration I can’t shake. Gabe’s little piano and my violin had entwined like lovers, speaking in a language only we could understand. The way our notes wove together was effortless, natural, and terrifying.

Clearly, he’d been thinking the same thing. Why else would he have brought up that old Mazas duet, if not to draw attention to how different things are between us now?

How strange, to no longer be fighting him at every turn.

How bizarre, to no longer want to.

I glance at him, but he’s already looking at me, those bright green eyes searching mine for… what? Validation? Understanding? An apology?

“So, anyway… That—playing with you now—was… something,” he says, voice low and uncertain.

His usual confidence is absent, replaced by something rawer.

Suddenly, there’s a tension in the air that feels simultaneously electric and awkward. All at once, I feel like a fumbling teenager confronting true vulnerability for the first time in my life. I feel young and new and inexperienced, like I’m just eighteen years old again and meeting Gabe for the first time.

I’d been so afraid back then. That’s why I defaulted to hatred. It was easier, simpler.

I nod at him, swallowing hard. “Yeah. It was something.”

The words feel insufficient, but I can’t bring myself to elaborate. What could I even say? That I’ve spent years hating him because I saw too much of myself in him?

That playing with him just now felt like exhaling after holding my breath for decades?

No. I can’t say that. That’s too much.

Gabe’s fingers flex, hovering over the plastic keys like he might start playing a new tune just to let out some of the nervous energy bubbling under the surface. Or maybe that’s just me, itching to reach for my violin again.

His knuckles tighten before he forces himself to relax. “Do you, um… do you want to play something else with me?”

I shake my head, glancing down at my violin case. I’m determined to do what Dr. Hansen said. I don’t want to mess this up. Even if I really do want to keep playing with Gabe, more than anything else.

My hands tremble slightly, and I hate that he might notice.

“I think we should press pause,” I say softly, avoiding his eyes. “Besides, Wren is—”

“Spying on us for the past fifteen minutes?” Gabe cuts in, his lips quirking upward in a wry smile.

“What?”

“She’s terrible at hiding. It’s the squeaky shoes.”

Sure enough, a little face pops around the corner of the cracked door, her dark curls bouncing as she beams at us. I hadn’t even noticed that the sounds of children playing outside had died down, or that the sky had darkened enough for the streetlights to come on in the distance.

Wren is utterly unapologetic. “You guys were amazing! Are you going to play more? Can you play something from a Disney movie? Alina, do you knowMoana?”

“Wren,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “What did I tell you about eavesdropping?”

She pouts dramatically. “But I wasn’t eavesdropping! I was listening. Plus, you didn’t even close the door. How is it my fault that I could hear the music? The neighbors could probably hear it, too.”

With a jolt, I realize she’s right. Karina and Andy probably aren’t wondering about me at all, having heard the muffled sound of my violin through the walls of our shared accommodations.

What must they be thinking? How will I explain this to Karina when I can’t even explain it to myself?

---