Page 58 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

Here I am, having a jam session with my favorite enemy, and I’m enjoying every second of it.

Gabe sighs at his daughter, rubbing a hand over his face. “Go get cleaned up for dinner, okay? Change your clothes, wash your hands. You know the deal. And please try your very best not to track too much sand into the bathroom.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. She flounces off, leaving us in silence once more.

I turn back to Gabe, unsure how to bridge the quiet gulf that’s formed between us. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s nosy,” he mutters, though there’s no real annoyance in his voice.She’s the light of my life,is what he means to say. I can tell.

His gaze shifts back to me. Still, neither of us speaks. The weight of what we just shared dangles in the air between us, taunting me.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “I forgot how different you are when you play.”

“Different how?”

“Not in a bad way,” he says quickly. “Just—it’s like you really let yourself go. You stop trying to control everything. There’s a softness to the way you handle the violin that isn’t present when you’re speaking.”

I laugh softly. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes,” he says, leaning ever so slightly closer. His expression softens, his tone dropping an octave. “Alina, it’s beautiful.You’rebeautiful when you let yourself be free.”

My chest tightens. I shake my head, trying to find a way to deflect the vulnerability in his tone. It’s an instinct. Feeling too deeply is a great way to get distracted.

And yet, with Gabe, feeling too deeply has often been one of my advantages. My hatred for him has often been a guiding light, a system of support that I can always lean on. Disliking him has been my favorite thing to do for many years, and that’s how I know that it was probably never dislike in the first place.

“Why are you saying this?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

“Because it’s true,” he says simply.

My gut reaction is to argue, to shut him down before he can get too close to me. Something in his eyes holds me in place, though. There’s no malice, no competition. He’s being honest with me.

“I spent so much time trying to prove I was better than you,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Because if I wasn’t better, then what was the point?”

“Alina,” Gabe murmurs. “You were never just better thanme. You’re better than everyone. You’re truly someone special. Not just as a violinist, either.”

The admission makes my stomach flip. “You never acted like you believed that.”

“Well, we’ve been too busy tearing each other down to see what we could have built together. And I was too busy grieving the things that were never meant to be. We’ve made a lot of mistakes where our thoughts and feelings have been concerned, but I guess that’s what it means to be human.”

His words stir something deep inside me—a truth I’ve been too afraid to face. I’ve spent years resenting him, but not because of his arrogance or his talent. I resented him because he forced me to confront the parts of myself I didn’t like. The ambition, the doubt, and the fear.

“We were mirrors,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “And I didn’t like what I saw.”

He nods. “It’s easier to fight than to understand, isn’t it?”

“But maybe we could stop fighting, though,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can think twice about them. “Maybe we could…”

I trail off. I have to take a deep breath, but then I’m doing it. I’m reaching for him. Biting my lip and trying not to let the nervousness take over, I place my hand on top of his where it rests on the piano keys.

“Maybe we could collaborate again in the future.” My heart is beating so loudly that I can’t even really hear myself speak.“There’s room in my contract for it, and I like—I like it. I like… you.”

Gabe’s eyes widen slightly. He looks as though he doesn’t know how to respond, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve made a monumental mistake. If I’ve read a little too much into everything.

But then he flips his hand over and entwines his fingers with mine. Gently, so as not to trigger my injury.

“You like me?”

My breath stutters on my next exhale. “Maybe.”

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