Page 56 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“Nothing,” I say quickly, looking away. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitate, then shake my head. “Nothing important.”

She gives me a skeptical look, but doesn’t press. Instead, she picks up the sheet music, scanning it again. “You’ve got something good here, Gabe. Don’t mess it up. You always liked to do the bold, dramatic maneuvers, but a gentle hand goes just as far.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promise.

I don’t hate Alina Sokolov. Not anymore. I never really did.

The realization isn’t just a small shift; it’s a landslide. All those years of bitterness and competition suddenly seem trivial and childish. I let my hands rest on the keys, playing a soft chord that lingers in the quiet room. Alina doesn’t say anything, running her fingertips over the freshly tuned strings of an acoustic guitar resting against the wall beside her.

My mind drifts back to Juilliard, to the fiery tension between us that once fueled so many of our interactions. Now I see it for what it was: a mask. A way to avoid acknowledging the pull I felt toward her.

There’s no mask anymore, though. It’s just her and me andusand the music.

“Do you remember that time we performed Mazas’s ‘Six Duets’ in the student showcase our second year?” I blurt out before I realize I’m even thinking about that memory.

Alina whips her head around to meet my eyes, one eyebrow quirked upwards inquisitively. “Of course. We nearly ripped each other to shreds during every single rehearsal.”

Despite her words, both of us laugh. It’s strange to think that we can joke about our rivalry now. It was never a laughing matter before.

“I think it was Reggie’s attempt to transform us into a dynamic duo rather than vicious adversaries,” I muse.

Mr. Ramirez, also known as Reggie by his students, was one of our many instructors during the time we spent at Juilliard. Hewas definitely the most relaxed teacher we ever had, and it was often to his own detriment.

The Jacques Mazas piece is known to be a fairly difficult duet for professionals, let alone two warring students who don’t know how to leave their bitter disdain at the door.

“He probably regretted that decision,” Alina says, eyes glinting with amusement. “We were at each other’s throats even during the performance.”

“It’s probably what made it so good,” I admit. “I mean, it’s a relatively cheerful composition, but I think our rivalry added something more mischievous to it. We worked well together, even when we hated every second of it.”

This time, the smile tugging on her lips wins out. “I think you’re right.”

I swallow hard. I don’t know where to go from here. I guess we’re technically done with the task of fixing my new composition, but I’m not ready to say goodnight to her yet.

And I don’t think she’s ready to go either.

But this is uncharted territory. This desire, this attraction… it’s not brand-new to me. I’ve always thought Alina was beautiful. I’ve always been reluctantly drawn to her. What is unfamiliar, however, is the fact that I’m willing to acknowledge it. To act on it.

Would it be the right thing to do? The right thing for me? For her?

The right thing for Wren?

I realize I’ve been staring at Alina for a heartbeat too long when she bites her lip and looks down at her lap.

“Maybe we could play it together again someday,” she murmurs. “When I’m healed.”

“‘Six Duets’?”

She nods.

I smile.

“I’d love to.”

Chapter Nineteen: Alina

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