Page 58 of Counterpoint and Harmony

I close the few steps between us and press a kiss to her mouth. “Don’t apologize. Maybe it’s not ideal, us having to leave like this, but I’m okay with it.”

She smiles at me and opens her mouth, but whatever she’s about to say is cut off by another knock on the door.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter.

But it’s not the orchestra manager or someone trying to get to Charlie. At least not for selfish reasons.

“Ms. James. I’m here,” a deep voice says from the other side of the door.

Charlie clears her throat. “That’s Tony. My driver.”

I pick up the flowers and hand them to Charlie and slip my arm through one of the straps on my case, hoisting it off the floor. At my nod, Charlie opens the door. Dressed in a charcoal suit and white shirt, Tony looks a little younger than my dad, except he’s completely bald and my dad has a full head of hair. He holds the door for Charlie, his sharp gray eyes scanning me as I follow her. He keeps Charlie next to him, leaving me to bring up the rear as he quickly leads the way through the backstage area to the stage door.

Curious heads poke out of the larger dressing rooms where the orchestra members keep their cases and mill around during the intermission as we pass. Conversations stop when they spot us, then exclamations of surprise erupt in our wake, like a weird doppler effect, but no one stops us.

A nondescript gray sedan waits for us right outside the door, parked and running in the loading zone. Tony opens the rear passenger door for Charlie, and shuts it behind her as soon as she climbs in.

I clear my throat, and his piercing eyes meet mine as I make a lame gesture toward the trunk of the car. “Um, can I put my cello in there?”

He nods once, walks to the driver’s side, climbs in and pops the trunk for me. The way he’s been looking at me, I half expect him to drive off before I can get my cello in, much less get in the car myself. But he doesn’t.

A head pops out of the stage door, one of the orchestra members I think, but then I’m in the car, and Tony’s driving before I even get my seatbelt buckled.

Charlie and I exchange glances, but remain silent as Tony drives us back to the hotel. The orchestra had arranged for me to stay with a host family, but when Charlie found out about it, and that my parents and little sister were coming, she reserved rooms for all of us without even asking first, and called me to let me know. It’s the same hotel we stayed in when we were here in March.

When Tony pulls up in front of the back entrance, I get out first, retrieving my cello from the trunk. Tony opens Charlie’s door, staying by her side as he escorts us to the staff elevator and up to Charlie’s room.

My room is on a different floor, but now doesn’t seem to be the time to point that out. Charlie unlocks her door and holds it open. I look from her to Tony and down the hall, but she’s obviously waiting for me to follow her in. As is Tony. With a mental shrug, I step inside, and Tony nods at Charlie as she closes the door.

Setting my cello down, I survey the room. It’s a suite, but the extra wide doorway between the living area and the bedroom doesn’t have a door. The decor is essentially the same as in my room—shades of gray and white for the upholstery with dark wood furniture.

Charlie expels an audible breath, her arms wrapped around herself. “Well. That wasn’t at all how I planned for today to go.”

I give her a crooked smile, my hands in my pockets. “Yeah. Me either.”

Her eyes travel down my body and back up again. “You look really nice,” she says quietly. Closing the distance between us, she trails a hand down my tie. “I like the tie. The little bit of color. It’s a nice touch.”

I have to clear my throat to make sure my voice comes out. “Thanks.” Even so, it still sounds huskier than I meant, because that’s the effect her proximity has on me. Her touch. Her sweet scent. Her voice.

My hands come out of my pockets all on their own and slide around her. She lifts her eyes from my tie, looking me in the face, darting glances between my eyes and my mouth.

I can’t take it anymore, so I kiss her. She opens for me, her tongue meeting mine. My arms tighten around her, crushing her body to mine, finding the hem of her top and slipping my hand underneath. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of the silky feel of her skin. I wish I could feel her every day.

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