Page 9 of Absolutely Not in Love
Until now. But if there’s something wrong with her stove, that isn’t a complaint. That’s a legitimate need, and I should address it.
“Um, yeah,” I answer. “I think I have his number somewhere. Or maybe his email? I’ll see if I can find it for you.”
She nods. “Thanks. It’s not urgent or anything, but maybe the next time I see you, you can give it to me?”
I nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”
I watch as she disappears down the stairs, then I slowly retreat into my apartment.
I mean, it could have goneworse.I’ve never been particularly great at talking to women, even with all the practicing my therapist has made me do. And I’ve definitely had conversations far more horrible than that one. And it’s nice that now I have a reason to talk to her again. Because when I give her the landlord’s number, I’m going to have to tell her it’smine.
But that’s not going to make her interested in me. And Ireallydon’t think she’s interested.
I stand at my counter, hands propped on my hips, and chuckle.
It’s funny. Finding out I’m a hockey player usually has theoppositeeffect on women.
Unfortunately, the fact that it doesn’t impact Gracie at all only makes me like her more.
Chapter Three
Gracie
“Oh,I’msogladI’m not the only one who is late,” my stand partner, Joyce, says as I set my instrument on the floor of the green room and take off my coat. Joyce’s cello case is open in front of her, so she’s a few minutes ahead of me, but she’s still rosining her bow, so it’sonlya few.
Our symphony conductor has a zero-tolerance policy for tardiness, especially on performance nights, so the strain on Joyce’s face is justified. By the sound of things, the rest of the orchestra is already on stage warming up.
“Traffic was so much worse than I expected,” I say. “I swear, there must be a million tourists in town to look at the fall leaves.”
Harvest Hollow is nestled in the Appalachian mountains between Asheville and Knoxville and has become somewhat of a destination for leaf-lookers in the fall. It’s great for the economy, so I can’t complain. And odds are good that a lot of the people in the audience tonight are the same people who are clogging up the roads. But the audience hardly matters if I lose my seat in the orchestra for missing our first fall performance.
I hurriedly open my case and pull out my cello.
“Can you blame them for coming? The colors are amazing this year,” Joyce says. “But there are probably people in town for the hockey game, too.”
I look up. “There’s a hockey game tonight?” That would explain why Felix was wearing a suit—looking too good for words—when I saw him leaving earlier.
“Tomorrow,” Joyce says. “At least according to my husband.”
I suddenly wonder where Felix was going all dressed up if not to one of his games. A date, maybe? That thought makes me frown, so I shove it away. What do I care if Felix dates? I hope he dates. I hope he dates all the hockey-loving women in the whole wide world.
“It’s supposed to be a big game,” Joyce continues. “They have a guy on the team now who was some sort of NHL hotshot, and when they played their first preseason game last week, he tore up the ice. He’s from here, too, I guess, so now people are going crazy about seeing him play.”
“People are always crazy about Appies hockey in this town.”
Last weekend at breakfast, Josh went on and on about the new star on the team—Logan Barnes. Pretty sure that’s the same guy who stayed with Felix for a little while. I remember him specifically because he was always incredibly polite whenever he saw me. Chill and nice, without being even a little bit flirty, which was a nice change from the hockey guys who usually show up at Felix’s place.
Earlier this week, five or six of them came barreling up the stairs to bang on Felix’s door. Logan brought up the rear, looking a little sheepish, apologizing for his teammates’ antics even as Eli slid up to me—I’d just gotten home from rehearsal—and asked if he could buy me dinner.Again.
Eli’s actually pretty cute—all of Felix’s friends look like they were stamped out at some sort of hotness factory—but he wouldn’t be my type even if he didn’t play hockey. And honestly, they all pale in comparison to Felix.
Not that I think Felix is impressive.
I’m just saying, objectively, if I’m only talking about the physical, Felix is…I don’t have words for what Felix is. Which is troubling. He’s been on my mind a lot more lately, something I’m afraid has everything to do with him charging out of his apartment, still damp from his shower, to make sure I was okay. The expanse of the bare, broad chest wasnotinsignificant, but weirdly, the thing that keeps coming back to me is the look that was on his face. He looked genuinely, sincerely concerned, then totally chagrined when he realized how much he’d inconvenienced me.
I shove the thoughts aside—I have much more important things to think about than my off-limits neighbor—and follow after Joyce, who has already made her way onto the stage.
The house lights are still up, and it’s nice to see the performance hall full. There isa lotof gray hair, something that always makes me a little sad—why don’t young people ever want to hear the symphony play?—but an audience is an audience, and I’m happy we have one.
