Page 13 of Strings Attached
Dean clears his throat and steps back so quickly it’s almost comical. “No,” he says, far too fast.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.Subtle.“Not at all.” I walk over and open Giuseppe’s case. “Perfect timing, actually.”
Emma walks in, violin case in hand. Rachel doesn’t even seem to notice the student’s arrival as her eyebrows quirk up. “Okay, I’m going to pretend to believe that. Do you need anything before I head out? Grant and I have a pop-up ice cream stand this morning, but I can swing by later if you need me.” Rachel’s gaze grows in intensity. It’s like she’s asking me to blink twice if I need rescuing—or wink if somethingelseis going on. Her eyes flick briefly to Dean, then back to me, and I resist the urge to laugh.
“I’m good. Go wow the crowds. I can handle things here.”
Emma grins, oblivious to Rachel’s subtle interrogation. The teen bounces on her toes. “I’ll take a scoop after the lesson if you don’t sell out before we’re done.”
Rachel smirks and wraps an arm familiarly around Emma, giving her a squeeze. “If that happens, run down to the store and tell him I said to give you a free cone on me.”
“Sweet!” Emma says as Rachel gives another wave and exits. The girl’s smile lingers until she notices Dean who’s returned to lurking in the shadows. Her expression dims. “Oh, hi, Dean.”
He nods, silent but watchful, his arms crossed as he surveys theincredibly threateningsituation of a musician and a student preparing to tune their instruments.
“He’s just here for the atmosphere.” I pluck my fingers across Giuseppe’s strings and hum with pleasure as the sound echoes back in the room’s excellent acoustics. “Adds to the whole serious musician vibe. Venue security is part of the package for those of us who perform for a living.”
Emma huffs a quiet laugh but ducks her head slightly and tucks a strand of curls behind her ear. “Yeah, sure. You’re so high risk.”
“Hey, give it a few years—once you’re headlining, you’ll have your own Dean lurking backstage. He’ll also have grumpy as his default setting and disapproval as his backup mode.”
Dean’s lips twitch—not quite a smile, but nearly. His eyes sparkle, though, giving him away. Maybe beneath those perfectly pressed black clothes he actually has a sense of humor. A shocking revelation. The thrill of pulling that emotion from him sings through my bones. I already want to see if I can do it again.
I lean in toward Emma and whisper, “Besides, having someone glowering at you like a cranky gnome while you play is excellent practice for becoming a performer.”
A giggle escapes Emma's mouth, and she slaps her hands over her lips to try to capture the sound but does so too late.
“A gnome?” Dean sighs but his eyes still have that gleam to them. “Whispers carry in this space, and I’m still standing right here.”
“Wouldn’t want you anywhere else,” I reply sweetly as I play a scale and nod for Emma to do the same. She lifts the violin to her chin and executes the notes perfectly.
We settle into a groove immediately—Emma playing with effortless grace, me melting into Giuseppe and swaying with the sounds, and Dean… doing whatever it is Dean does. Looming professionally, I guess.
Emma’s better than I expected. When Rachel mentioned having a student who wanted to attend Juilliard I’d assumed she possessed talent, but hearing her play is something else entirely. She doesn’t just perform the music, shefeelsit. That’s the difference between a technician and an artist.
There’s something wild and unpredictable in her performance that reminds me of myself before Juilliard polished away my rough edges. She picks up the accompaniment for “The Swan” with instinctive ease. Soon she’s losing herself to themusic, her hair falling across her eyes. The air seems to shift, as if it’s bending to her will and?—
“Emma, that’s enough.”
Dean’s voice cuts through the music’s magic, firm and low. The bow slips from Emma’s strings with a jarring scrape, and she blinks as if waking from a trance.
I frown and straighten. “She was fine. Getting into the music isn’t?—”
I stop speaking when I see something on Dean I haven’t seen before. His crossed arms aren’t a show of authority—they’re tight, almost tense, his fingers digging into his sleeves. His gaze isn’t sharp with impatience. It’s edged with something else.
Worry.
Emma doesn’t argue. She lowers her violin toward its case, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling like she’s just run a mile.
“I’m good,” she says quickly, brushing a sticky strand of curls off her forehead. “It’s fine, Missy. Thank you. This was amazing.”
Dean’s jaw jumps but he nods and steps back against the wall again.
I open my mouth, ready to press the issue, but neither of them are looking at me. Whatever just happened isn’t something Emma wants to explain—or Dean, for that matter.
Instead, I let out a breath, and loosen my grip on Giuseppe. “Okay, next time I’ll keep a stopwatch. Apparently we have a time limit.”
Emma chuckles but looks back up to me with bright eyes. “It’s true that you perform with Jules Bouchard, right?”
