Page 14 of Strings Attached
“I do, yes. We’re actually working on an album together currently.”
Well, he is. My stomach twists. The package Dean delivered the other night still sits opened but unexplored in my room filled with sheet music that should excite me but instead feels like handcuffs.
“Oh my gosh, his compositions for violin are incredible! The way he blends classical pieces with modern elements…” She hugs her case to her chest and squeezes her eyes tight. “He’s brilliant.”
“Jules is…” I sigh, softly. “Someone who practices for hours every day.” I grin at her. “Not a bad plan to follow if you have ambitious dreams.”
She nods enthusiastically. “I will. I do already, I mean.”
She didn’t need to say it—I already know. The way she’d lost herself to the music, the sharp focus that narrowed her world down to the strings beneath her fingers. It was obvious. Emma doesn’t just want this. She’s working for it.
She snaps her case shut and slings it over her shoulder. “Well, I’m taking Mrs. Pierce up on the free ice cream!”
“See you Tuesday night?”
She grins as she opens the door. “I can’t wait.”
The light disappears, and the space turns back into quiet stillness—only mine and Dean’s breaths echoing together.
I move back toward Giuseppe and loosen the bow. “Just how long do you plan to observe lessons?”
“Just how long do you plan to conduct them?” Dean steps toward me again. My pulse quickens. I haven’t forgotten the moment Rachel interrupted earlier. I haven’t thought about it, either. This man is like lightning against a dark sky. Electric, alive, and carrying a raw kind of power that feels impossible to ignore.
Dean stops walking a few steps in front of me and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can’t say I’ve had the opportunity to see a world-class performer in a private concert before.” His lips twitch upward. “I’m impressed, Ms. Sinclair.”
I wipe down the strings and fingerboard with a soft cloth and refuse to look up and meet his intense expression. “Was that a compliment? Careful, Dean. I think you’re warming up to me.”
His voice dips lower, the gravelly sound of it amplified in the room. “You don’t make it easy to stay cold.”
I lift my face. He’s standing in a puddle of golden light, half of him in shadows which sculpt his features, cutting across his defined jaw and emphasizing his brow. I want to swallow hard. I want to stand up and finish whatever we started before Rachel and Emma arrived. I want?—
The door opens again and we both jump. Alex’s eyes flick between the two of us then she tightens her grip on her handbag. “Ready for lunch?”
“Yeah, of course.” I leap up and ease Giuseppe back into his case, then latch it carefully. I need the moment to catch my breath. God, I swear Dean Markham is like discovering coffee—unexpected, slightly addicting, a little too strong, and suddenly I can’t imagine going without it.
He nods and produces a fresh mint from somewhere. “Ladies.”
Alex watches him go with an expression I can’t quite read. When she turns back to me, there’s a tightness around her eyes and she hasn’t released her grip on the bag.
“Don’t you need to work?” I ask, trying to shift the subject.
“With my sister in town, I can be flexible! How often do I get to see you?” She loops her arm through mine, but there’s something protective in the gesture.
As we step outside together, I realize three essential truths that settle into my chest like a bad cold.
First, despite my attempts to carve out my own space here, I’m still pulling Alex off-rhythm. She’s falling right back into the role of rearranging her world to care for me.
Second, I’m offering to mentor Emma while my own musical future sits disregarded in a package in my room and Jules’ emails remain unread. I’m more adrift career-wise than Irealized, and that leaves a gnawing sense of dread aching in my stomach.
And third—the thought that causes me to miss a step on the way out and Alex to frown as she steadies me—this electric current between Dean and me is a problem. Because the last thing I need is something further throwing off my focus. And, more importantly, the last thing Alex needs is for me to complicate her world even more by falling for someone who holds power here.
Each step away from the studio feels like moving farther from something I shouldn’t want but can’t quite forget—a melody stuck in my head long after the song stopped playing.
Dean
Dawn spills over Magnolia Cove like honey, catching in the crimson maple leaves and glinting off brass door knockers that have weathered a century of coastal storms. I don’t normally muse on the town’s appearance, but lately everything golden reminds me of her eyes. The thought arrives unbidden, unwanted, yet persistent as the autumn wind carries the scent of the Whisk’s cinnamon rolls down Main Street.
Monitoring yesterday’s lessons between Missy and Emma rush through my thoughts and I grind my teeth.
