“Do you not like any of these?” I asked.
“No, they’re fine, but I thought what I like doesn’t matter.” His face skewed. “What I mean is, Elena made it sound like the song was supposed to be a reflection of you.”
“It is.” I frowned. There was so much pressure riding on this choice, it was hard not to second-guess myself.
“These ones are all good. They’re pretty.”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” I said dryly.
He looked sheepish. “I don’t like them as much as what you were originally going to do.”
“Well, shit.” I stared glumly at the TV screen, my gaze focused on the YouTube logo in the upper corner. The couch shifted as he leaned over and stole the phone from my hand. He scrolled through the suggested videos, tapped the screen, and a new one began to play.
It was a room full of bright windows and a woman poised at a black grand piano. In front of that, a man was seated, a cello nestled between his knees. She began playing almost instantly, quickly followed by him. The song was wistful, even though it had a quick tempo.
It took several bars before I heard the lyrics in my head. “Is this ‘Chandelier’? The Sia song?”
He nodded, but his gaze was fixated on the screen, watching the cello player’s fingers leap up and down the stem, moving rapidly and with such precision, it was its own kind of dancing.
That thought was all it took for me to fall in love with the song, and the line about living like tomorrow didn’t exist solidified it. The track was perfect.
I shot a hand out and latched onto Grant’s arm. “This one.”
Only he gazed back at me with a strange look in his eyes. Was that fear? “It’s, um, kind of fast.”
I sucked in a breath. “You can’t play it?”
His shoulders went tight. “No, I’m sure I can.” Although he didn’t sound all that confident. “You’re sure this is the one you want?”
I bobbed my head in an enthusiastic nod. “I’m visualizing it already.” I looked at the caption of the video. “There’s a link to buy the sheet music right there. Do you think we can get your friend to record the piano part for us?”
“Probably.” He still looked nervous, though.
“Hey,” I said, “if this one is too hard, we can—”
He raised an eyebrow, annoyed by my challenge. “It’s not. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, great.” I couldn’t contain my excitement. “I think this is going to be amazing.”
The pizza arrived not long after, and while we were eating, Grant got a text from his pianist friend, confirming she’d be able to record the piece. I purchased the sheet music and emailed it to her.
I asked about rugby, and he spent a good ten minutes trying to explain the game to me, although I got hung up on the fact that there was a position labeled the hooker. How ironic.
Grant grabbed another round of beers from the fridge, and when he returned to the couch, this time he sat much closer. We hadn’t talked about our date, or if he wanted to be more than friends, but all signs pointed that way.
Was not telling him about my job really that bad? We weren’t sleeping together. I’d told him I was already in another relationship and couldn’t be exclusive. I’d make sure to tell him the full truth before crossing any lines with him, once I knew I could trust him. Not just with my secret, but with everything else. Maybe even my heart.
So, he didn’t need to know tonight. As long as we weren’t fucking, what difference did it make?
I was aware the mental gymnastics I was doing to get what I wanted were astounding, and I should have felt guilty. Yet, as I stared at this gorgeous man who’d said yes to helping me, all I felt was desire.
Hot, needy desire.
He stared back at me through his long lashes, his strong jaw set, and seemed to feel it too.
“Can I get some clarification?” he asked, his fingers worrying the edge of the label on the bottle in his hands.
“About?”