The next morning, I eat an extra-healthy breakfast and dress neatly in a blue shirt and jeans. I start to walk out of the house until I realize it’s barely six.
Not the best idea.
But anxiety and excitement are building. I couldn’t sleep. I’m dying to get started on Project Win Yuna Back.
I have the SPIRIO play the “Chopsticks” Yuna and I performed together. It makes me smile. Yuna was perfect. She’s always perfect.
I’ve got some time to kill, so I read emails from Tim. Then I send a text to Benedict, asking him if he can cut his vacation short because I really need somebody to come deal with my other phone—the one exploding with texts and so on.
Finally I leave at nine thirty, which is respectable, and crawl through SoCal traffic that moves slower than a horde of turtles on tranquilizers.
When I finally get to Ivy’s doorstep, though, she doesn’t look pleased. I hear babies crying inside, and I suspect she’s out here because her husband’s probably dealing with the twins.
“Hi,” I say with a smile, trying not to appear desperate. Nobody likes desperation.
“What are you doing here? Yuna’s not here, and I’m not forwarding any messages to her, either, in case that’s what you want.”
“It’s not. I was wond—”
“Good. Because I’d rather break a finger.”
Ouch. That’s harsh, coming from a pianist. “I’m not here to make another apology. I’m here to prove that I’m serious about making things right with Yuna.”
She gives me a look reserved for the intellectually challenged. “And how are you going to do that?”
“You remember how I group-texted you that Yuna and I ran into her money-grubbing ex at a restaurant and asked you never to take her there?”
“I do. So what?”
“She told me he’d have to play a Chopin waltz to earn her forgiveness.”
“And…?”
“So I’m going to learn one. And play it for Yuna to show her how committed I am.” I give her my most earnest smile.
Ivy looks at me like I’ve lost my sanity. “It takes years to be able to play Chopin well. Can you even read music?”
“Yes. Well, I mean, pretty well. I had some piano lessons when I was a kid.”
She crosses her arms, a veneer of condescension on her face. “Some lessons when you were a kid. We’re talking a Chopin waltz here, not one of Satie’s Gymnopédies. You’d have to practice for hours a day for weeks and weeks. And you’re clearly a very busy person. I don’t know how a man who can’t show up for his girlfriend’s birthday party has the time to practice for more than a minute.”
Her cynicism hurts, but it’s valid, and I have no one to blame but myself. So all I can do is say, “Because I’m that serious.”
Ivy stares at me for a long, long moment, while my heart thumps in my chest. If she says no, I don’t know who I’m going to go to. I have a feeling that just any old Chopin waltz won’t do.
“Fine,” she says crisply. “You can come in. And we’ll discuss this.”
“Thank you,” I say, my shoulders relaxing a little.
“Don’t think I’m going to make it easy on you, though,” she warns me as she walks along the hallway.
I follow. “I don’t care. You can smack my hands with a ruler if you want.”
“We don’t teach piano to people that way.” She gives me a slightly nasty look. “On the other hand, anyone who hurts my friend is hard to regard as a person.”
I just smile. She can assign me to whatever species she wants as long as I get Yuna back.
We walk through the door at the end of the hall. It’s a huge room with large windows facing the garden. In the center is a gigantic grand piano. It seems bigger than the one I have. On the side is a tiger lily.