Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume

Author:Gigi Blume [Blume, Gigi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-31T05:00:00+00:00

5

Extravagant Purchase

Jaxson

“What do you mean you’re writing a song?”

I sat on the piano bench next to Emma as she plunked out a few unconnected chords. She’d clunk through a few odd choices before settling on something she deemed worthy to jot down on the lined paper propped on her piano’s music shelf. If I were honest, I thought the instrument was there in her living room as a decoration more than anything. I couldn’t remember ever hearing her play it for the life of me.

“Just a little something for Harriet,” she said distractedly, scribbling on her sheet music. Her response confused me, but I didn’t indulge my curiosity by asking her to explain. I wasn’t here for that. To own the truth, I only wanted to sit next to her like this indefinitely. I ran my hand over the keys and played an arpeggio to accompany her—our fingers trickled together over the ivories, our knees touching every so often. A couple of times, the soft skin of her pinkie brushed against mine as she tinkered with the notes. She wasn’t a virtuoso. But that didn’t matter. She was simply adorable—the way she jutted her tongue out of the corner of her lips as she concentrated. The way her brow would crinkle as she considered her next chord, and then when she played an off chord, the way she’d wrinkle her nose, trying out two or three variations until she found one she was satisfied with. Then she’d write it down, and I played along, accompanying her new creation with complementary grace notes.

“Do that again,” she said. I repeated the motif I’d just made up, and she squealed, jotting down the first note. Then she frowned.

“You did that too fast. I didn’t catch it. Can you transcribe it for me?”

“Sure.” I played it again, slower so it could fuse in my fingertips and scribbled the notes on the music. I never considered myself a composer or even a very good pianist, but I loved playing music with her, so I was happy to oblige. She sighed contentedly and tapped my knee with gratitude. Her touch was intended so innocently. Just two friends hanging out, poking around on the piano, having a platonic good time. The hand on my knee was a benign gesture for Emma—like a high-five. But the warmth of her palm seared through my trousers, and I couldn’t concentrate. My eyes grew foggy around the edges, fixating on her hand. I was a wreck—and if I were being honest with myself—a single-minded ratbag. I cleared my throat as if that would help any.

“I actually came here to give you some news,” I said, tearing myself from her and standing on the bent side of the piano. She hadn’t opened the lid, so I was able to lean my forearms lightly on the surface.

“Oh?” she replied, plonking single notes with her pointer finger. She wasn’t looking at the keyboard. She was looking at me. I could physically feel her playful sparkle galvanize my restless nerve cells.

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