“I’d love some coffee,” I say, “and feel no pressure. I’m in no rush.”
“Thank you, Aria.” She squeezes my arm and grabs her coat before heading outside.
I walk to the auction area Crystal directed me toward and easily find the breakroom. I’ve just stepped inside when the sound of a few violin notes fills the air. I freeze with the certainty that Kace is here, perhaps lingering from a rehearsal with Chris. He begins to play “Carmina Burana,” which is a famous composition most people have heard but don’t know by name. It’s brilliant, intense, emotional. My father loved it and just hearing it tightens my chest. The connection to my past is too intense to ignore.
I follow the hot and cold notes of a perfectly played violin and enter the auction room to find him standing on stage. Dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt, boots, and a black beanie, he is every bit his rock star image, but it’s not his physical looks that make him a star. I stand there in the doorway and watch the way his face dances with emotion as he plays, the way his hands control his instrument to match those emotions.
The chairs are gone now, and I can’t help myself. Daringly, I walk to the center of the empty room, smack in the middle, and watch him play, savoring the dramatic way he drives every note, the expression on his handsome face that says he feels every note. And I feel them with him. I feel them right down to my very soul where the violin still lives, where my father still lives, where my mother now lives with him. My lashes lower and I can see myself standing in his shop back in Italy, laughing as he blasted this song and pretended to play it on an invisible violin. My mother is there, too, and it’s her he plays for, her he dances around for. Her he kisses, when he lowers that imaginary instrument.
The song ends in a swell of emotion for me and I struggle to regain my composure. Slowly, my lashes lift and to my shock, Kace is standing in front of me. I blink into his intense, probing stare, stunned at how close he is to me, a sway from our bodies aligning. “What does it mean to you?” he asks.
“You are so very gifted, Kace. The way you feel every note is mesmerizing and contagious.”
He reaches up and strokes the dampness from my cheeks, and that song, his song, is a sultry, alluring drug I can’t begin to explain. I’m weak for this man and the memories his song has stirred. “This isn’t about me,” he says. “It’s about you. About what the sound of a violin means to you.”
He’s both right and wrong. He’s a messenger, the gifted artist that returned me to the past, to my father, to the father we as a family deserted, and in that, this is about him. It’s also about me and my decisions. Gio was right. Our father, our family, deserves more than our fear.
“Aria,” Kace prods softly.
I refocus on him, on this moment, not the many that have passed me by, moments that perhaps I should never have let pass me by. “You took me on a journey, Kace. It was a journey I needed to take. So thank you. I can’t be the first to say that to you.”
“And yet yours is the only one I want to understand.”
“Why? Mine is just another story.”
“No,” he replies. “It’s not that simple.”
I could read into that statement and see an enemy, see the danger, and before today, I would have. I’m exhausted by the fight or flight reaction that is my every moment. My every moment before this moment. Right here, right now, standing with Kace, I refuse to create feelings he doesn’t stir in me naturally.
But he knows I know music. He knows my powerful connection to the violin. I feel that shared joy swell between us. And in music, the connection I have felt to this man from the moment we met is too present to ignore—the air thickens with it, pulses with it, the pull between us heavy and hard. I can almost feel us leaning into each other without ever moving. But then footsteps sound, high heels clacking on tile, and the moment is gone. I take a step back, but Kace does not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kace and I stand there staring at each other, a pulse, much like a drawn-out musical note holding us there, almost spellbound.
“Aria?”
At Crystal’s voice, I turn to face her. “Hi,” I say, trying not to sound breathless, but I’m pretty sure I fail. “Ready?” I ask.
“I am.” She glances between me and Kace, a curious look on her heart-shaped face. “Are you?”
“Yes. Of course,” I say, but Kace hasn’t moved and I can feel the pull of his presence that I cannot ignore.
Aware of Crystal watching us, of her interest in whatever this is between us, I still dare to glance back at him, to meet his deep blue stare, which—Lord help me—sends a rush of heat low in my belly. “Thank you for allowing me to enjoy your music.”
His lips part slightly as if he might say something, but instead he gives a tiny bow of his head, which effectively blocks his expression. I want to see his expression, to read him, to understand what is happening between me and this man, but it’s too late. He’s already turned away, walking toward the stage, his broad shoulders squared.
Disappointed, I turn away too and close the space between me and Crystal. She backs up to allow me to exit with her into the hallway, where we fall into step together. “Okay, wow. The air literally crackled between you two. What was that?”
Her reaction confirms that I’m not losing my mind. There is something going on between me and Kace. Or I think there is. As with every encounter with that man, I’m walking away with no idea if I will ever see him again.
“Aria?” she prods.
“I heard him playing and the song took me on a walk down memory lane, something old and familiar. I couldn’t resist going to watch him perform.” I give an awkward laugh. “His rendition made me cry. He’s just so good, you know?”
“I do know,” she says, “but that, whatever that was, that I just walked in on—well, that was interesting.” She spares me a proper reply I don’t have, pausing at her office door. “Kace and I are meeting Chris, his wife Sara, and Mark for drinks at the bar next door in about an hour. Why don’t you and I head over there and go over the paperwork and just chat?”
“I’d like that,” I say, and the idea that I will soon encounter Kace again is a bit too thrilling for my own good. He’s too close to my world and my family history for comfort, but when I’m with him, I don’t seem to care.
***
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting across from Crystal in a dimly lit, cozy little spot, with what seems like hundreds of dangling red bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and cushy red booths for seating. “They have the best s’mores martinis,” Crystal announces. “You have to try one.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m not a good drinker. I’ll embarrass myself. Who knows what I’ll say with a martini down me.”
“Perfect. I want to hear all about you and Kace.” She motions to a waitress. “Two of my usual, Claire, please,” she calls out and then refocuses on me. “I’m a regular here, as you can imagine. It’s close but it’s also wonderful.”