Chapter Fourteen
THE STRAINS of students sawing on stringed instruments met Callum’s ears long before he cracked open the door to the orchestra room later that week, and the cacophony only grew louder as he slipped in the back, behind the double bass section.
On further consideration, cacophony wasn’t quite the right word. Not anymore. Joy’s freshman orchestra had improved considerably since the last time he’d heard them.
From her spot on the podium, Joy’s eyes met his. She acknowledged his presence with a nod, guided the orchestra to a dramatic crescendo with her baton, then cut them off with a flourish. “Good job today, everyone. Pack up a couple minutes early.”
Kids exchanged surprised glances, then moved almost as one to stash violins in cases and cellos on stands at the back of the room.
Callum chuckled, recognizing that quick, move before she changes her mind energy permeating the classroom.
He’d never seen it from his choirs. Then again, when had he not rehearsed until just past when the bell rang?
Joy wove her way through the mass of music stands to where Callum stood.
“Mr. Knight.” She greeted him with a smile.
“To what do I owe the—Brax! Jayden! Viola bows are not light sabers, for the love of all things Mozart.” She glared fiercely at a couple of gangly boys paused mid-bow battle, who appeared chastened and packed up their instruments with murmured apologies.
Joy sighed, rolled her eyes, and offered a rueful grin. “Welcome to my world.”
Callum repressed a shudder as he surveyed the chaotic scene and thanked God that teaching choir didn’t involve trusting students with anything expensive. “Could I borrow you for a moment? It won’t take long.”
“Sure.” Joy turned toward her students and shouted, “Okay, you squirrels. Pack up and behave like civilized humans, or so help me, I will never give you free time again.” The sternness gone from her voice and her smile bright, she gestured toward her office. “Right this way.”
Callum followed her into a small, intensely cluttered office, where Joy closed the door most of the way and eyed him, her right brow arching above her colorful glasses in a gesture eerily like Blair’s.
“What can I do for you, Callum?”
Was every female faculty member here at Peterson this intimidating?
He’d never found Joy to be so, especially since he had at least a foot on her in height, but right now, as she stood with her arms folded across her chest, eyeing him thoroughly, he felt like beating a hasty retreat back to the choir office.
“Well.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “That is, I wondered if you might . . .”
“Spit it out, Knight. I haven’t got all day, and neither do you.”
“Coffee. Blair.” The words leaped from his mouth like scared kids off a high dive. “I want to know what kind of coffee Blair likes. Like, what does she order from a coffee shop?”
“Ooooh, interesting.” Joy’s eyes lit. “Why?”
Callum held up a hand. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.
I just . . . I need to get along with her, and I know she likes coffee, so I’m going to bring her one tomorrow.
You know her much better than I do and thus are more likely to know her usual order.
Because Blair does not seem like the sort of person who’d be happy with just anything. ”
Joy let out a bark of laughter. “No, she’s pretty particular. About practically everything.”
Callum resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ve noticed.”
“She has high standards, Callum. Nothing wrong with that. And I suspect she’s not the only person in the choir department to whom that applies.”
Callum studied the carpet between his shoes. “Yes. Well.”
“Okay, coffee. Listen up. If it’s before lunch, Blair likes—”
“Wait, she has a different favorite drink depending on the time of day?”
“You asked. I’m answering. Kindly wait until I’m finished before you complain,” Joy replied, in the same tone of voice she’d used with the kids, although thankfully at a lower volume.
“Now. If it’s before lunch, she likes a hot butterscotch oat milk latte with an extra shot and whipped cream.
After lunch, half-caf iced latte with skim milk, a shot each of coconut and vanilla, and about an inch of cold foam on top. ”
Callum blinked. A mocha or something he could remember, but this?
“Should I write it down for you?” Joy asked.
“No need.” On sudden inspiration, he pulled his phone out from his pocket and opened up his voice recorder app. “Just say it again.”
Joy lifted her chin and repeated the order. When he switched off the recorder, she nodded toward his phone. “Good idea, Mr. Knight.”
“It’s how I remember things when I’m composing.” He tucked the phone back into his pocket.
“Oh, you compose?”
“Not as much anymore. It’s been a rough few years.” His standard answer. But now, blessedly, thank the Lord, he could elaborate beyond that. “But the muse is starting to return. It’s slow going, but it’s coming back. And Blair, well, she inspired the first musical idea I’ve had in half a decade.”
He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth, but Joy’s mischievous grin confirmed it. “Oh, she did, did she?”
“She doesn’t know, and this coffee is a way of thanking her. A small down payment on the debt I owe.”
His attempt at mitigation did nothing to dim Joy’s smile. “I see.” She also must’ve seen something untoward going on in the orchestra room, because she banged on the window of the office. “Hey. You three. Cut. It. Out.”
“Anyway.” Callum moved toward the door. “Thanks for the tip.”
“She’s pretty special, y’know.”
Joy’s words at his back stopped him, and he turned. “I’m sorry?”
She was eyeing him again. Sizing him up, as though deeming him worthy. Or possibly unworthy.
“Blair. She’s one in a million. Don’t hurt her.”
He held up a hand. “It’s just coffee, Joy.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s what they all say.”
They all? Who were they all? Did Blair have a steady stream of men wanting to buy her coffee? And why did he care, anyway?
He kept his tone and expression carefully neutral. “Sometimes coffee is just coffee.”
The bell rang, and kids streamed by the window on their way out of the classroom. Callum put his hand on the doorknob but waited for the hordes to pass.
“She is single, just so you know,” Joy added, her tone rich with mischief.
Callum sighed. Blair? The ice queen? Not seeing anyone? He was going to have a heart attack and die from that particular surprise. Best not to say anything, though.
“Again, thank you.” He strode from the office behind a couple of straggling students. Never had he been so grateful for his third-hour music theory class and an excuse to get away from Blair’s meddling mother hen of a best friend.
It really was just coffee.
A cup of coffee sat on Blair’s desk.
Cardboard. Decorated with the unmistakable teddy-bear logo from her favorite shop and a little plastic stopper in the lid to keep the heat in.
She shed her jacket and hung it on the rack by the door, then picked up the cup to investigate. It wasn’t her birthday, nor any sort of professional milestone. Had Joy woken up extra early this morning? Had Dad brought a surprise?
CAL, the handwritten name on the cup read.
Cal? Did she even know anyone named Cal?
Well, whoever Cal was, he knew her exact morning coffee order. At least, if the weird shorthand beneath his name could be believed. BTSCTCH OAT LATTE XTRA SHOT WHIP.
“Morning, Blair.” Callum strode into the office, a smile on his face and his own Teddy’s coffee cup in hand.
Callum.
Cal.
“Morning.” She held up her coffee. “Is this . . . did you . . . are you Cal?”
He grimaced. “I’ve never gone by Cal, not once in my life, nor will I ever. Teddy’s was busy this morning, so the girl behind the counter must not have heard me correctly.”
“But this is . . .”
“Your standard morning order? Yes. Joy told me what you like.” He pulled out his desk chair, looking very pleased with himself.
Joy told him? Did Joy volunteer that information? Did she put Callum up to this in an effort to get Blair to like him? Or had he asked her? And if he had, why?
“Thank you,” she said. “Truly. I didn’t sleep well last night, so this is very, very necessary.” She took her first sip and closed her eyes in bliss. “And delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” His voice had gone soft. “Plus, I figured I owed you one from a few weeks back.”
She lowered the cup and smiled at him. “Oh, that was just . . . it was nothing.”
“Maybe not.” He met her gaze and matched her smile. “But it was something to me.”
Blair settled into her chair and took another sip. “You’re in an alarmingly good mood this morning. You have been for . . . several mornings, actually.”
“That idea I got a couple weeks ago actually turned into something.”
“So that composer’s block is a thing of the past now?”
He angled his chair toward hers and leaned back. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I will say that this is the furthest I’ve gotten since . . . well, since Rayne died. Feels good to make progress.”
Genuine happiness bloomed in her heart. “I’ll bet it does. I’m glad for you.”
“Thanks. My agent will be too, when I tell him.” Callum’s smile widened. “Glad for himself too, of course.”
Her happiness vanished as quickly as it had come.
The man who currently shared the office wasn’t really a teacher.
She had to remind herself of that. Oh sure, he had a teaching certificate and an education degree, but his heart lay elsewhere.
He’d only come here to get back on his feet, and once he did that, he’d vanish in a puff of smoke, just like all the others had.
But this impending departure hit different. It felt less like irritation, less like the resignation of having to start over yet again with the umpteenth new director, and more like . . . sadness. Genuine sadness.
Was she actually going to miss him?
Oh, surely not.
“And I have you to thank for it,” Callum was saying.
She blinked. “Me?”
“My idea came when you were saying goodbye to the kids that day.” He leaned forward in his chair, his words tumbling out in a rush of enthusiasm.
“They’re crazy about you, Blair. They adore you.
And I—I could feel it. I envied it, frankly.
And that love you all share turned into a melody, and that melody turned into more. ”
Those green eyes stared into hers so deeply she wondered if he could see her soul. She felt exposed, but not in an unpleasant way. He’d seen beyond her piano skills to her passion for the job, and not only had he admired that, he’d also been inspired by it.
Had she ever inspired anyone to do anything before?
“Wow.” She sounded breathy, like a teen girl staring at her crush. She cleared her throat. “Really?”
“Really.” His voice was a caress, almost as though he’d reached out and covered the scant few feet between them. She felt the same as if he’d touched her . . . but what would it be like if he actually did? If one of those strong, capable hands brushed her arm? Her shoulder?
And gah, he was still watching her, but now he seemed curious—amused, even—and she had to say something.
“I’m glad I could help.” Standard collaborative pianist response.
“Me too,” he replied. “You have no idea. I could buy you a thousand coffees and I’d still be in your debt.”
Callum’s computer dinged with an email notification. He turned away to check it, and Blair could breathe again. A second later, her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her purse. A text from Joy.
Enjoying your coffee?
Yes. Did you put him up to this?
Nope. He asked yesterday. Completely on his own.
He says I inspired a piece he’s working on.
LOL. My spidey sense tells me he’s inspired to do more than just write music.
Joy had punctuated her last text with some grinning emojis. Blair texted back an eye-roll emoji of her own and set the phone down.
“Looks like we’ve got our assignments for Difference Makers Day,” Callum remarked.
“Yeah?” Blair clicked into her email and scanned the missive from Cashman. Peggy Sue Weldon, 621 North Court Street . . . Peterson High alum . . . recent widow . . . yard work, painting both exterior and interior . . .
“Do you know Peggy Sue Weldon?” Callum asked, and Blair turned to face him.
“Not well, but we’ve met. Why? Is that where your group is going?”
Callum reached for his coffee. “Seems that way.”
“Huh. So’s mine.”
“Guess she needs quite a bit of help.”
“Makes sense. The email said she’s a recent widow.
If she’s who I think she is, her husband was quite the handyman.
” Blair scrolled through the email. “Hey, since we’re going to the same place anyway, I can supervise your group if you don’t want to mess with this. Call in sick. I won’t tell anyone.”
Callum frowned at her. “You think I can’t handle it?”
“No, I just think you don’t want to handle it. I highly doubt you did this sort of thing directing professional choirs in Boston.”
“You’re right. I didn’t,” he replied evenly. “But I wish we had.”
She studied him. “I’m sorry?”
“My high school choir director said she wanted us to be good singers and good musicians, but more than that, she wanted us to be good humans. ‘Most of you aren’t going into music as a profession,’ she always said, ‘but you are all members of the human race, so I’m going to do everything in my power to make you good ones.
’” He chuckled. “I can still hear her voice like it was yesterday. So as long as I’m here, whatever influence I have on these kids, I’d like to make them better people than they were before I got here.
So, yes, I’m all in on Difference Makers Day. I’ll be there with bells on.”
Just what had they put in his coffee at Teddy’s? Who was this cheerful, unselfish person, and what had he done with the grumpy Callum Knight she knew and didn’t love?
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Of course I’m sure. You all have a good community here. Solid. Close-knit. You don’t get that kind of thing in places like Boston.” He glanced at the clock on the wall behind her, then reached for his iPad and stood. “It’s a nice change of pace. See you in there?”
She nodded, and he strode past, leaving a hint of cologne in his wake.
Still a couple of minutes before kids started coming in. She had time to savor a few more sips of coffee.
A nice change of pace indeed. All the way around.