Chapter Twenty-Five #2
And then Blair had pulled back and stared at him like a frightened wild animal. A second later she’d slipped backstage and out the door, vanished as though she’d never been there at all.
Last time he checked, when someone was happy about being kissed, they didn’t flee the scene without a word. They didn’t turn their phone off and ignore their texts and send all their calls straight to voicemail.
So regardless of who’d started their latest argument, he needed to apologize. With any luck at all, they would put it behind them and go back to life as usual—their tentative truce, their unpredictable partnership.
Yeah. And maybe unicorns would fly into the choir room and deposit rainbows and lollipops and tenors who sang in tune.
God, I’ve made a mess of things. Again. And once more, I find myself desperately in need of your help. If you could send some my way, anything at all, I’d—
The door cut his prayer short, and there stood Blair. She wore a white wool coat he’d never seen before, one that made her hair shine like fire.
“Morning.” She swept past him without making eye contact.
“Morning.” He watched her enter the office, hang her coat on the hook inside the door, and turn toward her desk.
Any second now she’d find the cardboard cup from Teddy’s, because a few minutes ago he’d celebrated being almost through his emails with a coffee-and-breakfast run and had grabbed a cup for her.
Apologies always went better with coffee.
Sure enough, she emerged from the office, coffee in hand. “You brought coffee?”
“Think of it as a caffeinated apology.” He offered a hopeful smile. “I’m sorry about last night.”
She lifted the coffee halfway to her lips, her expression maddeningly unreadable. “Are you sorry for the concert? Or the . . . after-concert part?”
Both. And yet . . . neither. The first piece had needed a faster tempo, and he hadn’t realized it until just before the concert.
I’m sorry for taking a calculated risk? I’m sorry for thinking these kids were better singers than they are?
I’m sorry for caring about them in a way you disagree with? No, he couldn’t say that.
I’m sorry for kissing you? Couldn’t say that either. Not without lying through his teeth.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I wasn’t hurt. I was angry.”
“As was I. And I’m apologizing for expressing that anger in a less-than-professional way.”
Blair’s eyebrows shot up. “So you kissed me because you were angry with me?”
“No, I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. And at the time, I thought you felt the same way. But if I misread the situation, or if something changed during, then . . . I’m truly, deeply sorry it happened, and I hope you can forgive me enough to maintain a truce for the rest of the school year. ”
She studied him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I didn’t . . . not want that kiss.”
“Wow. A double negative. What a ringing endorsement.”
“Callum.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Neither did I.”
He grinned. “I figured there was at least a chance of that. Hence the coffee.”
“Thank you, Callum.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I . . . didn’t have any idea kissing was something you wanted.”
“Neither did I,” she admitted.
“If I’m honest, I’ve never . . . that kiss was . . .” Why did words have to be so hard? Music was the only thing that could describe a kiss like that.
Her cheeks turned pink, and she fiddled with one of her earrings. “Yeah.”
Now he wanted to kiss her again. “I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to another one. If you felt the same.”
Last night’s fire lit in her eyes. Her lips parted. She started to say something but then looked away. Stared at her coffee cup as if it contained ancient secrets.
“Blair . . . please stop hiding from me.” A desperate, unplanned plea.
She met his eyes again. “What do you mean by that?”
He stood and took a cautious step toward her.
“You are a gorgeous, passionate, amazing woman. You’re an incredible musician.
You care about those kids more than I’ve ever seen anyone care about kids.
You have this big, huge, beautiful heart, and they get to see it, but it feels like you’re walling it off from me, and .
. . and . . . and it hurts, if I’m honest. I’m starting to take it personally. ”
She pushed a lock of hair behind her delicate ear. His heart pounded. A distant intercom announcement in the hallway summoned some kid to the front office.
“I’ve been hurt before.” The words came out so fast he could barely make them out. “Badly. By someone who I thought loved me, but who in fact just used me as a stepping stone to further his career.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry that guy didn’t see what a treasure you are. But that’s not what I’m doing here.”
“I believe you,” she said slowly. “At least . . . I want to believe you. But what happens if you and I get involved and then you up and leave? How is that not using this place—using me—in the same way Derek did?”
Ouch. She had a point. How would he not just be using her as a stepping stone? Especially now that his heart was involved. And hers.
And how could he think rationally when she watched him with those luscious brown eyes and teased every cell in his body with the warmth from hers?
“Can’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?” he asked.
“Not when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re only here for this year. If you and I start something, and then you leave, I . . . I’m not sure how I recover from that. It takes a lot for me to trust someone.”
His heart sank. “So . . . you’re saying you don’t trust me.”
“Not entirely, no.”
“Fair enough.” He sought her gaze. “How can I earn that trust?”
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“Done.” He hadn’t made any promises to her, and he sure wouldn’t start now.
She stepped toward him. “And don’t take advantage of the fact that I am ridiculously, dangerously, terrifyingly attracted to you.”
“If it helps at all, I am ridiculously, dangerously, terrifyingly attracted to you too.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
“I’m afraid so, Blair.”
She offered a tentative smile. “This is . . . this is a big deal for me, Callum. Opening my heart to someone. Trusting. Especially when I can’t see the outcome.”
He took her hand. Pale and graceful, those skilled fingers resting in his suddenly shaky ones. “I’m sorry your ex betrayed your trust. I’m sorry for the pain he caused you. Your heart may be scarred, but it is still beautiful. And the last thing I ever want to do is give it any more wounds.”
She looked up at him, her eyes large and golden brown and honest and vulnerable, and he was drowning.
“Does this mean we need a moratorium on kissing?” he asked, heart in his throat.
She paused for what felt like an eternity and then shook her head no.
“So . . . this means I can kiss you?”
She grinned. “Well, not in front of the kids.”
“Oh, heavens no. Never.”
“Can you imagine?” Her grin widened. “We’d be fodder for the rumor mill for the rest of the year. Might even make the yearbook.”
That smile would be his undoing. “Blair, could we not talk about the kids for a moment? Please?”
Her smile bloomed across her face, and she nodded.
Relief coursing through his veins, he bent his head and kissed her.
Their kiss wasn’t a volcano this time. No, this time it was music. A sweet melody, winding and unraveling and reverent and tender. With this kiss, he hoped to salve her wounded heart, to fill in the cracks her ex had left, to show her that he’d never violate the precious trust she’d just given him.
He had no idea what the future held beyond May, but with each passing moment, each movement of her lips on his, it was becoming frighteningly clear that all the plans he’d made to be alone for the rest of his life, to move back to Boston and leave Peterson in his rearview mirror, might need some substantial revision.
Because the idea of being without Blair suddenly seemed unbearable.
She pulled away, her breath tickling his lips. “Callum.” His name was a song when she said it.
Unable to speak, he brushed his thumb against her cheekbone, then leaned his jaw against her temple. He was still shaking.
“Callum . . . the bell’s about to ring.”
Who could think about the bell at a time like this? But in reply, it rang, and he pulled back with great reluctance. “I suppose we should adult, then, shouldn’t we?”
She gave him a smile, slow and languid, that nearly undid his resolve. “We’re kind of adulting now, if you think about it.”
With a groan, he stepped back. Blair retreated to the office, and he turned toward the board, picked up the dry-erase marker, and tried to remember what in the world his rehearsal plans were for the day.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her at her desk, brushing out that long, silky red hair.
Had he truly promised to maintain professionalism? Because that was a stupid, stupid promise. He clearly hadn’t thought it through. Professionalism meant he couldn’t touch her again until lunch at the very earliest.
Right now that felt so far away, it might as well be next year.