3. Tess #2
"Well, today rehearsal was cancelled because of a supposed 'power outage,' but the buildings all around us had power.
Then I met Beck at Emerald City Coffee, and she confirmed what I've been dreading.
" I take another sip, letting the wine warm my insides.
"PacWest is basically done. They're three months behind on rent, major donors are jumping ship, and they can barely make payroll. "
"Oh, Tess," Jane reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Beck says we'll be lucky if we make it to the end of summer. I just..." My voice catches, and I hate the vulnerability in it. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I have Oliver's boarding fees, my mortgage, and do you know how many professional orchestras are actually hiring cellists right now?"
"Not enough?" Jane guesses.
"It's like musical chairs, except when the music stops, a hundred cellists are fighting for three chairs." I drain half my wine glass in one go.
Jane rests her hand on mine and gives it a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”
“I know. It just all feels like a lot right now,” I say, shaking my head and looking away for a moment. “Tell me something interesting please to take my mind off of it. Do you have any good client stories?”
“Oh, I’ve got a good one for you. I saw a couple yesterday who nearly divorced over a chicken."
Despite myself, I laugh. "I'm going to need more context."
"So these two have been married fifteen years, right?
Comfortable, settled, mildly bored with each other.
Husband decides he wants to spice things up—in the kitchen," she adds with a theatrical wink.
"Buys a cookbook, announces he's making coq au vin for dinner.
Wife comes home after a terrible day, starving, thinking dinner is almost ready but then sees him just starting to prep this complicated French dish that won't be ready for hours. "
"Oh no," I say, already knowing what’s going to happen next.
"Oh yes." Jane leans forward, hitting her stride. "She loses it. Says he's selfish and inconsiderate. He says she's ungrateful and doesn't appreciate his efforts. Somehow this devolves into him sleeping on the couch and her calling a divorce attorney."
"All over chicken?"
"All over chicken." Jane nods sagely. "Though of course, it wasn't really about the chicken."
"It never is," I agree, sipping my wine. The warmth of it spreads through my chest, mingling with the comfort of Jane's company. For the first time today, my shoulders relax.
"It’s always about communication, expectations, and—" Jane suddenly stops, her gaze shifting over my shoulder. Her smile widens. "Well, well. Look who’s here."
I turn, and my wine nearly sloshes over the rim of my glass.
Charlie Astor stands there, all six-foot-five of him, wearing a charcoal gray suit that fits him perfectly. His dirty blonde hair is just disheveled enough to look intentional, and his blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles down at us.
"When my little sister threatens bodily harm if I'm late, I tend to listen," he says, bending down to give Jane a hug before sliding into the booth beside her. His eyes meet mine across the table. "Hey, Tess. Good to see you again."
"Hi," I manage, hating the sudden flutter in my chest. Charlie has made me feel this way ever since I was a teenager. You’d think I’d be used to it…
"How's the music business?" he asks, flagging down the server for an extra wine glass.
"Currently on life support," I reply before I can stop myself. I give him an abbreviated version of what I’d just told Jane.
"That's rough," he says when I finish. "I know we talked about this at dinner the other night, but it sounded like the end wasn’t so imminent."
"Yeah." I trace the rim of my wine glass with my fingertip. "Things have... accelerated. My friend Beck dropped the bomb today that we'll be lucky to make it to August."
"God, Tess. I'm so sorry," Charlie says.
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance even as anxiety thrums beneath my skin. "It sucks, obviously. But maybe..." I take a deep breath, the words feeling strange as they form. "Maybe it's just the universe telling me it's time for a change."
Jane raises her eyebrows. "That's surprisingly zen of you."
"Don't get me wrong—I'm terrified." I laugh, but it comes out hollow. "I've been with PacWest for a long time. It's comfortable. Safe." I bite on the inside of my mouth. "But maybe I've been too comfortable. Too safe."
"Any prospects lined up?" Charlie asks.
"Boston Symphony is hiring a new cellist for next season." The words come out in a rush. "Applications close in three weeks. But I don’t want to move."
"Plus, the competition will be fierce," I say, voicing the fear that's been churning in my stomach since Beck mentioned it. "We're talking about musicians from top orchestras all over the world. I’d much rather stay in Seattle and work for the Seattle Symphony. But I really think you have to have connections to get a job with them. And, unfortunately, I don’t have any.”
Charlie looks thoughtful for a moment but doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll think about if there’s anyone I know who could help,” Jane says, narrowing her eyes. “There’s got to be somebody.”
Wanting to change the subject to something lighter, I ask Jane to regale us with another juicy client story and she launches into a story about a couple who couldn’t decide on whether to buy a fourth house in Aspen, Vail or Deer Valley.
Apparently the wife gave her husband the silent treatment for months because he didn’t agree with her choice.
A little later Jane says, "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and hang out more, I promised Mom I'd help her with some of the gala details tonight."
"You're leaving already?" I ask.
"Duty calls." She stands, collecting her purse. "But you two stay and finish the wine.”
And just like that, she's gone, leaving me alone with Charlie and the sudden awkward silence between us.
He breaks it first. "I’m glad I’ve got you alone. I wanted to talk to you about something..."
"What’s that?" I ask, attempting lightness, while my heart skips a beat.
"I have four weddings to get through in the next couple of months. Huge, fancy events with lots of people I know personally and professionally."
I laugh despite myself. "Sounds grueling."
"It would be more bearable with the right company." His eyes meet mine, a hint of something serious beneath the casual tone.
My pulse quickens. "So, who are you taking?"
"Well…" he leans forward slightly, "I’m still looking for a date. Someone who can handle small talk with Seattle's elite without falling asleep from boredom. Someone who knows which fork to use for the fish course. Someone like...you."
I blink, processing this. "You want me to be your date? To four weddings?"
"Is that so hard to believe?" A smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes," I say bluntly. "You could ask literally anyone. Models. Socialites. Boss Lady CEO’s. I’m sure any woman you asked would happily be your date."
"Maybe I don't want to ask anyone else." He holds my gaze. "Maybe I think you’d be my perfect date."
The sincerity in his voice throws me. This is Charlie Astor—notorious playboy and permanent fixture in Seattle's social pages. And me? I'm...well, possibly soon-to-be-unemployed, perpetually anxious, and currently wearing a blouse I've owned since college.
"I don't think it's a good idea," I say, even as part of me screams to reconsider.
"Because...?"
Because I've had a crush on you for approximately half my life. Because being around you makes me forget words and trip over my own feet. Because you're Charlie and I'm me and this feels like a recipe for heartbreak.
"Because I'm dealing with a potential career implosion," I say instead. "The timing is just not great."
Something shifts in his expression—determination replacing casual interest. "What if I could help with that?"
"With my career?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice.
"I know people at Seattle Symphony. Their board chairman is a golf buddy of my dad's." He leans in closer. "Go to these four weddings with me, and I'll get you an audition for their cello section."
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. It doesn't come.
"You can't be serious."
"Dead serious." His blue eyes hold mine without wavering.
"And getting a date for these weddings matters that much?" The question comes out sharper than intended.
"Finding the perfect date is difficult," he says quietly. "So…what do you say, Tess? Deal?"
The practical part of my brain reminds me that Seattle Symphony would solve all my problems. The romantic part whispers that four dates with Charlie Astor might be worth the risk.
"I'll think about it," I say, which is not a no, and from the slow smile spreading across his face, he knows he’s won.
"I'll take that as a promising start," he says, raising his glass to mine.