Chapter 28
Maven
My fishing line tightened, and I gave the rod a solid tug to set the hook. “I got another one,” I called over to Ben, who was still cleaning the last trout I’d caught.
“Are you kidding me?” His gaze followed my line. “What bait did you use?”
“The stinky glittery one,” I said, making him chuckle.
He tossed the cleaned fish in the cooler and approached me with the now empty net, taking careful steps to join me where I stood, thigh deep in the water.
Ben had bought me a pair of cold-weather waders and my own pink rod, similar to the one I’d had as a kid but a lot nicer.
And it was a good thing too, because this fish was putting up a fight.
When I finally got it out of the water, the fish flipping and flailing about, I sent him a wide smile. “Look at the size of that trout.”
Ben scooped it into the net, looked down at it, then lifted his gaze to mine, his head shaking.
I grinned. “Looks like a twenty-four-incher to me.”
He glanced down again, clearly in disbelief. “There’s no way.”
“I say we measure it and find out.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
I leaned closer to him, keeping my lips just out of his reach. “You’re scared. I can see it in your eyes.”
The temptation was apparently too much, and Ben lunged forward, placing his lips on mine with a force that sent me backward to compensate for it.
The heel of my foot caught on a rock, and I intuitively sat back to prevent myself from fully submerging.
By the time Ben caught hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet, I’d already taken on a rush of cold water over the top of my waders.
The icy flow surged all the way down them and settled around my toes.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a lot, but it was freezing cold.
After the initial shock that forced out a high-pitched squeal, laughter burst out of me.
“Sorry about that,” Ben said with an unrepentant grin, taking my rod with the hand holding the net and securing me by the elbow with his other. “You okay?”
“Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re up to. And here I thought you’d be above trying to take out your competition. Clearly, I was wrong. But two can play at that game.” I bent down and cupped my hands before sending water flying towards him. Twice. Three times.
With his hands so entirely occupied, all he could do was close his eyes and take it. “You did not just do that,” he said when I finally stopped my onslaught.
“What? This?” I splashed him again.
Once he headed toward the shore to put down his load, I knew I was in trouble. The ground was too slippery to be haphazardly attempting an escape. The last thing I wanted was to take on more water. I was already shivering. “Okay! Truce!” I said when he drew near again.
He took hold of my wrists. “You think I’m going to accept a truce after such a blatant attack?”
Unintentionally, I gave a big shiver, though the timing was admittedly perfect.
Ben’s expression softened, his hands moving to my icy cold fingers.
“Fine. Truce.” He took hold of my elbow, helping me toward the river’s bank as the shivers took over my whole body.
When I got to shore, he helped me out of my waders, then dumped out the excess water.
There was more than I’d initially thought.
“I’ll start a fire while you change.” He grabbed a blanket off one of the camp chairs to wrap around me.
My shoulders shook and my teeth chattered. “And you’ll measure my fish?”
He dropped his chin, but then he nodded. “I’ll measure your fish.”
I started up the trailer steps, then stopped and turned back toward him. “Considering I can no longer trust you’re not out to sabotage me, I’m going to need photographic evidence of its length.”
Ben chuckled. “That’s fair. Now go get dry clothes on.”
Not fifteen minutes later, I was dry and seated by a roaring fire while Ben turned the fish filets in the cast iron pan, the underside now golden brown and flaky. It smelled amazing!
“Twenty-four and a quarter.” Ben handed me my phone where he’d taken the picture of my catch.
I zoomed in to make sure he hadn’t exaggerated the number, and sure enough, the fish was slightly longer than twenty-four inches. While I beamed up at him, my phone buzzed in my hand.
It was Jean-Paul.
My heart faltered slightly. He was probably just calling in response to the email I’d sent him, thanking him for all he’d done for me before informing him that instead of returning to New York City, I’d be staying in Autumn Ridge.
“Who is that?” Ben asked.
“Jean-Paul.” I dropped the phone into my lap. “I’m surprised we have service up here.”
“It’s pretty spotty, but every once in a while, a text or call will come through.” His gaze returned to my phone. “Do you need to take it?”
I shook my head. “Honestly, at this point, he’s probably just calling to say good-bye and good riddance.”
“What if it’s about the audition?”
The timing made sense. My heart gave a traitorous lift at Ben’s question, but I shrugged. “Then it’s about the audition. I probably didn’t get it anyway.”
Though I’d never gotten a personal call from Jean-Paul with the news I’d been cut.
Just a generic email from the New York Philharmonic thanking me for my interest and explaining the difficult choice of selecting a musician to fill the vacant seat before sharing that I was not that musician.
I pulled up my email, but the page wouldn’t refresh.
Apparently, the service was too spotty for that.
But not too spotty for a voice message notification to come through. I could feel Ben’s gaze on me.
“It’s going to drive you crazy until you listen,” he said.
It was true. I might as well get it over with. I clicked the voicemail and put the phone to my ear, not brave enough to play it on speakerphone.
“Hey, Maven. Sorry I haven’t replied to your email yet.
I’ve been contemplating how best to respond, but I just received word and thought you should know, before your plans are too settled.
You’ve moved on to the final round of auditions for the New York Philharmonic, along with only two other violinists.
The audition is set for Monday, November 2nd, at 2 pm at David Geffen Hall.
” Jean-Paul paused. “Maven, this is an opportunity you may never get again. I suggest you at least take it and see what happens before finalizing any plans. Call me if you’d like to chat. ”
I lowered the phone, my mind trying to process Jean-Paul’s message.
Ben handed me a plate and sat down in the other chair, his gaze on me. “You made it to the final round, didn’t you?”
My gaze lifted to his, and I nodded. “I’ll email them when we’re back in Autumn Ridge and let them know I won’t be coming. I’m sure they’ll have an alternate.”
“Maven, I think—”
“Ben, I’m not going.”
He set his gaze back on his plate.
I took a bite of fish, letting the buttery goodness melt in my mouth. “We should play a card game after dinner,” I said, my voice too upbeat. “Maybe we could make it a little more interesting by adding in an element of truth or dare?”
Ben looked hesitant to allow the conversation to move on, but with my continued smirk in his direction, a smile found its way to his lips. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“I’ve always loved your overconfidence,” I teased. “It’s super attractive.”
“Is that right?” Ben slid his hat backward, knowing full well what he was doing.
Oh, my word! That man was in for some trouble!
Bennett
I’m not sure at what point staring at another person while they sleep becomes not okay, but I’d probably hit that limit a while ago.
Maven was curled into a ball on the bed next to me, hoarding the covers like a blanket-collecting squirrel making a nest around herself.
With the chill in the air, I’d grabbed an extra blanket but hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.
I kept thinking about Maven making the final round of auditions for the New York Philharmonic.
She’d said she wasn’t going, and I believed she was stubborn enough not to, but the niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach made me think I should press her a little harder.
Selfishly, I didn’t want to. I wanted to accept that it was her choice and be done with it.
And I probably would if it was any other opportunity, but this was the New York Philharmonic.
This was not only her dream but the culminating opportunity of all her years of hard work and dedication.
Would I really sit idly by while she turned down the chance to attend the final audition? To at least see what happened?
It wasn’t like there weren’t other musicians vying for that same seat. What were the odds Maven would be the one to get it? One in ten? One in twenty? Besides, she had auditioned three other times without even advancing to the final round. All of my worrying was likely for nothing.
As if in response to my conclusion, my mind conjured up the memory of Maven playing yesterday after we’d arrived here at the river.
She’d wanted to see how it felt to swap a concert hall for the great outdoors, and it had been a new sort of mesmerizing.
With her eyes closed, her fingers moving effortlessly over the fingerboard, and her body swaying with the strokes of her bow, she’d exchanged stage lights for the glimmer of water and the echo of an auditorium for the sound of her music bouncing off the mountains.
Okay, maybe the chances of her winning the seat were better than statistics allowed, but I was clearly biased.
Maven released a light hum, pulling my attention back to her. I brushed the hair from her face, and her eyes fluttered open. “Morning.” She gave a contented smile. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
Her eyes closed again, like her automated system had been triggered and that was still too early. “How’d you sleep?” she mumbled.
“Good. Until you stole all the blankets.”