Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
I was buried neck-deep in research about attachment styles when Drew slid into the chair across from me.
His hair was still damp—probably from a rushed shower—but he looked more put together than he had in a while.
There was still exhaustion around his eyes, but the desperate, wild-eyed panic of early fatherhood seemed to be fading into something more manageable.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, keeping his voice low, so as not to bother the other students in the library. We were tucked away in a back corner where there weren’t as many people, but we still needed to talk quietly. “She wouldn’t take her bottle and—”
“It’s okay,” I said, cutting him off. He didn’t need to explain. After helping him with Rory the other night, I got it. I wasn’t going to harp on him for being a couple of minutes late. He still showed up and that’s what mattered.
He looked at me like he didn’t believe me, so I smiled.
“Seriously, Andy. Stop trying to lay it on so thick for the sympathy.” I might have been trying to goad him a little bit, but I also wanted him to relax.
He seemed more high-strung than I’d ever seen him, and I was still trying to find my footing with this new version of him.
He arched an eyebrow, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the old Drew—the one with the cocky smirk and ready comeback. “If I wanted sympathy, Freckles, I’d have brought the baby. Nothing attracts the ladies like a hot single dad.”
Then he grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Thanks for not being a hard-ass about it. Ava’s got her now, so we should be good for a few hours.” His voice sobered. “And thanks again for the other night—helping with Rory.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said, focusing hard on my laptop screen instead of the way he was looking at me.
“Yes, I do.” When I glanced up, his eyes caught mine and held them. “I know we’re not exactly friends yet, but…what you did meant a lot.”
Yet.
My brain focused on that single word and all the possibilities it held. We’d called a truce, but was I really ready to be friends with him?
With the same boy who’d teased me relentlessly about my freckles, my crazy red curls, and my gangly limbs before I’d discovered yoga and turned gangly into lithe.
Except he wasn’t really that same guy anymore. Minus the use of “Freckles” which somehow didn’t sound as harsh as it had before. There’d been a playful undertone underneath instead of the mocking tone I’d gotten so used to.
So maybe being friends wasn’t such a crazy possibility after all.
He pulled out his laptop and started setting up with surprising efficiency. “So, attachment styles. I was thinking about how our presentation could connect theory to real-world examples without getting too personal.”
“Good idea.”
Focusing on our project was all we should be doing right now anyway.
“Want to move to one of the study rooms?” he asked.
“Uh, sure.” It was a logical choice. Our presentation was due in two days, and neither of us wanted to risk getting shushed for talking, which was likely to happen if we stayed in this spot.
But I was nervous about being in a room alone with him, which was dumb because we’d been alone in his house the other night.
We grabbed our stuff and I followed Drew to the only available study room. Instantly, my stomach tightened with nerves. The room was barely big enough for the small table and two chairs.
“We could wait for one of the bigger rooms to open up,” he said, staring at the small space with the same apprehensive expression I suspected was on my face.
“This is fine. We need to get working, and who knows how long we’ll have to wait for another room.”
It was not, in fact, fine. With both our laptops open, our knees kept brushing underneath the small table and his cologne was suffocating me.
Okay, maybe suffocating was a bit dramatic. It wasn’t a terrible smell—not in the slightest. It was kind of woodsy and fresh and it made parts of me tingle that I absolutely did not want to acknowledge.
“So,” Drew said after we’d settled, “I was thinking we could start with the basics of attachment theory and then move into how early bonds shape relationship patterns.”
“Makes sense.” I pulled up the outline we’d been working on. “I’ve got some research on how secure versus insecure attachment affects adult relationships that could fit well.”
Drew nodded, and for a while, we worked in relative silence, the only sounds the soft tapping of our keyboards and the occasional rustle of papers. It was weirdly comfortable.
“We should probably rehearse the whole thing at least once before class,” I said, not looking up from my screen. “We could meet at your place tomorrow if that’s easier with Rory.”
“That’d be great, actually.” He glanced at me. “Are you okay with that? Being around her again?”
The question caught me off guard. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. Not everyone’s comfortable around babies.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in that way that always made him look younger, less guarded. “And she seems to really like you.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest. “She’s a sweet baby.”
“She is,” he agreed, his voice soft with a pride I was still getting used to hearing from him. “Though that sound you make at the start of your fellowship audition piece is actually quite similar to her hungry cry.”
I froze. “How do you know about my fellowship audition?”
Drew’s eyes widened slightly, like he’d been caught. “I can hear you practicing next door, and some of your roommates talk loudly. I overheard you talking to Rachel about it when you were walking toward your front door one day.”
He had the decency to look a little embarrassed as he continued. “I, uh, looked up what it was and it seems like it’s kind of a big deal.”
I nodded slowly, my throat suddenly tight.
It was a big deal. The Montana Philharmonic summer fellowship was the most prestigious opportunity for music students in the state.
Getting it would mean spending eight weeks working with professional musicians, getting master classes from visiting artists, and performing in the summer concert series.
It would also mean proving to my parents that I wasn’t wasting my time. That music wasn’t just a hobby I needed to “grow out of.” Even if I didn’t make a career out of performing, I wanted to prove I was good enough to perform if I wanted to.
“Are your parents coming to watch?” Drew asked, and something in his tone made me look up.
I let out a laugh that sounded bitter even to my own ears. “No.”
He was quiet for a moment, studying my face. “They’re not supportive of your music?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I stared down at my hands, surprised to find them trembling slightly.
I never talked about this—not with anyone except Rachel and Brody, and even then, only when I was particularly upset.
“They think it’s a waste of time. A hobby.
Something I’ll ‘get over’ when I finally decide to grow up and get a real degree. ”
The words came out sharper than I intended, edged with an old hurt that never seemed to fade no matter how many years passed.
Drew was watching me, his expression unreadable. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged, trying for casual and probably failing. “Not everyone gets to have supportive parents who show up to every game and cheer from the stands.”
“I always assumed your parents were supportive of your music. You’re so good at it, I just figured they must be at every recital with those embarrassing signs parents make.”
I let out a laugh that sounded bitter even to my own ears. “No. That’s not really the Tinsley way.”
“I had no idea,” he said, and the genuine surprise in his voice made my chest tighten. “I’ve heard you play. I’ve seen how you light up when you talk about music. Anyone who doesn’t support that is missing something incredible.”
The sincerity in his voice shocked me. This was the Drew I’d glimpsed in sixth grade—the one who’d sat through my choir practices and seemed to care. The one I’d started to believe in before everything went to hell.
“They don’t understand what it means to me,” I said quietly, the words coming from somewhere deep and raw.
Maybe it was stupid to confess this to him of all people, but I couldn’t stop the words.
“Music isn’t just what I do, it’s who I am.
When I play, it’s the only time I feel like I can breathe.
The only time I feel like I’m actually good at something. ”
“I don’t understand how they can’t see how important it is—not just for you, but for those you’ll eventually get to work with. I mean, music therapy is powerful. To be able to create something that moves people? To heal them that way? That’s a real gift.”
I stared at him, stunned by his understanding. “How did you know I was focusing on music therapy? I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that to you.”
A slight flush crept up his neck. He looked down at his notes, suddenly very interested in reorganizing his papers. “Back when I was planning to put that plastic wrap on your car last semester, I might have…done some reconnaissance.”
“Reconnaissance?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, you know.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Know your enemy and all that. I was trying to figure out your schedule so I’d know when you wouldn’t catch me in the act.” His flush deepened.
I narrowed my eyes, not buying it. “You lived next door. You could just look out your window. Why would you need to know my major?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking caught.
“Okay, fine. I was curious. Sometimes you’d be practicing these pieces that sounded…
different. Not classical, like they were for performances.
And…Rachel leaves her window open and her room is right beneath yours so whenever you guys would talk about your classes, if I was in my room I could listen to your conversations.
Not in a creepy way, I swear. It honestly did start out as just trying to find something I could use to get back at you.
” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “Not my finest moment, planning pranks like a twelve-year-old.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to do with that information—that Drew had been eavesdropping on me and my roommates, albeit for entirely antagonistic reasons.
“It’s pretty cool, actually,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Using music to help people heal.”
Warmth spread through my body like sitting down by the river on a warm, summer day. I’d never expected Drew, of all people, to understand or appreciate what music therapy meant.
“Thanks,” I said, surprised by how unsteady my voice sounded. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m wasting my time,” I admitted. “If I’m deluding myself thinking I could make a career out of this when my own parents don’t even believe in me.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever. I kept my eyes fixed on my laptop, embarrassment burning through me. I never should have said that out loud, especially not to Drew of all people.
Then his hand covered mine on the table.
His palm was warm and slightly rough from hockey, his fingers curling gently over mine in a gesture that was somehow both cautious and sure. I froze, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.
“Harper,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Anyone who’s heard you play knows you’re the real deal. Your parents are wrong.”
I looked up and found him watching me, his expression so open and earnest it made my chest ache.
We were sitting close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw.
Close enough that I noticed the small scar near his left eyebrow, barely visible unless you were really looking.
And I was definitely looking.
I couldn’t have looked away even if my life depended on it.
Drew’s expression shifted, his eyes dropping briefly to my mouth before meeting mine again. The air between us seemed to crackle with a new awareness, and I realized with a jolt that if he leaned forward even slightly, we’d be close enough to—
My phone buzzed loudly on the table between us, making us both jump. Drew pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, and I grabbed my phone with fumbling fingers.
Rachel
Where are you? We need to be at Brody’s in 20 minutes for rehearsal.
Shit. I’d completely forgotten.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “Rehearsal.”
Drew nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. “Right. Yeah. We can, uh, finish this tomorrow? At my place?”
“Sure.”
I gathered my things with hands that weren’t quite steady, shoving papers and books into my bag. Every movement felt mechanical, like my body was operating on autopilot while my brain tried to process what had just happened.
Or almost happened.
As I stood to leave, Drew looked up at me, his expression unreadable. “Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“I really do think you’re amazing. At music. And…other things.”
The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. “Thanks,” I managed, and then fled before I could do something stupid, like touch him again.
Or worse, believe him.