Chapter 42 Christianna
Chapter forty-two
Christianna
As soon as rehearsal ends, I’m packing up and heading out when Maestro Earl signals for me to stay.
I mentally chant, this can be good, it's not always bad news, and walk over.
Meg is bouncing on the balls of her feet, blonde ponytail swishing. I lift a finger at her and keep going.
I wait while the Maestro finishes a low-voiced conversation with Liu. He’s tall, dark-haired, with steady hazel eyes. Attractive in an objective way. I clock it and move on. No interest.
“Ms. Daye,” he says. “Thank you for waiting.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve been holding out on me.” His tone is firm, but there’s kindness under it, taking the edge off.
“It was more of a me issue, sir.”
“And you’re past that now?”
“I am,” I say, without hesitation.
“For now, you’re second chair.” He studies me for a moment. “If you continue playing the way you have been, we may be making further adjustments.”
A flash of excitement sparks through me. I nod. “Yes, of course.”
He gives a brief, satisfied nod and turns away.
I wait until he’s out of sight, then give a small fist pump and head straight for Meg.
We pile into her car. She tells me she mapped everything out last night and that driving past a few places will help me get a feel for them.
The first stop is the duplex. It’s nice. The interior photos are solid. But the yard is smaller than I want.
We sit there scrolling through the listing, the place empty and quiet behind the photos. I look up at her and shake my head.
“I want more yard,” I say. “More space between neighbors.”
She nods and adjusts the filters. “So shared-yard places are out?”
I wince. “Yeah. If MD wants to go out at five a.m., I don’t want to get dressed. I want to stand there in nightclothes hissing things like hurry up, it’s cold.”
She blinks. “MD?”
“Maybe Dog,” I say. “I was going to go with FD, but that sounded… effed up.”
I fail not to slap my knee.
She rolls her eyes. “I forgot about your dad-joke sense of humor.”
“Okay,” I say, “with the new search results, what do we have?”
“Oh crap.” She frowns at her screen. “I think I need to adjust the price range, because this just kicked us into the fancy fancy.” She goes quiet, then lets out a small sigh.
“What?”
“I can’t stop looking even though it’s a hell no because of the price. But the exposed beams. And those floors.” She turns the phone toward me. “Oh, look at this master closet.”
I glance down. “That’s bigger than my bedroom.”
“Right? And did you see the kitchen? Look.” She scrolls to a marble island with a chandelier above it. Somehow, it doesn’t look tacky.
I take the phone and scroll. “What do you call those floors?”
“Uh,” Meg says thoughtfully, “fucking gorgeous?”
“Definitely. And then the hardwood.” I pause. “Do I even want to know what it costs?”
“You do not,” she says firmly. “We probably shouldn’t have looked at that. Everything else is going to pale in comparison.”
“Mmm,” I agree. “So what’s next?”