chapter EIGHT #3
Asher is looking down at our conjoined hands with a look of satisfaction on his face. He likes it too.
I am definitely going down the rabbit hole.
“Okay. A story for a story. I’ll share if you share. But you have to go first.”
His hand holds mine gently as we walk. Parker and I were never hand-holders.
It wasn’t something he ever enjoyed. I didn’t either.
The feeling of being tethered to someone while strolling a mall seemed ridiculous.
But, this, right here, walking with Asher .
. . It just feels . . . it feels so . . . I don’t know.
“When I was a kid, my mom taught piano lessons in our living room,” he says.
The words start off slow, as if he doesn’t know where to start.
Maybe he just doesn’t tell the story often.
“We had this really tiny apartment. There wasn’t any room for a piano, nor did we have the money to buy one.
” He frowns a bit. “For a while, she had this keyboard she used. She seemed content with it. One year, my dad found a piano in salvage. The keys were broken and the strings were snapped. When we brought it home, my mom didn’t care that the thing couldn’t hold a tune. ”
Asher’s face lights up with the memory. “You know how people fix old cars? My dad and I fixed that piano. The first time she played a chord, she cried. When was the last time someone gave you a gift so monumental you cried?”
I shrug. “I can’t remember.”
“Me neither. I don’t think it was just the piano. It was the fact we created it for her. We had so little back then that actions were more important than things.”
“That’s a beautiful memory. That doesn’t seem like something worth keeping to yourself.”
“I don’t talk about my family. Ever.”
“Why not?”
Asher stops and tsk-tsks at me. “My turn.”
“Your turn for what?”
“Why don’t you play the violin anymore?”
I release my hand from his and wrap it around my injured one. I haven’t thought about it all day. It seems like every time I want to forget, I’m drawn back to the reality that is my life.
“Emma, your hand?”
“What about it?” I bite back at him.
“You’re clenching onto it like it might fall off,” he says. I look down and see my knuckles are white. I release the grip and flex it out, feeling the pinched nerve. “How did you hurt it?”
Asher takes my right hand in his, placing his left underneath it like it’s a wounded dove. With his right, he skims my palm with his thumb, rubbing gentle circles over the scar I bear.
“Six months ago. I was in an accident. A car accident. My hand was crushed. Surgery wasn’t enough. I can’t handle the bow for long without screaming in pain.” I pull my hand away from his.
“Maybe you need a better doctor. I can—” Asher is offering something he knows nothing about.
“It’s irreversible. It’s over.” I cut him off. “I inquired. Went to the best doctors. Sought the best therapists. The hand is shot. My career is over.” I step back from him and continue our walk.
Asher follows, his long strides catching up with me quickly. “What will you do now?”
“Oh, you know the saying. Those who can’t do, teach.” Bitterness is oozing out my pours. I hate the fact I’ll spend the rest of my life teaching music when I wanted to be the one playing.
He grabs my arm, jolting me from my step forward and pulls me back. “There is nothing wrong with teaching.”
My chest slams against his when I land. I look up into him.
His brow is creased. Crap, this guy just told me his mother was a music teacher.
Of course, he’d be insulted. “It’s nothing against teaching.
It’s a noble profession. You don’t understand what this is like for me.
I love playing the violin. No, I live to play.
I gave up my entire life up until the accident so I could be the best. I was on my way to being the best. Do you know what its like to have something you love ripped away from you?
To have your dreams crushed in a single night?
” My eyes well up with tears, but I fight them back.
I breathe to regain my focus on the present. I cannot lose myself right now.
But I do because Asher leans in and kisses me. His mouth crashes against mine, parting my lips in two, invading my personal space. Those luscious lips wrap around mine, pulling them in, tight.
I don’t move. I can’t move. I stand here, stunned, waiting for him to back away.
Instead, his tongue slides in and moves against my own, causing my body to jolt with heat and excitement.
His kiss goes deeper when his lips move, sucking on mine and going back for more.
I haven’t had a first kiss in over four years.
And even that one wasn’t as powerful as this.
This kiss is filled with need, desire, and complete yearning.
Two hands wrap around my head as he takes me in further. I can’t help it. I lose myself and kiss him back with every bit of anger I’ve been holding onto the past six months. Every emotion, every feeling is let out in the form of passion.
My fingers brush his sides and grip him, drawing him in closer. His groin lines up with my belly and a need for everything Asher consumes me.
When he pulls away, I am lost. My lips still perched for more kisses, but he is backing away.
My hooded eyes slowly open to see a grinning Asher. “What did you do that for?”
“You needed to be kissed.” His thumbs graze my cheek. His skin smells of soap and sea, again.
My daze is slightly lifted. “I told you I wasn’t ready.”
“I was.” He says, leaning in for another kiss. “Now, let me feed you.”
He slides his hand around my back and leads me toward the Piazetta Umberto I. We had been walking and talking for so long, I hadn’t realized we were in the city center.
We get a table at a cafe in the piazza, overlooking the square. He takes the liberty of ordering. Normally, I would be annoyed by this, but I’m still buzzed from that kiss. I can’t even be bothered with ordering something as trivial as food.
Asher keeps the conversation light. We talk about things like our interests in music and our favorite television shows.
He tells me a story about this barber he goes to who has a great Italian accent.
He tries to do an impression I think he’s botching on purpose for sake of making the story funny.
I also learn that he and Devon met in Pittsburgh.
They grew up in the same neighborhood and reconnected five years ago.
Apparently, he and Devon were thick as thieves as kids.
Once, they were caught stealing candy—York Peppermint Patties, which turns out to be both of our favorite candy—and had to work at the shop for a month to make up for being caught.
He smiles broadly when he recalls all the candy they snuck when they were working off their debt for stealing the first piece.
He said it was the best punishment in the world.
He doesn’t mention how Devon made his money and I don’t ask.
I’m not interested in Devon. I am so into Asher.
He asks me about my childhood in Ohio. I tell him stories of Leah and I, mostly. Since we are only a year apart, we were always together, putting on plays for our family and singing into hairbrushes while watching MTV. I don’t leave out Luke completely. I just can’t talk about him. So I don’t.
Taking a bite of calamari, Asher asks me more about my parents and I explain that, yes, my mom is really into cats.
“We’ve had no fewer than three cats at a time my entire life.” I answer. The Campari drinks he selected are awesome. I try to keep to sips; I don’t want to be the drunken girl tonight.
He puts down his fork. “How many does she have now?”
I swallow and think for a second. “Ben, Eddie, Woodie, and Dallas. Four. She currently has four.”
“Those are interesting names for cats.”
“They’re named after Matthew McConaughey characters.
” I answer like it’s a normal response. Asher cocks an eyebrow so I explain.
“Ben Barry from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Steve Edison from The Wedding Planner, David Wooderson from Dazed and Confused, and Dallas, she’s a girl, from Magic Mike.
Even the girl cats get named after him.”
He lets out a deep, boisterous laugh. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh like this and I’m mesmerized by it. For someone who looked so intense two days ago, this look is magnetic and personable. I wish I’d met this version of him first.
“Your mom has a thing for Matthew McConaughey?” He leans forward, completely into our conversation.
“No. That’s Leah. She names all the cats. She’s kind of obsessed. She owns a bar back home named after him.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Although, most of the locals don’t know she’s the actual owner. She is really young to have such a successful bar and says it’s better for business if they think she’s just the bartender. This way she can know what is really going down inside the bar.”
“She’s a very smart businesswoman.”
I like that he appreciates Leah’s entrepreneurial expertise.
“What about you?” he asks. “Ever think of starting your own business? Maybe open up your own music school?”
I shake my head and look down. “No. I’ll teach for a while. That’s all. Besides, I don’t love teaching as much as someone should if they were to open up a business like that.”
“What do you love then? If you can’t play, there has to be something about music you love enough to pursue?”
“Creating. I was working on this new sound. I can hear it in my head and I know what it’s supposed to sound like. But, without being able to play, I can’t get the notes out.”
“Of course you can. There are computers and even keyboards with—”
“Not the same.” I stare him down to let him know the conversation is off-limits. I know there are other ways to create music. I just need to play in order to feel it. I can’t create if I can’t feel. He’ll never understand.
“Did you have any pets?” I ask.
“No. I always wanted a dog.”