Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jason
I decide to drive around and scope out nearby parks while I wait for Hailey to finish her gig.
When I asked her to play for me, I’d really intended for us to go back to my parents’ place.
I was thinking a song or two, really. Nothing special or lengthy that would require a particular venue.
It’s just … I haven’t heard her play since she was constantly scratching away at “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” I remember Hunter complaining about her practicing all the time, but I thought it was pretty cute that she was working so hard.
Plus, we practiced all the time. We spent our off-seasons cross-training, running, and doing other things to help make us the best athletes we could be.
At least until Hunter couldn’t anymore. Why shouldn’t Hailey spend her time working to be the best musician she could be?
I never thought it was all that different.
She has a degree now and gets paid to play. I’m sure she’s amazing, and I’d really like to hear how different she sounds now versus what I remember.
If she wants to busk in a park, though, who am I to say no?
I had to Google the term to discover it’s when street musicians play for money with their open case or a tip jar.
I also saw some advice about putting a few bills and maybe some coins in the case to encourage more people to toss some money in, so I also make a quick stop at a convenience store and buy a snack to get some cash back in small bills.
This wasn’t planned in advance, so I doubt she has the seed cash she’d need on her.
I spot a couple of likely places that seem to have a good amount of foot traffic—one with a splash pad nearby, so there are a lot of families, and another with a shady playground that also seems to attract a lot of people.
I’m not sure how big families are on tipping musicians, but worst case, she keeps the money I toss in her case to get things going, and she’s still up by a few bucks.
Plus whatever she’s making from her gig today.
The hour goes by surprisingly fast, and I stand next to the car as I wait for her to finish up and head my way. I spot the wedding coordinator and quickly turn to face the other way so I don’t make eye contact.
I saw the way she was looking at me—like she’s some kind of predator and I’m a scrawny little mouse just waiting to be gobbled up.
While I’m more than capable of turning down a woman I’m not interested in, I don’t want to make things awkward for Hailey.
Fortunately, the coordinator’s busy enough that she doesn’t come over and insist on getting my attention. At least not before Hailey arrives, all smiles.
“How’d it go?” I ask, pulling open the back door for her to stow her gear.
“Great! And I got a big tip on top of my usual fee.”
“That’s awesome.” I hold up my hand for a high five, she gamely smacks it, and I grin. “Remember when you were little, and you used to try to hit my hand as hard as you could when I’d ask for a high five?”
She chuckles, straightening and brushing a piece of hair out of her face. “Vaguely. That sounds like something little kid me would do, though. Especially to one of Hunter’s friends.” She shakes her head slowly. “And you were always around.”
Hands in my pockets, I shrug, unapologetic. “He was my best friend.”
A wistful expression crosses her face, her focus going fuzzy as she gazes over my shoulder. “Yeah. I know,” she says softly.
Clearing my throat, I reach for the passenger door. “Still want to go busking?”
She arches an eyebrow, her wistful look turning sardonic at the flip of a switch. “What was that about performing as a duo?”
Laughing, I wave that off. “I was just kidding. I don’t play anything. I once got ahold of a guitar and learned a handful of chords, but …” I shrug.
“No mouth percussion or anything?”
It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Would you … want me to try that?”
She laughs, nearly doubling over. “God, no. Please don’t.”
“Deal.” I hold up my right hand. “I promise, no mouth percussion. Or banging on trash cans, for that matter.”
“Y’know, if I knew you had rhythm, I might be okay with that one. But since I don’t …”
“Not worth the risk. Got it.”
“Exactly,” she coos, reaching out and patting my chest. Then she jerks her hand away like touching me burned her. That zing went up between us again—is that what she’s reacting to?
She climbs into the car, and I let go of the door, letting her pull it closed. Sucking in a deep breath, I go around to the driver’s side.
“I found a couple of spots that seem to have a good amount of people.”
“Oh, yeah?” She sounds surprised.
I shrug. “You said you wanted to go to a park, so I found a couple of busy parks.”
“Somewhere with shade,” she says definitively. “I was halfway in the sun for the last hour, and I’m not sure I put on enough sunscreen. Plus, it just gets hot to cook in the sun that long.”
“Shady park it is!”
Once we get there, I carry her stand and binder full of music while she carries her case, wandering slowly until she picks a spot under a pair of maple trees. She moves into the grass and reaches for the stand. I hand it to her, accepting the carrying bag once she unzips it.
Then she squints and looks around. There’s a fair amount of foot traffic on the sidewalk by here. “I just realized there’s nowhere for you to sit,” she murmurs, her face almost stricken. The nearest bench is a ways away.
I shrug. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
She screws up her mouth and studies me, then shrugs her acceptance and continues setting up. To my surprise, she just sets her binder of music on the stand, leaving the stand at waist height. I don’t know a ton about music, but at the wedding, she had the stand up closer to her face.
Crouching down, she unpacks her violin and bow, messing around with things I don’t understand before touching the bow to the strings in a particular order a few times. Then she straightens, offers me a smile, and launches into some music.
It’s gorgeous. Transcendent. I don’t recognize it, but it’s something outrageously beautiful, and watching her play is a revelation.
She almost looks like she transforms—no longer a mere human but a conduit for beauty, becoming even more beautiful herself.
It’s clear she loves playing. Her expression is pure delight.
It takes me a second to remember that I brought cash. Her case is open next to her, empty. Pulling out my wallet, I fan out the singles and fives I got from the store. One by one, I toss them into her case, crumpling a few of them to make it look more authentic.
She takes this in, her playing never faltering, then with a smile I can’t quite interpret, she turns away, giving me more of her profile.
I stay rooted to the spot, though, just watching her.
She finishes the first piece, then transitions to something I recognize, something that I remember listening to on the oldies radio station my dad liked when I was a kid.
That gets a few people stopping—a family with little kids who are boogying to the music.
There’s a little girl who’s twirling, sending her sundress spinning, and her dad gives her a dollar to put in Hailey’s case.
After a few songs, I settle on the grass, my back against one of the trees, happy to sit here and listen until Hailey decides she’s done.
I’m not sure exactly how long she plays for—thirty minutes?
An hour?—but after a while, when the sun’s dipping closer to the horizon and washing everything with golden light, she finishes the tune she’s playing, then lowers her violin and turns to face me.
“I’m starving,” she says. “Was that enough of a concert for you?”
Chuckling, I stand and dust off the seat of my pants. “More than enough. I really didn’t mean for you to put on a whole show just for me.”
Shrugging, she messes with her equipment some more before clearing out the cash in her case and putting away her violin.
“It wasn’t just for you. Look—I made a little money too!
” She counts through what’s in her case, wrinkling her nose.
“Not a ton, but hey, it’s something. How much did you put in to start with?
Thanks for that, by the way. Since I hadn’t planned on doing this when I left the house, I didn’t have the few dollars I usually put in.
I know you put in a couple fives—which is extremely generous from my experience—but how many ones did you set me up with? ”
I give her a funny look. “Uh, I’m not sure.”
She scoffs. “Uh-huh. Seriously, Jason. How much?” Expectantly, she looks up at me from her spot in the grass next to her case, the money resting in her lap.
“I don’t want it back, Hailey.”
Narrowing her eyes, she studies me again, then sighs. “Okay. Thank you.” Standing, she brushes herself off. “Can we stop at a store? I’m low on groceries, and with this, I can buy a few things.”
“Of course. I’m planning on taking you to dinner first, though. You do realize that, right?”
She gives me another look like she’s weighing my words, then shrugs and bends to collect her things. Once again, I take the stand and binder of music—which she barely used, playing mostly from memory—while she carries her violin case and the wad of cash in her hands.
At her sound of frustration, I stop to find her peering at the grass. “What happened?”
She lets out another adorable growl. “Someone gave me some change, and I dropped half of it. I can see one of the quarters, but …”
Setting down the stand bag, I step closer. Peering at the grass between her shoes, I catch the telltale glint of the late evening sun on silver, and bend to scoop it up, finding two other coins next to it. I pocket them, then scoop up the stand again. “Got ‘em.”
“Hey!” she protests. “Those are mine!” Then she snorts. “Well, I guess that can be your tip for helping me out. And a down payment for paying you back for the tow.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head, the coins jingling in my pocket. “A—I’m not going to keep them. But you don’t seem to have pockets, so they can live in mine for now. And B—you don’t need to pay me back for the tow. Or anything else, for that matter.”
She’s silent, and I glance back over my shoulder. She’s still keeping pace a couple of steps behind me, but her gaze is puzzled, like she still can’t figure out why I’m doing all this. “It’s really not a big deal,” I say softly.
That has her brows winging up. “Maybe not to you,” she says, her tone matching mine. “But to me it’s huge. This is … it all feels like too much, Jason. What’s next, are you gonna buy me a car?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
She snorts, looks at me, realizes I’m not joking, then snorts again. “You really are too much,” she mutters. But she doesn’t sound upset about it.