8
"No. No. Stop."
Noah halted his playing, hands hovering over the piano keys. "What is it this time?"
"You're doing it wrong."
"You'regoing to tellmethat I'm doing it wrong?"
"Yes. If you're doing it wrong, I'm going to tell you. Shove over."
I hip checked Noah out of the way and took his spot at the piano. He slid off the piano bench, barely catching himself before he hit the floor.
"You could say please,” he grumbled.
I was beginning to lose my patience. Noah had an idea of what he wanted the song to sound like, but it wasn't working. I'd tried to explain a hundred times that his way of attacking the problem was the wrong approach. I would just have to show him.
"Here. Like this." I put my hands to the keys and began playing, softly at first, then with more passion. I hit the keys harder as the bridge came to an end and exploded into the chorus. I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. I could see the color of the notes in my mind's eye, could taste the flavor of them on my tongue. All my senses were engaged.
The song came to an end with a clash. I opened my eyes slowly and found myself breathing heavily from the exertion. That often happened when I played, when I lost myself to the music. I hadn't let it happen in front of Noah yet. I looked down at my hands and flushed, uncomfortable with how I'd gotten carried away.
"Like that," I said quietly.
"Shit."
I cringed. Noah hated it. Of course he hated it. I shouldn't have even tried. Now I'd embarrassed myself in front of him. He was going to realize I had no idea what I was doing.
"That was fantastic."
I glanced at him, surprised. "Really?"
His eyes burned with intensity. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Doubt yourself like that."
"Noah, come on. You'reyou, and I'm me. You don't have to lie to stroke my ego."
"You think I care about stroking anyone's ego?"
"No. I guess not."
"So quit it. If I say you're talented, you're talented."
My spirits lifted a little. Whenever Noah Hart said it, I couldn't help but feel that maybe he was right.
"Move. I'm going to try it that way."
Noah took his place again and tried to repeat what I'd played. My mouth twisted in contemplation as I listened. When he finished the song he sat there, still and quiet.
"That was…" I trailed off.
"It was trash," he said flatly.
"A little."
"Shit."
