Mr. Hemsley nodded. “I will continue to be present.”
“That is appreciated,” I said sincerely.
Lydia watched me with an expression I could not quite read. Surprise, maybe, or curiosity.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, my head was pounding and my notes filled three pages. Nothing felt resolved, but everything felt contained, which was a small miracle. As people gathered their coats and chairs scraped again, Marjorie clasped my hands warmly.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” she said. “I knew we were in good hands.”
I smiled because it seemed expected.
Outside, the air was sharp and cold. Lydia linked her arm through mine as we walked toward the car.
“You were great in there,” she said.
I laughed weakly. “I was terrified.”
“I didn’t notice,” she admitted.
“That’s because I’m good at looking calm,” I said. “I am not good at actually being calm.”
She squeezed my arm. “I didn’t realize you were that worried.”
“I tried to tell you,” I said gently.
She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I really thought you would like being in charge.”
“I might,” I said. “Eventually. But I need to know what I’m agreeing to.”
She nodded. “No more surprises.”
“Please,” I said.
Back at the inn, I collapsed onto a chair and stared at my notes again. I felt overwhelmed, exposed, and deeply tired.
However, I had an idea of who might be able to help me run a talent show.
Chapter Six: Lessons
Caleb
I opened the shop earlier than usual that afternoon, even though there was no real reason to. The sign on the door said OPEN, the lights were on, and everything was already exactly where it belonged. Still, I tuned a guitar that had been tuned the night before, adjusted the stool near the counter, and wiped down a surface that didn’t need it.
Teaching lessons always made me restless beforehand. Not anxious, exactly, just more aware. It was the kind of attention that did not demand anything from me beyond presence and patience, which was precisely why I liked it.
The shop smelled faintly of wood and metal and the citrus cleaner I used sparingly. Instruments hung neatly along the walls, each one familiar, each one quiet unless invited otherwise. I looked at my online website and noticed there weren’t any orders or sales the night before.
I checked the clock and reminded myself that Kitty was not late. I was the one who was uncharacteristically early. For some reason, I was the one who felt nervous.
It was just a music lesson, I firmly told myself. I was never nervous for any of my other students. Of course, my other students weren’t small brunettes with big doe eyes and sweet smiles.
I shook the image out of my mind.
I heard the bell over the door a moment later.
Kitty stepped inside carefully, as if she were entering a place that might change its mind about having her there. Her hair was tucked into a knit hat, her coat zipped up higher than necessary, and she moved with the faint stiffness of someone who had discovered new muscles the hard way.
“Hi,” she said, smiling a little. “I hope I’m not early.”
