Ezreal followed, dragging the giggling children because they refused to let go of his hands.
“Ask your mother what else she wants on the table,” he whispered.
Janna sighed but repeated the question.
“Please tell Mr. Wallach he can carry the bread sticks in that bowl on the counter.”
The little girl gave her mother such a flat look that Ezreal had to choke back a laugh. He exchanged a quick glance with Mrs. Fortune, who was also trying not to smile.
“Never mind,” she said. “I think he heard. Janna, you get the salad dressing, and Brand, you can carry the butter.”
The little boy tried to grasp the plastic tub and almost dropped it. Ezreal snatched it before it hit the floor and settled it firmly in the child’s hands.
“Should I bring some sweet tea to the table, Janna?” Ezreal asked.
“We have chocolate milk just for you.”
He glanced up again and nodded his thanks. Mrs. Fortune just smiled and grabbed the salad tongs. He picked up the bowl with the bread sticks and followed her into the dining room.
“Do you like sweet tea?” he asked, visualizing that he was asking the little girl. “Everyone seems to drink it here.”
“Mama doesn’t like us to since it’s got caffeine.” Janna answered instead of her mother, one pitfall in having to use the child as an intermediary. The little girl said, “So we don’t get to drink Coke either.”
Since none of them spoke with a Southern accent, he’d already concluded that they weren’t from here originally.
While yesterday he’d thought Mrs. Fortune was mocking him, nothing she’d said or done since had supported that. Instead, she’d been sympathetic, probably because of her son. Ezreal hated when people could tell he had a problem. After years of speech therapy, he’d mostly overcome it. Except around women he didn’t know well or thought looked down on him.
When he’d first been put in charge of the art department, the female musicians initially hired were women he’d worked with already at school. They’d understood his limitations and helped to smooth awkward situations.
As the company had grown, it’d become more difficult. He wouldn’tnothire a good musician just because she was a woman he might struggle to communicate with, but that created difficult situations. Some weren’t patient with him at all. He’d only had to let one team member go because of it. She’d been like those girls in school who’d made his life torture, and he’d learned he didn’t have to put up with that from employees.
During the meal, Mrs. Fortune didn’t speak to him directly or try to meet his gaze, instead asking the children questions about things she must already know. Ezreal assumed it was for his benefit and gave him things to comment about to the children, though he didn’t say much. Like at Francie’s Sunday dinners, Mrs. Fortune’s house had a comfortable feeling to it, and his shoulders relaxed for the first time since he’d agreed to help with the group lessons.
As he listened to the sweet music of their voices, the new champion melody started to swell inside his mind. He closed his eyes and mentally added some percussion. If he were going to be spending time here and away from his office, he’d have to bring his tablet so he could use it to jot down the melody.
The music continued to grow, and Ezreal mentally added other sections. Someday, he’d love to hear his compositions played by a full orchestra. His body moved with the flow, his hands conducting the approaching crescendo.Yes. Yes.This was what he’d been searching for. When it came, he swung his right hand so forcefully that the fork flew from his fingers.
He opened his eyes, remembering where he was. The three of them were watching him, Brand’s eyes wide as he stared at the extra fork that had landed in his spaghetti. Ezreal’s entire body went hot with embarrassment. Janna started to giggle. Her mother covered her mouth, eyes twinkling again.
“Mama does that too.” Brand heaved out a disgusted breath.
“Throw her fork around?” Ezreal asked.
“No. The arm waving stuff.”
Ezreal glanced at Mrs. Fortune whose face had flushed. She shrugged and removed the fork from Brand’s plate and held it out to Ezreal.
“What song were you conducting?” she asked.
Ezreal looked at the children and said to Janna, “The theme for our newest champion.”
“Champion?” Brand asked, perking up.
“You mean for that game?” Janna asked. “The one Rafe makes?”
Ezreal nodded.
“Mr. Wallach writes their music,” Mrs. Fortune said softly. “After Francie mentioned that, I listened to it online. I’m impressed. It’s epic.”
