Which is why, when the man browsing the sheet music clears his throat and (cue the slow-mo) she turns to look at him, she nearly jumps out of her skin.
Sam.
‘I can teach you,’ he says.
‘You?’ Lexi is still processing his being here at all, and now here he is with this surprising offer.
A smile twitches at his lips. ‘Sure. Why not?’
‘I didn’t know you played.’
‘Of course you didn’t. Why would you know that?’
It feels like an accusation. Like she hasn’t taken the time to get to know him. Or like she’s assumed he wasn’t deep and sensitive enough to have hobbies beyond world domination. To be fair, the accusation isn’t completely unfounded. In Lexi’s head, Sam is a two-dimensional villain, if admittedly a good-looking one who smells nice. But when exactly is she supposed to have had a chat with him about piano playing?
‘Sam’s one of our regulars,’ the music man says.
That’s the kind of place Capitol Hill is. A place with regulars. A place where the baristas at Peregrine know your order, where you bump into your friends at the bookshop, where you jog past a local author who, like you, is also running with earphones in, and you both point at your ears and say ‘Taylor Swift’ in unison.
‘We keep trying to recruit him as a teacher. He’s brilliant. Too busy with his bookstore, though, apparently.’
‘Hey.’ Lexi nudges Sam. ‘That seems like a good idea. Why don’t you go into the piano teaching business instead?’
His eyes darken. Lexi was mostly kidding. But it seems like she’s inexplicably made him sad, and she feels it as a punch to the gut.
‘Why don’t I,’ he mutters.
Back home in England, Lexi would have saidsorryby now. But in the US, she’s had the apology habit trained out of her, and besides, she isn’t entirely sure what she’s done wrong.
Back behind his counter, the music man looks from Lexi to Sam and Sam to Lexi. He isn’t sure what’s happening either.
‘Because you’re a very good bookseller,’ Lexi says, wanting to redeem herself and clear the air of the weird awkwardness.
‘I’m a very good pianist, too,’ Sam says, levelling his eyes with Lexi’s. He says it with authority and conviction, and Lexi has no reason not to believe him. Still, is it weird? Did it get weird in here? ‘Anyway, the offer’s there if you want it.’
‘I’ll definitely think about it.’
This isn’t just a line. Lexiwilldefinitely think about it. She’ll think about them squeezing next to each other on the piano stool, legs and butts touching. She’ll think about him taking her hands and placing them on the right keys, making sure her fingers are neither too stiff nor too relaxed, with just the right amount of tension in them. She’ll think about his breath on her neck as he leans in to point to a line of music. She willdefinitelythink about it. For the purpose of the plan, of course.
‘You can use my piano to practise, too, if you want,’ he adds, yanking Lexi out of her daydreams. Her cheeks are warm and flushed; it’s all those thoughts of fingers and hands and what, exactly, they can do.
She shakes her head to erase those thoughts and narrows her eyes at him. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
The man behind the counter coughs and finds something to do in the back room.
‘To throw you off your game,’ Sam says, holding Lexi’s gaze as her cheeks continue to burn. ‘While you’re busy learning your scales, I’ll be taking over the literary world.’
‘Ah. That figures.’
There’s a smile in his eyes if not exactly on his lips, as if he’s willing Lexi to think he’s at least partly joking. But could it be that he has a plan, too?
‘Well,’ she says, not biting, ‘I appreciate the offer.’
The thing is, though: how can she wow him with her sudden brilliance at piano playing if he’s seen her learning and practising? Jane Austen’s heroines didn’t learn from the heroes. They learned from their governesses. But Lexi doesn’t have one of those. She has limited time, and limited funds, and no access to Julie Andrews.
On the other hand, if Sam teaches her, maybe she can wow him with her innate skills and incredible ability to learn. Who knows, maybe she has hidden musical talents– hidden even to her and her primary school recorder teacher.
‘How much do you charge?’
