This is only the second time I’ve heard her play live, though, and I’ve been craving more. I still can’t get over how amazing she was that day she was busking in the park, even if I know she doesn’t consider that music difficult. I know she likes playing it,though. It was obvious, watching her light up like that. She was gorgeous out there in the sunshine, playing music and dancing with the kids while she played.
I doubt Hunter would like to know I’ve been thinking about that moment when I’m alone in the shower …
For her audition, she’s careful to practice when I’m not home, and I’m not sure if that’s just because she doesn’t like being overheard or if it’s because she’s afraid of bothering me.
Something about the music changes, and I hear her cursing and muttering before she starts again. I can’t help grinning. If that’s how she is when she’s practicing, maybe itisbecause she doesn’t like being overheard. Not so much themusic, but her reactions to her mistakes—not that I could tell what she’s frustrated about. She sounds amazing to me.
I sit on the couch and browse local event venues and event planners. If we’re doing this in just a few weeks, we’ll definitely need an event planner. I don’t want Hailey to feel like she has to plan everything. If she wants to be involved, then of course she will be. But I’m perfectly content to give an event planner a few guidelines—colors, menu, things like that—and let them go nuts.
“Oh my god!” Hailey shouts, standing in the entrance to the hallway, her hand covering her upper chest. “I didn’t even know you were home. How long have you been here?”
Shrugging, I check the time. “I dunno. Twenty minutes, maybe?”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Or stop me?”
I shrug again. “You were working. I didn’t want to interrupt. Plus, you haven’t played for me since that one day at the park after your gig. I like listening to you.”
She gives me that squinty-eyed look that means she’s not sure if I’m bullshitting her, crossing her arms and studying me for a second.
Turning back to my phone to show that I’m unbothered by all of this, I say, “You don’t have to wait for me to leave to practice, you know. I mean, you have plenty of time on your own while I’m at the rink, and you’ll have even more when I’m traveling for away games, but I have no problem with you practicing while I’m here.” Glancing up at her, I offer a gentle smile. “This is your home. I want you to feel comfortable here.”
“Thank you,” she mutters after a second, and I bite my lip to stop myself from chuckling at how disgruntled she makes a statement of gratitude. “It’s … strange,” she continues. “For me, I mean. While Whitney wasn’t a terrible roommate or anything, she definitely didn’t enjoy listening to me practice. She said it was too loud, and it made it so she couldn’t enjoy her shows. So I’m used to scheduling my practice time when my housemate isn’t around.” She settles on the other end of the couch, pulling her legs up so she’s sitting cross-legged. “I’ll probably still do that, honestly. At least on days when you’re gone for a chunk of time. I guess it’s nice to know I won’t bother you if I practice on your day off or something.”
“Practice as much as you need. Schedule lessons too. Oh, and you never sent me the link to the violin you were talking about.” I fix her with a stern look. “We talked about this.”
She rolls her eyes again. “I’m still deciding which one I want! It’s not like I had one all picked out before. It was one of those, ‘Oh, it’d be nice if I could get that,’ kind of a thing. Not a ‘I’m seriously shopping for a carbon fiber instrument’ kind of thing. I’m considering all the options and reading reviews and asking for recommendations. I promise to let you know when I decide which one I want.”
“Fine. But if you haven’t decided by the end of the week, I’m going to pester you some more.”
“Oh, nooooo,” she fake wails. “You’llpesterme? However will I survive?” She puts the back of her hand to her foreheadand pretends to faint into the corner of the couch, and I chuckle at her antics.
“I’m sure it’ll be a true challenge, but I believe in your ability to withstand it.” Clearing my throat, I look at my phone again. “Speaking of challenges …”
She straightens, giving me a suspicious look. “What now?”
That reaction makes me laugh. “My team captain?—”
“Abegnale?”
“Abernathy. Isn’t Abegnale that con-man they made a movie about a long time ago?”
She shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe. Anyway, what about Abernathy?”
“He told me that we have to have a reception for the team to celebrate our wedding.”
That has her shrinking into the corner of the couch now. I preferred her fake swoon. “Oh?” Her voice is so small.
Clearing my throat, I scroll through the listing of event planners. “Yeah. I know you didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but since everyone’s found out, they’re hurt that they weren’t included. I told Abernathy that the only reason Dozer and Bouchard were included was because of the legal requirement for witnesses, and that seemed to help, but he essentially informed me that I would be throwing a reception. So. I’m going to contact a couple of event planners and find someone to do the hard work for us—find a venue, hire a caterer, all that jazz. There are a couple of weekends where I don’t have games for a five day stretch in October and November, so I’m figuring we can see what spaces are available then and pick the one we like best. I know things like this are a lot of work, but a good planner can do the majority of the work on our behalf, with us only needing to weigh in on big decisions, like the date, the space, our menu preferences, and color choices. A good planner can come up with a handful of options, too, so it’s less overwhelming.”
She clears her throat. “I bet Maggie knows good event planners in the area. I’ll text her and see if she can recommend anyone.”
“That’s a great idea. Perfect. Beyond that, I have a couple of questions for you—how involved do you want to be? Do you want to run this thing, with the planner checking for your approval on everything? Do we want to let the planner have essentially free rein once we nail down the date and venue? And, perhaps most importantly, do you want to invite your parents? I’ll be inviting mine, but with how you left things with yours …”
“Oh.” Her eyes go wide, and she seems to shrink into herself even though she hasn’t moved, the way she does when she’s surprised by something. “Um. I’ll have to think about that.”
I nod. “I thought so. I just wanted to bring it up so you’d have time to figure out how you want to handle it.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles, and I put my phone away. I know her well enough by now to know that this isn’t the time or subject to push about.
