So instead, I lock my phone and get into my car. The phone dings again, and a jolt goes through me, but when I pick it up, it’s just a picture of a loaf of bread my mom made with her new sourdough starter.
Sighing, I let my head fall back against the headrest and try to calm my beating heart.
This man cannot be good for my health.
chapter 6
A WEEK LATER, MR. EDRINGTON drops a bomb on us.
“It’s with great regret that I must inform you all today that our concertmistress, Eleanor Scott, will be leaving us at the end of the winter season.”
A shock goes through my system. What? When I turn to look at Eleanor, she’s staring straight forward, a small smile on her lips and a misty look in her eyes.
“And so, it goes without saying that we’ll be holding auditions for concertmaster for our next season.”
My heart is beating faster now.
Eleanor’s leaving. Concertmasters typically spend many years in the position, and it’s not often that the spot comes available. I’ve been with the orchestra for three years, and after one year spent with the second violins, I was promoted to second chair, and I’ve sat beside Eleanor ever since.
I want to be concertmistress more than anything, yet I can’t help the dread in my stomach at the thought of auditioning. I have technical knowledge—except for Eleanor, I can play circles around anyone in this orchestra—but I’ve never been a leader, and thinking of my communication skills makes me remember that awkward “H-hi” I gave Dex when I found him standing in the doorway. The memory makes embarrassment curl in my stomach.
My dream is right there, but I’m not ready for it, might not ever be ready for it.
Mr. Edrington claps his hands, startling me out of my thoughts. “So, violinists, think about it. If you plan to audition, let me know. More information will be forthcoming. That’s all for today. Thank you.”
As soon as he steps from the podium, the orchestra comes alive with a flurry of movement, but I just sit there.
Turning toward me, Eleanor offers a gentle smile. Her dark blond hair is swept back into a chignon, and subtle silver strands twinkle at her temples.
“This is your chance,” she says quietly. “Charlotte and Mr. Edrington told me what a phenomenal job you did when you stood in for me. We all know you have the talent, Nora.”
“But I’m not a leader,” I whisper, casting my gaze down to my scuffed black boots. “I could never fill your shoes.”
“Stop that.” Eleanor’s brown eyes narrow, and she puts a comforting hand on my knee. “You can do this. You’d be the youngest concertmistress ever to grace this stage.” Her smile is warm, comforting. “Will you at least think about it?”
I almost laugh; she knows I want this spot, but what she doesn’t know is that I think about it every morning when I get up, every time I rosin my bow, every time she tunes the orchestra instead of me.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” I let out a sigh. “Wait, why are you retiring?”
Eleanor takes her hand off my knee and brushes it over her already-smooth hair. “I want to be there for Jasper. This orchestra has been in my blood since I was your age, but it’s time for me to move on. It’s time for me to just be Jasper’s mom.” When she smiles, mist glimmers in her eyes again, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s sad to be leaving or because retiring to be with her son means that much to her. Probably both.
With a sniff, she stands up, and her calf-length skirt rustles as she turns to face me. “I won’t let up. You deserve this, Nora.” Then she squeezes my shoulder gently, and her heeled loafers thump across the stage as she takes her leave.
I stay in my chair for another minute, letting the panic and longing rush through me. Then I take a deep breath and head to the warm-up room to put my violin away. On my way out, Mr. Edrington catches me in the hall.
“You’re going to audition, right?” He words it as a question, but the look on his face makes me think it’s more of a demand.
“Um, I . . . I’m going to think about it.”
His face falls, and I know I’ve disappointed him. But he wouldn’t understand; he’s got more energy and charisma than I could ever hope to possess. His conducting is a performance in and of itself.
“All right,” he says, tone bleak. “Let me know.” Then he steps back into his office and closes the door, leaving me feeling like an absolute failure.
I head out to my car, and it’s a dismally gray day.
As has become a gross habit, I check my phone for notifications, hoping Dex has liked or commented on another one of my photos, but the screen is blank. I haven’t talked to him—or anyone from the label—since that day we recorded, and it feels oddly like it didn’t even happen, like I imagined the whole thing.
Quickly, I navigate to Tribe and turn my notifications off. Maybe I’ll stop incessantly checking my phone now.
After putting my violin case in the back, I get into my car, and almost as soon as I shut the door, my phone rings. I glance down, and a little thrill goes through me when I see it’s Ashton.
Swallowing down my sudden nerves, I take a breath and answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Nora, it’s Ashton Montgomery. Got a sec?”
There are noises behind her, voices that sound like they could belong to the band.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Well, we’re in the studio today, and we want to make a change to your solo—we think it’ll make all the difference. Are you available to come in?”
A mix of excitement and fear washes over me. “Yeah, I can come in. When?”
“Um, how about now? I’m about to leave, but Naomi and Wes will be here.”
Now? Meaning I won’t have time to mentally prepare for possibly being in Dex’s presence again? Shit.
