Page 39 of The Sound of Harmony

She brushed her palms down her sides, picturing herself running them down his chest. What was Kendrick doing to her? Was it his music? Or the man himself?

For a moment, Emma wished their call had video. Why weren’t they using FaceTime? She wanted to see the fire in his eyes and watch his mouth form the words he was saying.

But perhaps this was better. With the lack of body language, she could focus on his voice. She could let it wash over her and fill in for all the other senses.

She sprawled on the bed, her legs and shoulders wide. Her hands. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She pressed the phone against her ear and lifted her other hand, waving it as if she could touch something. Anything.

But she didn’t have to touch him to know. She could feel it as certainly as she felt gravity. As sure as she felt the sheets at her back and the air on her face as she fanned herself. This was more than a distant crush. Somehow, impossibly, she was falling for a man she’d only laid eyes on once in her life.

“I think I want…” She sat up and reached for her wine. She downed the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “I want it all.”

The next day, Emma bought a pair of headphones. She’d been using cheap earbuds to listen to podcasts, but she upgraded to over-ear headphones that were designed to cut out external noise and let her focus on the music.

She listened to as many of Kendrick’s pieces as she could find online for free, and then bought everything she couldn’t borrow. She spent most of the next three days in front of YouTube, mesmerized by Kendrick’s live performances. He commanded the stage from the moment he walked onto it. His talent wasn’t just musical—he won audiences over with his charisma and stage presence. Why wasn’t this man attached, or at least flooded with groupies?

Kendrick was busy rehearsing for his last concert with The National Orchestra, so she had to do without nightly phone calls. Instead, she emailed him questionsabout performances and inspiration and how certain pieces were put together. And why did the same piece performed in two different venues sound completely different? Kendrick sent back lively emails full of self-deprecating humor. She heard his voice when she read them.

When he called on Thursday night, she peppered him with questions about the concert. Then she wanted to know what he was listening to these days, what his influences were, who he worked with. She had her legal pad at her side, ready to write down new artists.

“But what about you?” Kendrick asked. “I called to talk about you.”

Emma stretched out on her neatly made bed, her toes hanging off the edge, her muscles relaxed. Kendrick’s voice draped over her like the softest silk. She closed her eyes, lost in the sound. “What about me?” she asked.

“I want to learn more about you,” Kendrick said.

“I’ve already told you a lot.” They’d talked about their families and shared work stories. They’d agreed about politics and religion and books, were still debating cats versus dogs, but were united in their hatred of raisins in cookies, pineapple on pizza, and reality TV.

“Rapid-fire quiz time,” Kendrick announced. “Don’t think. Say the first answer that comes into your head. Ready?”

“What about—”

“First question. Is Halloween just for kids? Yes or no.”

Emma sat up in bed. “That’s where you’re starting?”

“It’s an important question. Vital.”

“Agreed,” she said. “And Halloween is for everyone. Next question.”

“Bucket list destination?”

“New Zealand.”

“Me too,” he whispered before asking, “How many tacos are too many tacos?”

“I don’t understand the question,” she said. “You can have too many?”

“Exactly. Favorite flower?”

“Lilacs.”

“Favorite indulgence?”

“A bubble bath.”

“Favorite scent?”

“The Citrus Ginger soap my friend Brooke makes.”