Flesh & Bone - a contemporary romance: The Minstrel Series #2 (8 page)

“Nothing,” her mama said quickly. “We’re happy that you’re happy. Are you going to play there again?”

Papa added, “Maybe we can come see you next time.”

Eva’s smile flattened. As much as she loved her parents, she didn’t want them there. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she was embarrassed of them. If anything, she was the one who brought the unwanted glances their way. But what if Sebastian came again? What if he talked to her? She didn’t think her parents would approve. Not that they wouldn’t like him as a person. But he wasn’t the kind of boy they’d like to see with their daughter.

Which was an absurd thought anyway. Sebastian Weiss wouldn’t be interested in someone like her. He liked her
song
, not
her
. It’d been three days since she’d played, since he promised to come see her, and he hadn’t shown. He was just being polite and maybe had too much to drink. She was foolish to entertain fantasies of any kind that included Sebastian Weiss.

“
Schatzi
.” Mama lay a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? Did we upset you?”

Eva snapped out of her reverie and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“You’re not feeling unwell, are you?” Papa asked.

“No, I’m fine.” A familiar annoyance rose in her chest. She was twenty years old now, but she felt like her parents couldn’t stop seeing her as their crippled teenager.

“Good.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and snapped his paper. “We’re serving lunch today, so there’s lots of work to do.”

Eva knew this, of course. Her world was small, revolving around the house church that existed one floor below her. She sighed. Would she ever break free from this neighborhood? Do something different with her life? Live on her own? Travel? Go back to university?

That would be up to her.

The thought of branching out in any way both excited her and scared the pants off her. And as usual, fear won out. It was safer for her to stay here with her parents. She wasn’t ready to live on her own. What would she do?

What if she fell?

She reached for her cane that hung on the back of her chair and then carefully carried her dishes to the sink. She stopped at the WC to brush her teeth before lumbering back to her room. She’d turned her laptop on when she awoke, like she did every morning, and the page for Hollow Fellows was still up. She refreshed it, but there was nothing new. She found it a little strange since the band’s webpage generally had daily updates. She clicked on one of their music videos and indulged in her morning dose of Sebastian Weiss. She caught her reflection in the dresser mirror—cane in one hand, the computer mouse in the other, unbrushed hair and a frown. This silly crush she harbored was pathetic. She was pathetic.

Eva pressed the laptop lid closed and moved to her bed to lay down. She was tired, but not the kind of weariness that came from a lack of sleep. She was crashing from her three-day high, like a plane whose propellers suddenly quit, and it was a long, hard fall.

Who was she to think she would ever be truly happy? And what did true happiness look like anyway? Eva huffed. It looked like Gabriele.

She stretched and groaned and bemoaned the fact that she couldn’t lie in bed forever. Her papa would be knocking on the door if she wasn’t ready to head downstairs soon. She sighed long and hard again before rousing herself to dress for the day.

Eva stared wistfully at her Duncan Africa, wishing she could carry it downstairs herself. She had a second guitar in the church, a community instrument left there for anyone to play. It was all right, but it didn’t resonate the same way. She always had to ask Gabriele or one of her parents to carry it up and down for her when she left for the Blue Note.

She could already smell the soup her mama had prepared halfway down the circular cement stairwell. Even though Eva enjoyed cooking, she was too slow in the tight quarters of the soup kitchen. Mama had other volunteers from the church who helped. Providing music was Eva’s most useful contribution.

Papa had raised the outdoor blinds and unlocked the front door, and the tables were already filled with the hungry. Papa welcomed them all with a sincere smile, and then opened with a prayer. Eva played a worship song and a few of the patrons lifted their hands. Her gaze wandered to the window and her heart stopped. Her hands plucked the strings of her guitar and her mouth moved, but her brain had disengaged. Sebastian Weiss stood across the street, one arm folded across his chest and the other on his chin.

She remembered when he stood in that same spot over a year ago, waving his hands in the air, mocking. He wasn’t mocking now. His eyes seemed to lock on hers. Could he see her through the glass?

Then his hand moved from his face, and he waved his fingers.

He could see her! She quickly looked away.

Papa cleared his voice. “Is something wrong?”

Eva blushed. She’d stopped the song midstream without explanation. “No, I’m sorry.” She began again, cautiously glancing through the hair she allowed to fall in front of her face and out the window. Sebastian Weiss was gone and a strange disappointment wrapped around her collection of flustered emotions.

Eva could barely concentrate during Papa’s short pre-meal message from the Bible. Her mind was fixated on Sebastian Weiss. She pictured him standing across the street, the way he leaned back slightly, with his weight on one leg. He stared at her through the window, stroking his chin beneath beautiful lips that had so recently whispered hotly in her ear. This time, in her imagination, he hooked a finger calling her outside to meet him. With perfect grace and without her cane she hurried to meet him.

Then what?

She ran her hand against the back of her neck as if she could sweep away the heat that her fantasy brought on.

Oh God. She had a debilitating crush. An embarrassing infatuation. She really had to pull herself together. Her obsession with Sebastian Weiss and Hollow Fellows couldn’t be healthy. At best it was extremely immature.

She engaged in light conversation with the patrons in an effort to clear her head.

“Nice weather,” she said to one of the regulars.

He huffed a gruff reply. “Too hot.”

“Well, it’s July,” she said. “Not long ago we were complaining it was too cold.”

When the lunch rush ended, Eva pushed the rolling tray full of dirty dishes to the kitchen and returned with a wet cloth to wipe the tables. Her back was to the door as she hobbled from table to table. That was why she didn’t see him enter.

“I’m sorry young man,” she heard her papa say, “but lunch is over. I can get you a bun if you like.”

“I’m not here for the food.”

Eva stiffened, her spine like a cold copper pipe. Chills shot up to the base of her neck. She didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to.

She swiveled slowly. The sight of Sebastian Weiss standing in the middle of their small house church made her knees give out, and she lowered herself onto the nearest chair. She wasn’t imagining it this time. He was really there, in the flesh.

Her brain couldn’t compute. Sebastian Weiss belonged on stage and on TV. A crack in the universe had erroneously delivered him here.

Papa’s eyes, looking larger through the thick lenses he pushed up on his face, darted from Sebastian to Eva and back. His thin lips drew downward. “What are you here for then?”

Eva’s pulse surged, and she found it hard to swallow.

Sebastian pointed at Eva. “For her.”

Papa stared at the large tattoo on Sebastian’s arm, then to the earrings in his ears, and a soft growl escaped from his throat.

“It’s all right, Papa,” she said, her voice barely audible. “He just wants to ask me about a song I sang at open mic night.”

Papa bore down on their visitor. “What did you say your name was?”

“Sebastian Weiss.”

Papa’s eyes moved back to Eva, his bushy brows jumping. Then he grunted again. “Never heard of you.”

Eva knew that wasn’t true. Everyone in their small flat was aware of her fascination with Sebastian Weiss and his band, and they often teased her for it. Papa’s thick brows furrowed deeper but thankfully he turned back to the kitchen and left them alone.

Sebastian slipped into the seat across from Eva. “He’s scary.”

She nodded feeling like a pixie had suddenly stitched her lips together. Her papa may be scary, but he wasn’t the one who terrified her now.

The girl, Eva, looked like a frightened rabbit shrinking into herself on the other side of the table. She hid behind a swath of brown hair. Sebastian wondered if he’d made a mistake in coming. He liked her sound, but she wasn’t worth getting taken out by her old man.

“I suppose I should’ve called first,” Sebastian said, “but I didn’t have your number.”

Eva blinked.

“I thought maybe you could play me your song again?” Most musicians jumped at the chance to showcase their music to Sebastian with the hope that he could somehow pull strings to help them break into the industry. He had a collection of CDs hopeful artists had shoved into his hands on tour. They stalked him in the lobby and ran after him as he climbed on the tour bus. They were almost as bad as the groupies.

The girl’s eyes popped even wider than they already were, if possible, at his request and he thought she was going to say no.

Finally, she spoke. “I guess.”

She didn’t ask if he wanted to record it or perform it and she didn’t have that eager, puppy dog expression like any other singer would have. It was like the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. He waited for her to retrieve her guitar, but then she didn’t move. Her eyes darted to the guitar sitting on the stand across the room as she rubbed her right thigh.

Right. Her gimpy leg. Was she self-conscious? Maybe she didn’t want him to watch her struggle across the room.

He waved toward the instrument. “Do you want me to get it?”

Eva stared back and nodded.

Sebastian sprinted across the small room and back and carefully handed her the guitar. She propped it across her lap, her knees peeking out from the hem of a light-colored skirt. “This isn’t mine,” she said. “I have a Duncan Africa upstairs.”

“Really?” Sebastian said. “I’ve heard good things about them, but never played one.”

“It’s amazing. The warm tone and resonance… I’m sure you’d love it.”

She smiled a little, like talking about guitars relaxed her, and Sebastian smiled back. She strummed and picked at the strings, and he recalled the melody.

She looked up from under long eyelashes free of mascara. “I’m kind of nervous. You’re
you,
and you’re so close.”

Her eyes were green and they sparkled when she spoke of him and something tweaked. Sebastian surprised himself by thinking that the girl was pretty. Not just cute, but
pretty
, in a very wholesome, natural way.

“Just close your eyes and pretend I’m not here. Pretend you’re at the Blue Note.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and a few seconds later began to sing. Her voice was clear as crystal and pure. No showcasing, no showing off. Just straight, honest, beautiful vocals. The lyrics moved him as strongly as the night he’d first heard them, but today, sitting this close to Eva Baumann, he couldn’t take his eyes off her soft, moist lips. He wouldn’t mind checking those out.

Idiot.
He was glad she had her eyes closed. He could only imagine the blush that would spread across her face if she could read his mind right now.

She strummed the last note and opened her eyes. Sebastian broke into applause, filling the room with the sound of his appreciation.

“Do you realize how good you are?” Her face flattened with surprise and Sebastian believed that she truly didn’t. He inhaled in shock, not used to seeing true humility.

“Thank you,” she said. Her eyes flickered to movement over his shoulder and Sebastian turned in time to see Herr Baumann about to leave. The large man nodded at Eva but narrowed his eyes when his gaze landed on Sebastian.

Her father was bristly, but Sebastian liked how he so obviously cared for his daughter. The man didn’t have to worry about Sebastian. Sure, Eva was sweet and pretty, but he wasn’t interested in her in a physical way. Despite her alluring lips, she wasn’t his type, and besides his breakup with Yvonne still stung too much.

Eva sat statue still, waiting for his next move. Sebastian understood his current popularity could be intimidating. He searched for a way to break the ice. “Nice place here.” Her eyes followed his gaze and he winced a little. There was nothing special about this room, not esthetically anyway. “I mean, it’s good work that you and your family do. Have you lived in the
Neustadt
long?”

“Since I was thirteen,” she answered. “So, seven years.”

That made her twenty. He would’ve guessed that she was younger, maybe seventeen or eighteen. It was hard to believe she was only three years younger than he was. Must be the lack of makeup and her petite stature.

“Nice.” He waited for her to ask him a question. When it was obvious none was forthcoming, he asked another of his own. “Do you have another song?” He wanted to know if she was prolific. Did she take songwriting seriously, or was she just lucky with one good song?