Page 59 of Mountain Bean Dream
“I can manage,” I replied, feigning more confidence than I felt. “It’s just a flute, not a tuba.”
His laugh came quickly, a low sound that sent warmth curling in my stomach. “Hey, don’t underestimate the workout musicians get. I heard triangle players are shredded under their tuxedos.”
I shot him a look, unable to hide the grin breaking through. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you’re auditioning for the Philharmonic.”
“I’ll have you know my air guitar is legendary,” he said, his boyish smile lingering at the corner of his mouth, inviting a laugh that bubbled out of me before I could stop it.
“Oh, I’m sure,” I said, rolling my eyes. “The triangle players are trembling in their boots.”
The banter was easy, almost too easy, and for a second, I let myself enjoy it—the lightness of his laugh, the way his gaze lingered just a beat longer than necessary when he glanced my way.
But then his tone shifted, softer, more serious. “Hey, Molly?”
I turned to him, the sudden change pulling me out of the moment.
“Take it easy tonight, okay? Don’t push yourself so hard you set yourself back. You’ll only regret it more.” His voice carried an edge of sincerity that made my chest tighten.
I blinked, caught off guard by the genuine concern in his words. For a moment, I wanted to argue, to shrug it off with a joke, but something in the way he looked at me made me pause. Instead, I nodded. “I’ll try.”
The truck rolled to a stop outside the practice hall. As I reached for the door handle, he leaned slightly toward me, his voice light again. “I’ll pick you up in ninety minutes, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.
I stepped out, the crisp air hitting my cheeks, and turned back for one last glance. Jeremy gave me a quick smile, one that stayed with me long after I walked into the building.
And despite myself, my heart did an annoying little flip I tried very hard to ignore.
The familiar hum of voices and the rustling of sheet music filled the room as I shuffled in, cradling my flute case against my hip with my good arm. My left arm, snugly immobilized in its sling, was a stark reminder of my stupidity.
“Molly!” Amy, our trumpet player, jumped out of her seat and rushed over. “What happened?”
I quickly explained that while it wasn’t sprained, it was severely bruised.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to play?”
“Of course,” I replied, flashing a grin that felt as fake as it sounded. I wasn't okay, not even close, but I wasn’t about to sit out the year-end concert. Three days to go. I could tough it out, and if I took it easy for the next two days, I should be able to lift the flute and play my heart and soul out, filling my bucket as only music could.
Sliding into my seat, I laid my flute on the stand and carefully attached the pieces. My right hand moved smoothly, but the absence of my left was a glaring problem. Bracing the body of the flute awkwardly against my chin, I lifted it to my lips. My first note wobbled like a drunk bird.
“Focus,” I muttered under my breath, gripping tighter with my fingers. The pain bloomed immediately, sharp and hotunder the sling. I bit my lip.
The conductor rapped his baton against the stand. “All right, everyone. Before we get started, a quick note about Saturday’s fundraiser concert.”
A ripple of murmurs swept the room.
“The local press will be in attendance,” he continued, holding up a stack of papers. “Some representatives will be filming segments for a feature on community music programs. That means cameras in the room. If you’re uncomfortable being photographed or filmed, please let me know. But for everyone else, I’ll need you to sign a media release waiver.”
He began passing out the forms, and a sinking weight settled in my stomach. Cameras. Filming. Exposure.
I swallowed hard, feeling my pulse quicken. It wasn’t that I was camera-shy. But being filmed meant putting myself out there—letting people see me. The thought made my skin crawl.
The waiver landed on my stand, stark and accusatory. I stared as if it had personally wronged me. My chest tightened. Signing it felt like a step too far, a risk I wasn’t ready to take.
“You good?” Amy whispered, noticing my hesitation, as she passed me a pen.
I forced a nod, pushing the paper to the edge of my stand. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”
She arched a brow but didn’t press.