Nicki Night - Desire In A Kiss

“You’re quite charming, Mr. Chandler.” Chandra’s head tilted slightly.

“Thank you.” Aware of his effect, he patted the back of her hand and let it go.

Chandra cleared her throat once again and tugged her knee-length dress down. “Our team is preparing for your shoot. We’ll get started in a moment. In the meantime, please let me know if you need anything. We have refreshments for you and a wonderful lunch coming later.”

“Now you’re talking.” Kent rubbed his hands together.

Chandra laughed, then stole a glance at Chris before promising to send in her assistant with a few bottles of water as she left.

“Seems like she’s sweet on you, Chris.” Ray chuckled and looked to Kent to cosign.

“Yeah, I’d say so. Maybe you won’t need that dating site after all.”

“Right! Very funny!” Chris dismissed Kent’s comment with a wave.

He hadn’t thought about his profile on the dating site since he asked that woman about her musical interests. Suddenly he was curious to see if she had responded but didn’t want to check it in front of his buddies. They were sure to joke about it.

Out of all the women whose profiles he had perused, there was something honest about the one belonging to the woman who spoke about having a passion for teaching music. The fact that he was attracted to her authenticity was ironic, since his profile consisted of a few lies—well, the last name and city he had listed were lies. But he did play the sax and trumpet, and he was an entrepreneur. He just hadn’t mentioned the businesses he owned or anything about his family’s legacy.

The assistant returned, snapping Chris out of his daze. They were ready to get them set up for their photo shoot. After that, he’d check to see if she’d responded to his message. Chris was surprised at his own desire to see if she had.

Chapter 7

Serenity hit her doorstep with the weight of her entire day pulling her down. She’d listened to more than one hundred students play instruments with varying levels of skill. Some instruments shrieked and shrilled, forcing one of her eyes to close while the other widened from the harsh sounds. With an endearing smile, she had encouraged them to continue and told them how much they were improving. Most of the musicians in her upper grades played beautifully due to several years of practice.

After school, she had headed over to the community center to rehearse with the kids from her organization, Heartstrings. She founded the nonprofit with Rayne to help less-fortunate kids learn to play instruments while developing an appreciation for music and the arts. They managed to acquire donations for instruments and materials. Sometimes they were lucky enough to get visits from prominent musicians who liked what they were doing and wanted to show support.

They had a few months to prepare for their year-end concert. Serenity’s heart swelled as she listened to them play on this particular evening. They were especially good, proving that they practiced between sessions. She’d taught them about the ten-thousand-hour rule as a way to develop mastery and expertise. A few of her kids took that very seriously and began practicing diligently, charting the amount of time they spent playing their instruments.

Serenity stepped into her kitchen and flicked the lights on, disturbing the darkness there. She was still smiling as she transitioned her thoughts from her kids to what she wanted to eat for dinner. Opening the refrigerator, she stood scanning each shelf carefully. Finally, she pulled out feta cheese, romaine lettuce, tomatoes and a few other veggies to make her own version of a Greek salad. She washed the produce and left it in a strainer to dry while she showered and slipped into comfy lounge pants, fluffy socks and a T-shirt.

She made her salad, poured a cup of juice and folded herself in her favorite wing chair next to her bed. She loved that chair, which she’d inherited after her grandmother’s passing. If she sat still enough, she swore she could feel the warmth that had often radiated from her grandmother.

On a table adjacent to the chair, Serenity tapped a button on a small flat remote, turning on the Bluetooth, and used her phone to select a playlist that released the soothing melodies of instrumentals throughout the cozy space. With the remote, she also turned on the TV, muting the volume, filling the atmosphere with the energy of movement and lights, almost making it seem as if she weren’t home alone. That was how she liked it.

Moments later, her phone buzzed, silencing her music for a moment. Serenity picked up the phone and saw that she’d received another alert from the dating app. Once again, her thumb hovered over the app icon, contemplating its deletion. She hesitated long enough for her curiosity to get the upper hand. Thumbing through, she looked over the messages. The one from Chris Mullins stood out. He’d mentioned music.

Serenity opened the message and paused. She dropped her hands into her lap and sighed. Responding to this message would officially put her in the online dating game. What if he was crazy? She’d already gone over that in her mind multiple times. She decided to go ahead and answer. Adrenaline rushed to her fingers. They trembled slightly as she positioned her thumbs over the phone’s keyboard. Suddenly, she couldn’t formulate a sensible reply in her head. How could she be so nervous and this guy wasn’t even around? He was simply a figment of a person, on the other side of a digital wall. What could she lose? What could she win?

Her fingers moved over the phone like rapid fire, preventing her from thinking too much or talking herself out of answering him back. She wasn’t sure of what she’d written until she read it over.

I love music and play several instruments—piano, violin, clarinet and sax also. You seem to be a music lover too.

By the time Serenity wrote, edited, deleted and re-wrote that simple message, she found herself breathing hard, as if typing caused her to exert physical energy. She laid the phone on the side table as if it were hot. Then she laughed. She laughed until tears streamed down her face. What was wrong with her? If she acted this way now, how would she act if she actually met this man in person? That would probably never happen, she thought, waving her hand in the air dismissively.

Serenity picked up her bowl and stabbed a hearty forkful of salad. Midway to her mouth, her phone buzzed again. She paused, steadying the food inches from her open mouth. Her heart rate quickened. She laid the fork in the bowl, carefully placed the bowl back on the table and picked up the phone. As she thought, it was the guy replying to her.

That was quick.

Serenity swiped her way to the message.

Wow! That’s cool. How long have you been playing?

That sparked an instant conversation via the in-app messaging system. Music had always been easy to talk about. The initial pressure she’d anxiously anticipated had quickly waned as their conversation continued. Within the next fifteen minutes, they knew of each other’s music-loving history, favorite musicians and best-rated performances. Comfort had sidled its way into their interaction. The first layer of Serenity’s heavily guarded defense system was down. Music was the Trojan horse.

The two exchanged email addresses, taking the conversation offline. Email was as personal as she was willing to get for now. Offering up her cell phone number wasn’t on the table yet. Perhaps that option would come later, after she’d gotten to know him more—as much as one could get to know someone via email.

When talk of music was temporarily exhausted, Chris treaded into a sea of more personal inquiries—but none too intrusive. He asked about her likes. She told him about her work teaching music to disadvantaged youth but carefully withheld the name of her organization and deliberately failed to mention that she was a founding partner. He mentioned that he sat on the board of a nonprofit organization that served youth. He too avoided naming his company.