Strings Attached

IX.The weight of her hand

Eliza was late. Only by a few minutes, but it was enough to make her heart race as she reached Adrienne Locke's door, her fingers cold from the early spring wind. She'd changed outfits three times that morning. Settled on something simple. Too simple? Too obvious?

She didn't have time to second-guess.

Adrienne opened the door with a smile that was warmer than the air and just as startling.

"There you are," she said lightly. "I was about to start without you."

"I—I'm sorry. I lost track of time."

Adrienne stepped aside to let her in. "No worries. Come in. It's warmer in here."

The studio smelled like coffee and pine wood. The windows were slightly fogged from the difference in temperature, and the lights had been dimmed just enough to soften the edges of the room. Eliza set her violin down carefully and peeled off her coat, nerves dancing along her spine like a bow on a string.

"Warm up with your scales?" Adrienne asked, already moving toward the piano.

Eliza nodded, distracted by the way Adrienne's sleeves were rolled up just past her elbows, revealing a delicate tattoo winding up her left forearm. She hadn't noticed it before. A vine? Or a piece of sheet music?

She lifted her violin, fingers stiff from cold—and nerves—and played through the scale as instructed. Her pitch was solid, her tone clear. But she flinched at one sharp note.

Adrienne turned slightly. "Pause."

Eliza lowered the violin.

Adrienne crossed the room and came to stand just behind her. "Here," she said, gently reaching forward. "May I?"

Eliza nodded without turning.

Adrienne's hand wrapped lightly over Eliza's, adjusting the tension in her grip. Her touch was firm but careful, her breath brushing Eliza's temple as she leaned in to reposition her elbow.

"You're squeezing too hard here," Adrienne murmured. "Let the bow guide you, not the other way around."

Eliza tried to nod, but the sensation of Adrienne's fingers against hers had scattered her thoughts. When Adrienne didn't move away immediately, Eliza could feel the warmth of her closeness—her presence humming just behind her like another string waiting to be plucked.

"Better," Adrienne said quietly, her voice lower now. "Try it again."

Eliza did, managing the scale more smoothly, though her pulse beat too loudly in her ears.

When she finished, Adrienne didn't step back right away.

"That's the tone I'm talking about," she said softly, still close. "Honest. Controlled, but not afraid."

Eliza dared to glance over her shoulder. Adrienne met her eyes—and held them.

And in that moment, the air changed.

Not dramatically. Not with fireworks or declarations. But with something quieter. Heavier. Like the air between two notes that mean everything.

Adrienne stepped back first, slowly. Her voice shifted back into instruction. "Let's move on to the piece from last time."

But the distance didn't undo the feeling that had already bloomed in the space between them.

Eliza nodded, her fingers tingling where Adrienne's had touched them. She brought her violin back up, though she wasn't entirely sure her hands remembered what to do. Her mind was still trailing after Adrienne's breath, the low timbre of her voice, the subtle gravity of her nearness.