1
Amelia
I could feel him watching me, his eyes like fingers skating down the center of my back, along my arms and legs... between my thighs.
I pulled my shoulders back, my spine going straight, my fingers surprisingly still gliding over the ivory keys of the piano flawlessly.
Breathe.
I could hear the choir singing in tune with the notes I played, but I felt beads of sweat line the valley between my breasts, dotting my temples.
Because he watches me.
He came to church every Sunday, and I knew he never took his eyes off me the entire time. Whether I was playing or not, whether I was sitting in a pew just a few spots in front of him... he always watched me.
Braxton Miller.
He was almost a decade older than me, a firefighter in my hometown of Cherry Falls. He was gorgeous and intelligent, his voice deep and seeped down into my bones whenever I heard him speak. I was sure every woman breathing in town wanted him, yet I never saw him with anyone, never heard a rumor that he was dating. And I would have. Cherry Falls, like any small town, thrived off the rumor mill.
“Virginal, innocent little Amelia.”
“I bet she’s cold, with legs closed so tight no one is getting through.”
Those were the rumors that floated around town about me. But I didn't care what people thought. Was I a twenty-three-year-old virgin? I sure was, and I was proud of that. I had always wanted to give that one part of myself to the man I loved. I’d grown up wanting that virtue to be given to… maybe not my husband, but to the man I was in love with and wanted to be with forever.
So I submersed myself in music, in learning to play the piano, the flute, and the violin. During school, they said I had no life, way too much free time. Again, I didn't care. My life, my choices, and I was proud of my accomplishments.
I thought about being a loner, and how Braxton was like that too. And I’d be lying to myself if I even pretended not to be secretly thrilled he was a loner. Because I wanted him for myself; selfishly, shamelessly wanted Braxton as only mine.
God, I want him.
A part of me felt like he came every Sunday simply to listen to me play and to stare. Always staring, always watching.
And I love it.
I wanted to think he did this simply to be close to me.
A fantasy. Mine.
I shouldn’t have looked over my shoulder, but here I was, doing just that, searching Braxton out in the crowd. Our eyes locked, connected. The color was so blue, like cut sea-glass, like it had rolled around in the waves, smoothed, slightly dulled from the back and forth, but still just as brilliant.
My heart jumped into my throat, but my fingers still glided over the keys. I’d done this too many times to falter. It was like second nature to me, something I could do with my eyes closed, my ears sealed, and people shouting all around me. And right now, my concentration was sure as hell being tested.
But when I looked at Braxton, everything else faded away.
My life had always revolved around music, and I’d been labeled a “good girl” my entire life. I focused on the music, getting lost in the notes, the melody, letting it loose inside me. But even if I felt those tendrils of relaxation start to wind their way through every molecule of my body, I was still very aware of his eyes on me.
I wanted things out of life, more than just playing the piano every Sunday in church. I always thought of myself as spiritual, not religious, that music was a universal language for everyone. It moved inside each person, despite where you were from, or who you associated with. It didn’t care about your age, gender or race, and didn’t care about what your religion was. I didn’t give a shit about anything except if there was someone listening.
And that’s what I wanted to give to people. That’s why I played every Sunday. That’s why I’d gone to college and gotten a degree in music, which served no purpose at the end of the day and didn’t have me working in that field.
But I’d done it for me. It made me happy knowing I’d gone to school for something I was passionate about. And at my age, I’d done everything I wanted to do in life.
Well, maybe not everything.
I’d love to travel, to see farther out from Cherry Falls and the surrounding states.
I’d love to see foreign places, exotic destinations. I’d love to go to New York or Russia and watch a ballet. I’d love to go to Italy and listen to a symphony. Or go to Paris and see the Catacombs.
I’d love to see and do a lot of things, but I didn’t think that would ever happen for me.
My roots were in Cherry Falls.
Braxton was in Cherry Falls.
And even if we were friends, even if I spoke to him every Sunday, it was more than that for me. It was feeling his eyes on me and hearing his voice. It was the sound of his words moving through me, causing the same sensation I got when I listened to music.
And that had to mean something, right? That had to be a sign I was meant to be close to him, if the very sound of his voice could bring me that kind of joy.
So maybe I should just be the brave one and talk to him. Really talk to him. About me. About us.
Maybe I should tell him he’s the only man I’d ever love, and we were meant to be together.
2
Braxton
How wrong was it to have an erection while in church? I wasn’t asking for a friend. I was asking for myself, because I was sporting wood as I listened to Amelia play the piano, and no amount of shifting on the pew or trying to discreetly adjust myself was helping.
A part of me knew that at thirty-one I was old enough to be able to control myself. But the bigger, stronger part didn’t give a fuck, because we were talking about Amelia Richardson.
The object of my desire. My need. My arousal. My fucking obsession.
I watched as her fingers skimmed over the keys one last time before the music finally stopped. For just a heartbeat, there was this moment of silence, a second in which everyone held their breath, just absorbing what they heard. This happened every time she played. Her music was like this physical touch that moved over everyone.
It was tangible.
Amelia’s music could make you feel something, could bring out emotions you didn’t even know existed.
I could see she was uncomfortable at the sudden silence, as she acted every time she stopped playing. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. I wished I could go up and embrace her, envelop her in my big arms and press her against my chest, shielding her from everything and everyone.
That need to protect her, even from embarrassment, rode me so hard I lifted my hand and curled it into a fist over my chest, running small circles right above where my heart was.
My feelings for Amelia started the moment I had first seen her. Although we both lived in Cherry Falls our entire lives, the town was heavily populated, and it grew every year. There were people who lived in town just as long as I had who I’d never even met.
I stared at her harder, so fucking hard there was no way she couldn’t feel it burning along her skin.
I’d seen her across the street a year before, the main road in town between us, the cars moving back and forth, blocking her from me. She’d been coming out of a store, one that sold handmade candles and lotions, perfumes and all the things that would make Amelia smell even more incredible.