Maestro by Thomma Lyn Grindstaff Page B

melt. Once she started kissing him, though, she'd never want to stop. That simply wouldn't do. If Matt weren't in the picture – well, that would be a different story, but he was in the picture; well, he was supposed to be in the picture, and Annasophia must keep him there.
    “Goodbye,” she whispered. “Um, if you want to, well, find me in the future...”
    “Yes,” he said urgently. “Tell me. Please. I want to see you again, even if I have to wait decades.” He gripped her hands. “If I can't be what I want to be to you now, I have to accept that, Miss Anna. But regardless, I want to be your teacher. I want to help you have the life you deserve. Music. And – I hope – love.”
    He said that last word almost as though it were a question. It was a question she couldn't answer. Not because she wasn't sure, though. It was because she knew he was the only man she'd ever be in love with, and when she went back to her time, it would be career, career, career for her. But it was okay. Maestro had primed her well to be a musician, and after he died, she might just move to New York City, just to feel closer to the experiences she'd had here.
    She would ask Matt if he wanted to go with her. Not that she wanted to become romantically involved with Matt. Feelings like that didn't exist between them on either side, and she sure couldn't imagine them cropping up out of the blue. He had never shown much interest in dating anybody, now that she thought about it. He was a dear friend, though, and the best sound man she knew. The two of them would make great roommates.
    There were, of course, her groupies, whether in East Tennessee, or wherever she might play. Nothing could compare to the kind of melting love she felt for Maestro or even to the kisses they had shared, but the fact remained: sex was oh-so-nice. She didn't want to become a nun when she returned to her time.
    Sad, though – now, she felt nauseated at the thought of getting it on with groupies. She blushed at what Maestro would think of her shenanigans. For the rest of her life, she would think of him every time she had sex with anyone else. It stank that she still wouldn't have experienced Sex Under the Influence of Love. Now, she never would. The only way she could experience sex with love would be to do it with Maestro, an experience which would soon lie far enough out of her reach as to be like flying to Mars.
    A tear trickled down her cheek.
    Maestro gently wiped it away. “Tell me.”
    Tell him what? Oh, yes. “East Tennessee,” she said. “I live in a town called Johnson City, in upper East Tennessee. The university where you teach – where I go to study with you, starting from when I'm a little girl – is Southern Mountain State University.” Was that everything he needed to know? Oh, how she wished she could wring information out of her mind, as though it were a damp wash cloth. Surely, though, that was enough for him to work with. He would find her. She saw the answer in his eyes.
    Astonishing how love and connection could work. He had only known her for a few hours, but she had known him for two decades, and somehow, he'd tapped into that.
    At least in this timeline, he had much to look forward to where she was concerned, a relationship with her in the future, even if it wouldn't be the kind of relationship they both yearned for right now. She, on the other hand, had nothing to look forward to with regard to him but his death.
    Another tear rolled down her cheek. “Okay,” she said. “You and Elena go on together, and I'll do my disappearing act once you two are out of the–”
    “Me and Elena?” Maestro frowned, and he looked as though she'd suggested he go upstairs to his suite with the bartender or some random stranger on the still-busy street outside. “Elena and I aren't staying here together. Do you think I've been playing games with you? Elena and I are divorced, Schätzchen. ” He looked closer at her. “Is that what this sudden