Evelyn's Girl | Lesbian Novel

XXVI

Evelyn was good at a lot of things. She was good at listening. Her eyes would study my lips whenever I spoke. It was remarkable how she clung onto every syllable and every breath. Then she was good with her words. Something quite perfect about everything that came out of her mouth.

She was careful and honest. Her words were gentle when she spoke to me. They were softer in delivery and more purposeful than how she spoke to anyone else. It was also in her eyes. That charm that pulled me in from the beginning.

Evelyn was good with numbers. Sometimes I'd watch her work from bed in the mornings. Her mouth moved, silently calculating them in her head. She scribbled them down on a notepad and kissed my forehead.

I was sure she had many talents.

There was hardly anything she couldn't do well. It seemed she'd spent the entirety of her life being able to do everything all at once. It was second nature for her to pick up every skill almost instantly. I knew that from the moment we met.

But out of all of her skills and talents, Evelyn was the best at being a pianist. Her fingertips glided across white and black keys meticulously. It was intentional, how they pressed down just enough to be heard but quickly enough to not miss a beat.

She hadn't had the opportunity to play in weeks. Perhaps she was trying to give it up but in this bar, Evelyn was free. It was probably the first time I'd really seen her enjoying what she did. Her features were light, soft with subtle expression. I was fond of the small smile on her lips. I was willing to bet that she wasn't even aware of it. Confidence.

It was visible through her swift motions. She wasn't even looking at the music anymore. It was poetic. Romantic. Her eyes were closed and then there wasn't a trace of tension embedded into her features. She lightly pressed the keys. And then it was the heavy mashing of chords and melodies filling the entire bar. Evelyn was leaning forward and then moving with each note. She was home.

Familiar with every single note. I watched her reach in perfect timing, her hands brushed against low notes and much higher ones at the same time.

I found myself leaning forward on my palms, mesmerized by her. I felt chills down my spine as she played. I forgot all about the drinks I'd ordered. I let her consume me and because she had my undivided attention, I almost missed the ringing of my phone.

It buzzed in my tote bag, the vibration pulled me out of my trance and then I was digging for it, afraid to take my eyes off of her.

I pressed it against my ear, hardly looking at the screen at all, "Hello."

"I've missed you."

My mouth went dry. The kind that was immune to water. I was squeezing my eyes shut, suddenly aware of the dread in the pit of my stomach.

"Nicolas, why?" I was closing my eyes as he laughed. It was humorless and mildly psychotic.

He was shuffling around in the background, "Why? You're going to have to be more specific than that."

I felt so fucking nauseous, "Why are you calling me? Why haven't you moved on? Why won't you let go?"

Nicolas laughed again and this time it was humorous. He was collecting himself rather light heartedly, "You're so serious all of a sudden. It's that gloomy London getting to you. Once you're back in Seattle, you'll lighten up. I'm sure of it."

I was confused, borderline disturbed as he opened the can of a beer. I knew him like the back of my hand. I even got a visual and he swallowed a few times and burped.