What Matters Page 10

  But you didn’t text Sam…you texted Dylan.

  The pedantic devil on Eddie’s shoulder had her sitting up again. What if Dylan got the message and showed it to Sam, and they both had a good laugh about it? And worse, what if Sam then told Dylan all about him and Eddie? How she’d got down on her knees and taken his cock? How she’d splayed her legs and begged him to make her come—

  Eddie’s phone rang, buzzing on silent into her pillow. Startled, she lunged for it and turned it over. Dylan. Oh God. What was she going to say? What was he going to say?

  Stomach in her mouth, she took the call. “Hello?”

  Silence, and then a dark chuckle that definitely wasn’t Dylan’s. “Do I need to worry about you flirting with my mates?”

  Eddie bit her lip. Sam’s voice did wonderful things to her, but embarrassment warred with the thrill dancing through her. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just asking him if he’d had a good night.”

  “He did.”

  “Wonderful. Did you?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s all you called to say?” Eddie could hear music at Sam’s end, and shouting, and wondered if they were still at the club. “Because, really, you could’ve told me tomorrow.”

  “And you could’ve asked me tomorrow. But you didn’t. You asked Dylan. Tonight.”

  “Dylan’s the one who gave me his number.”

  “You want my number, Eddie?”

  Damn it. Eddie closed her eyes. Sam Nowak would be so much easier to resist if he never said her name. “If you like. I can’t promise I won’t keep texting Dylan, though. He’s much nicer than you.”

  “Most people are. I’ll text you my number when I get home.”

  “Okay.”

  “G’night, Eddie.”

  “Night.”

  Eddie lowered her phone as Sam ended the call, and stared at the screen. Sam hadn’t sounded like he was anywhere close to home, but she was willing to bet that she’d find no sleep until he made good on his promise.

  And she was right, of course. It was gone three by the time her phone finally buzzed under her pillow, the screen flashing with a message from an unknown number.

  From Sam.

  Goodnight, Eddie x

  “Congratulations, Eddie.”

  Eddie beamed and shook the orchestra director’s hand. “Thank you…thank you so much. I won’t let you down.”

  She returned to her chair—her old chair—and glanced to the right to where she’d be sitting the next time the orchestra rehearsed. Chair six in the first section! Not only had she been promoted, but she’d jumped a row too. Unable to contain her glee, she searched the woodwind section for Martha and held up six fingers.

  Martha pumped her fist, her message clear: You’ve earned this.

  And it was true. The hours she toiled away in the café was paying her rent, but this was the reward of years of hard work, and the pride in her heart was so strong it hurt.

  She was still on cloud nine when she danced into the café the next day for her evening shift.

  Mr. Nowak shook his head. “You youngsters are like newborn lambs when you’re happy, no?”

  Eddie set her bag and violin on the counter. “Are you comparing me to a sheep?”

  “If the shoe fits. What are you doing with that instrument of yours? Sam says it’s expensive, so I don’t want it lying around my café attracting the thieves.”

  Huh. Sam seemed to tell Mr. Nowak a lot about Eddie when she wasn’t around. “I usually keep it in the flat upstairs. Is Sam home?”

  Mr. Nowak shook his head. “No, he’s off somewhere with Dylan, but you know where the key is, yes?”

  “Certainly do.”

  Eddie gathered her things and slipped past Mr. Nowak and upstairs. Though Sam was out, she still found herself looking for him as she opened the door to his flat and delivered the Stradivarius to the relative safety of his couch. The flat was as tidy as ever, clinical almost, like no one really lived there at all. And maybe that was the point. Did the flat feel like home to Sam?

  I bet it doesn’t.

  Either way, Eddie didn’t linger. She dashed downstairs to the staff room with the rest of her things and put her apron on.

  The usual evening crowd began arriving a little while later. By now, Eddie knew most of them by name and enjoyed the gentle banter that batted back and forth as she served them.

  “You’re still too skinny,” Jurek said. “Tell Artur to feed you more.”

  “He feeds me plenty,” Eddie shot back. “Don’t worry about that.”

  And Eddie couldn’t deny that working at the café had not only cut her grocery bill in half, but also given her extra curves she was learning to love. And Sam seemed to like them too. Eddie hadn’t seen him outside of the café since he’d stayed over a week or so ago—between work, uni, and orchestra Eddie hadn’t had a moment—but he seemed pleased to see her every shift they worked together, and in no hurry to let her go when he saw her out at the end of each working day.

  Heat instantly bloomed between Eddie’s legs as she recalled how they’d left things the day before. She’d worked until 10 pm, and with the regulars happy enough with their Dire Straits and coffee, he’d walked her within view of her flat and then kissed her, right there in the street, tipping her backwards, and driving his tongue into her mouth until she saw stars.

  His kiss was hypnotic and addictive. Shame his personality was as obnoxious as ever, even if he was more prone to random acts of chivalry than any man she’d ever known—

  “Are you working for me today? Or away with the fairies?”

  Eddie jumped a mile. Mr. Nowak was right behind her, clutching a cauldron of soup, his eyebrows dancing crossly. “Stop sneaking up on me.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to if you were busy. Now get to work.”

  Eddie poked her tongue out at Mr. Nowak and did as she was told. Their working relationship had mellowed recently to become one where he shouted a lot, and she argued back, all the while working her tail off for him. It was much like working with Sam, just without the heavy sarcasm and blanket of sexual tension.

  Later that evening, Mr. Nowak came to find her in the kitchen. “You have a visitor.”

  Eddie looked up from loading the dishwasher. “A what?”

  “A visitor,” Mr. Nowak repeated like she was a blithering idiot. “Shall I send her in?”

  Her? For a horrifying moment, Eddie could only picture her mother, who she’d yet to speak to since Daddy had gone bust, but perspective returned quickly, and she was expecting Martha when she appeared in the kitchen a moment later.

  “So this is where you work?” Martha glanced critically around the small, steamy kitchen. “I knew it was a greasy spoon, but I think my imagination was being kind.”

  “Hey!” Eddie was instantly defensive. “It’s not so bad, and to be fair, there’s nothing greasy about it. Mr Nowak is fanatical about cleaning.”

  “Yes, but, Eddie…is this really how you want to spend the next two years? Up to your elbows in dirty dishes?”

  The prospect of working her fingers to the bone for the foreseeable future was something Eddie had accepted far quicker than she’d ever have imagined. “It’s a job,” she said. “And I like it.”

  “Are you sure it’s the job you like?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Martha arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I saw you yesterday with the thug who works here, and I know you’ve had someone in your room. That’s why I came down. Eddie, have you lost your mind?”

  “What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Eddie shut the dishwasher with a bang. “And since when have you cared about my love life?”

  “So you are seeing him?”

  Eddie very much doubted that Sam would commit to anything that formal, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to admit to Martha that she was fucking him. Or had fucked him. Whatever. “Look, if you just came down here to judge me, you should probably go. Mr Nowak is quite strict about slacking
off, and we can have this ridiculous conversation at home.”

  “I’m not judging.”

  “No? Sure sounds like it.”

  “Eddie, I mean I’m not judging you. I just think there are better places that—”

  Mr. Nowak stuck his head into the kitchen. “The music system isn’t working. Check the fuse box.”

  “The what?”

  But he was already gone. Eddie glanced around the kitchen, and then back at Martha. “Don’t suppose you know what a fuse box looks like, do you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Fair enough. I’ll see you later, then, yeah?”

  “Eddie—”

  “What?” Eddie finally snapped. “Don’t you realise what’s going on here? What’s changed? About my—about me? You might think this job is demeaning, but for the first time in my life I feel like I’m doing something that actually matters. That I’m contributing to the real world, instead of leeching off—”

  “Eddie—”

  “I’m not finished!” Eddie’s shout rang out in the steamed-up kitchen, and as she stared at Martha’s shocked face, realised that she was yelling at herself as much as anyone else. “Look, I’m sorry I’m being melodramatic about it, and in an ideal world, perhaps I’d have a job that was more…relevant to what I want to do with the rest of my life, but don’t belittle what I’m doing right now, Martha, please. Because it’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

  “Eddie, for goodness sake. I’m just trying to tell you that the fuse box is over there.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed.” Martha crossed the kitchen to open a cupboard above the counter where the vegetables were cut. “But for what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I said. It was only because I worry about you.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. I’m fine.”

  “I know you are, and I’m proud of you. You just have this habit of diving head first into things and letting them carry you off before you’ve thought about the consequences. Look at you and Ian. If you’d stopped to think, you’d have realised what an absolute clod he is.”

  “Or you could’ve told me.”

  “Like you’d have listened. Ah, look. Here it is. That looks like a fuse box, doesn’t it?”

  Eddie had no idea. She stared at the mass of switches and buttons. “Check the fuse box.” What did that even mean?

  Like he’d heard her stupidity from out in the café, Mr. Nowak barged back in. “Did you fix it?”

  “Um…no?”

  “Move then. Let me look.” Mr. Nowak shouldered Eddie out of the way and glared at the fuse box. “It seems to be fine. So why isn’t it working?”

  He was muttering to himself as much as to Eddie, but Martha, ever helpful, piped up anyway. “Can you plug it in somewhere else? At another power point?”

  “No, it’s…how do you say it, built in? Connected to the mains, and I’m not an electrician. Sam does these things for me.”

  “Oh well.” Eddie dried her hands and smoothed her apron. “Looks like the customers will have to entertain themselves for the night, eh?”

  Mr. Nowak shrugged. “Or you can play that violin of yours for them? Jurek was asking me only this evening when they would get to hear you play.”

  “Oh no.” Eddie shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Why not? You must play for people all the time.”

  “In an orchestra, not a café full of old men.”

  “Old?” Mr Nowak raised a bushy white eyebrow. “You think we’re too senile to know good music?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Good. Then you’ll play.” He pointed to the guitar case Martha had tucked under her arm. “And your friend can play too. I’ll pay you both extra.”

  He stomped out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer and apparently considered the matter settled. Eddie met Martha’s wide eyes and cringed. “See what happens when you harass me at work? I’m so sorry. If you go now, I can sneak you out of the back door.”

  Martha laughed. “Where would I go? Home by myself to play to an empty room? Lord, no. I’m in if you are.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Martha shrugged. “Why not? My chamber group plays at the jazz bar all the time. This place isn’t that different.”

  “You said it was a greasy spoon.”

  “Well…” Martha poked her head out of the kitchen door, then looked back at Eddie. “Perhaps I was wrong. With the candles and bare brick walls, it’s actually pretty cool out there. Chilled. And you could do with the extra money, right?”

  Eddie couldn’t argue with that, but she still wondered if she’d been dropped into a parallel universe as she retrieved the Stradivarius from Sam’s flat.

  By the time she got back downstairs, Martha was already perched on an unoccupied table, picking a flamenco melody out on her guitar. Eddie hurried over and took the Stradivarius from its case. “This lot won’t be interested in that. They’ve had the ‘Sultans of Swing’ on repeat for as long as I’ve worked here.”

  “Then we’ll educate them then, won’t we?”

  Martha’s impish grin was like no expression Eddie had ever seen on her. Christ, is there something in the water here?

  Either way, she followed Martha’s lead and together they kicked out a selection of classical pieces, orchestral and jazz, until the calls for contemporary rock became too loud to ignore.

  “All right, all right.” Eddie glanced at Martha. “You’re up to date on your Dire Straits, right?”

  Martha sniggered. “Of course. Play it every day.”

  Eddie rolled her eyes. “Don’t take the piss, or one of us will have to sing.”

  “I’ll sing.”

  “Are you serious?”

  It was the second time in the space of an hour that Eddie had asked Martha that, and the second time that Martha’s answering nod half convinced her that she was having the weirdest dream ever.

  “Oh, come on, Eddie. Don’t tell me your dad didn’t play the Brothers in Arms album to you when you were little? I think I know every track word for word.”

  “Lucky you. My dad was never home, and my mum didn’t do music unless it was locking me in the dining room to practice.”

  Martha giggled. “You’re so dramatic. Just follow my lead, okay? You probably know the riffs by heart, even if you don’t realise it.”

  Eddie wanted to scoff, but Martha’s kind heart kept her quiet, and by the time they’d played their third Dire Straits track, she realised that Martha was right. Night after night of listening to the same album had sunk into her, and picking out the guitar riffs and solos on her violin was more freeing than anything she’d played in years.

  An hour or so later, Eddie packed the Stradivarius away and gave it to Martha to take home. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, walking by yourself?”

  “Of course,” Martha said. “It’s barely midnight.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “We’ll take her.”

  Two shadowy figures loomed out of the darkness. Martha shrank back against the café wall, but Eddie relaxed as Sam came into view with Dylan grinning beside him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Live here, don’t I?” Sam quipped, his eyes gleaming darkly.

  “I was talking to Dylan,” Eddie countered. “The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Met your match there, mate. Who’s your friend, Eddie?”

  “Martha.” Eddie grabbed her hand and yanked her forward. “She’s my flatmate.”

  “Cool. Can I carry that for you?” Dylan addressed Martha and pointed to her guitar case. “Me and Sam will see you home safe, won’t we, Sam?”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

  And after several beseeching stares in Eddie’s direction, Martha agreed to let them walk her home. Eddie watched as they disappeared into the night, noting fondly that Sam walked two paces behind as Dylan and Martha struck up conversation. She wondered
if they’d come back. Tomorrow was her only free morning for the rest of the week, and she’d been kind of counting on persuading Sam to walk her home…and spend the night.

  Bite me, Martha. Though, with any luck, Martha would’ve warmed to Sam by the time he and Dylan got her home.

  Yeah right.

  Eddie shook her head ruefully and went back inside to help Mr. Nowak clear up.

  He greeted her with a frown. “Still here?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “I thought you’d gone home with your friend.”

  “My shift isn’t over.”

  Mr. Nowak smiled. “It is as far as I’m concerned. You played wonderfully tonight. I am very proud of you.”

  Eddie was suddenly and ridiculously choked. Martha aside, it had been a long time since she’d heard those words. She turned away from Mr. Nowak under the pretence of washing her hands for the millionth time. “Oh well. I’m here, so I might as well help you finish up.”

  Mr. Nowak said no more, though he did move around the café with more speed than his elderly body should’ve allowed, beating Eddie to every job. Stubborn, just like his grandson.

  Eddie was about to throw in the towel and go home when Sam and Dylan finally reappeared a little while later. “Get lost, did you?”

  Sam’s dark scowl was a stunning contrast with Dylan’s sunny smile.

  “Martha invited us in for a drink,” Dylan said. “Sam’s sulking because he wanted to come back for you.”

  “That so?” Eddie cut her gaze to Sam. “Miss me?”

  “Nope. Just didn’t fancy lounging around your place without you riding—”

  “Sam!” Eddie thumped his arm, while Dylan laughed, though she wasn’t as mortified as she might’ve been a few months ago. Life had hardened her in recent weeks. She raised an eyebrow in Dylan’s direction. “As it goes, I don’t ride him. Why have a dog and bark yourself?”

  In an instant, Eddie was lifted off her feet, and her back slammed against café wall. She gasped, glad Mr. Nowak had gone upstairs to fetch more candles for tomorrow. “Sam—”