Free Maestro by Thomma Lyn Grindstaff

novel.”
    She shook her head and opened her mouth, but the words had dried up on their way out of her throat.
    “It's not a big deal, Miss Anna. I'm a musician. I spend most of my time around creative people. Many of them think I'm kind of annoying because I like to keep my feet more firmly rooted on the ground, but it doesn't mean I can't enjoy other people's flights of fancy.”
    “You don't believe me. You think I'm a liar. Or a flake.” Despite the warm way he was looking at her, she felt annoyance worming its way up through her own feelings of warmth.
    He gave her back the money and the cards. “No, Schätzchen. But you have to understand. You're claiming that you time-traveled to be here. Nothing about it makes sense. To what end? Why did you do it? How did you do it? You're making a gigantic, fantastical claim, and to believe it, I'm going to need more substantial proof than a few strange-looking items.”
    A skeptic to his core. Well, as adorable as Maestro might be in 1973, he was almost as pigheaded as he was adorable. And the more time she spent with him, the more flustered she became. If she didn't go and go soon, she would wind up breaking both his heart and hers when she had to leave for good, to make way for Elena – and Matt. Time to go back down to the lobby and play some Rachmaninoff. That way, Maestro would believe her, at least. And neither of their hearts would be broken.
    Well, hers would be. But as little time as they had spent together, she seriously doubted his would be too badly damaged. He had a wife to reconcile with, and a son to raise. The music from Maestro's bedroom wended its way back into her mind. No more Pastoral Symphony. Instead, she heard the tumultuous strains of Mahler's Sixth Symphony, 4 th Movement: “Tragic.”
    Yeah. That was about the size of it.
    “Come on.” She tugged at his hand. “Let's go down to the lobby, and I'll show you.”
    He stood, but regarded her through narrowed eyes. “What?”
    She took his other hand, and her annoyance quietened. Perhaps her annoyance had been something from her wiser, more sensible self, to propel her into doing what had to be done. “Maestro, you can't possibly know what this evening has meant to me. Spending time with you. Getting to know you–”
    “But you said you knew me in your time–”
    “Not like this,” she said, placing emphasis on every word. “By the time I'm born, you're a much older man. We started out as student and teacher. You became my mentor, inspiration, and friend. Here, we're...” No. Don't say it.
    “We're?” he asked playfully, pulling her to him.
    “At least we could be–” She couldn't finish, because he was kissing her. Oh, so gently. His lips on hers evoked more delicious little tingles, coursing all throughout her body. What an incredible thing, that such a light touch should inspire such feeling. It was as if she were being lit up from inside. He increased pressure on her lips, oh-so-gradually, and her arms went around him to grip his shoulders from the back. Nothing on earth had ever made her feel like this. Nothing, not even in her silliest – she'd thought them silly, how could she have been so blind? – dreams of falling in love. He pulled her up closer against him, and their kiss deepened to the point where she honestly couldn't tell where she stopped and he started, where he began and she ended. Every nerve in her body screamed for him, his touch. Yet she wanted to take things nice and slow and savor each feeling in its infinitude...
    No. We can't do this.
    She turned her face away from his. Seemingly oblivious for a moment, he feathered kisses up and down her cheek, on her ear, her temple, and her jawline. “Anna...” he breathed. “Miss Anna. Let's stay here just a little longer.”
    With everything in her, Annasophia wanted to stay. She couldn't, though. Things mustn't go any farther. She had been selfish to come here in the first place. Why, oh why, hadn't she thought of