The tour itinerary had acquired a crease directly through Cleveland.
Gabriel smoothed the page on his workshop counter with the care of a man trying to make a proposal look less consequential than it was.
"It's preliminary," he said.
"So you mentioned."
Vivian stood beside him, reading the cities and the spaces between them. Six weeks of regional performances beginning in April. A few weekends with several dates close together, other stretches allowing travel and rest. No arenas, no implausible promise of sudden fame. Paid work with musicians he knew and music he plainly wanted to play.
He had invited her to see the itinerary on Wednesday afternoon, the day after the reading. She had expected him to be excited. Instead, he kept explaining why it probably would not amount to much.
"Leon is still confirming some rooms."
"You can be interested before every chair is accounted for."
"I am interested."
"You sound as though you're preparing a case against it."
Gabriel leaned against the counter. For a moment she thought he might make a joke. Then he looked at the page again.
"There are the repairs here. Thursday nights. Clara will need help with the house in spring. And we've only just—"
He stopped.
"We've only just what?" Vivian asked.
"Started seeing each other."
She put down the itinerary. "Were you planning to decide I couldn't manage six weeks either?"
His expression changed. "No. That's not fair."
She heard the sharpness in her own voice. He had asked her to look at something that mattered to him, and she had reached for an old grievance like a familiar utensil.
"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. I thought I heard you making my answer part of the reasons you shouldn't go. I should have asked."
He took a breath. Outside, someone rolled a delivery cart over the uneven pavement. The ordinary noise gave them a moment to return to the actual room.
"I don't know your answer," he said. "I barely know the question yet. I like seeing you. I don't want to turn something good into a discussion about being absent."
"But you haven't turned it into that by wanting a job."
"It doesn't feel like a job when I talk about it. It feels like asking everyone else to be inconvenienced while I enjoy myself."
Vivian looked at the instrument cases, each waiting for his attention. "You can enjoy paid work. I recommend it when available."
He smiled faintly.
She pulled up the stool he had given her on their first visit. "Tell me about the music. Not the objections."
Gabriel sat on the edge of the workbench, safely clear of the instruments. Leon wanted to revisit arrangements they had played years ago and develop new work around them. The pianist would be someone Gabriel had admired for a long time. The drummer had toured with Leon recently and apparently knew how to argue about tempo without turning it into a judgment of character.
As Gabriel spoke, his voice changed. He described a tune whose bass line moved beneath the melody like a second conversation. Vivian didn't know enough music theory to follow every detail. She knew pleasure when she heard it.
He reached for his bass and played a short passage, then changed one phrase so she could hear the choice. The difference was small and unmistakable. Vivian watched his concentration turn briefly into delight. This was time he wanted for a reason she could hear, even without being able to name every note.
"You want to play," she said.
"Yes."
He said it plainly this time. The word seemed to surprise him with its manageable size.
"Then that belongs in the decision."
"What about you?"
Vivian considered the question rather than producing the generous answer she could have offered immediately.
"It's months away," she said. "I don't know exactly what our lives will look like then. Today, I like being with you. The idea of not seeing you for six weeks disappoints me. The idea of you refusing something you want because you've guessed at what I need disappoints me more."
He looked at her. "You don't have to make it easy."
"I'm not. I'm trying to make it accurate."
They sat quietly. Vivian could see how tempting it would be to promise she would never mind a canceled evening, a distant city, a choice that took him elsewhere. She had lived long enough to know that promising never to mind was not the same as promising to love well.
"I can't ask about a wish you never tell me exists," she said.
"I know."
"And I don't want to become someone who interviews you until the correct wish falls out."
He laughed, surprised. "Is that what this is?"
"A preliminary consultation. I have a very restrained fee."
The tension eased without disappearing entirely. They still had things to learn about each other, and now one of those things lay on the counter in black type.
Gabriel folded the itinerary carefully, then changed his mind and pinned it to the noticeboard where he could see it.
"I'll call Leon tomorrow and tell him I'm interested. I need the actual terms before I can decide."
"That seems sensible."
"Try to contain your enthusiasm for my administrative progress."
She stood and came toward him. "I'm quite interested in the rest of you as well."
He met her halfway. The kiss was warm, unhurried, and reassuring in no way that required either of them to forget the conversation. When they separated, he kept her hand for a moment.
"Thank you for coming back to the question," he said.
"Thank you for answering it."
They left the workshop to buy lunch. At a small counter, Gabriel ordered a sandwich he claimed was impossible to eat tidily. Vivian accepted the challenge and lost enough filling to make him laugh.
She told him about the woman who had asked to read her essay. The bookshop host had invited her to send the piece for a small neighborhood newsletter, and Vivian had said she would consider it after revising. It was not a return to the authority of the newspaper. It was a place to begin finding readers one at a time.
"Do you want to send it?" Gabriel asked.
"Yes. I'm trying not to make that depend on whether the opportunity sounds impressive when I describe it."
"I liked being in the room. I'd like to read it again."
"I'll send it to you. After I stop changing the first sentence."
He looked doubtful. "We should establish a deadline."
They walked toward her street together. The afternoon had turned overcast, and the forecast promised rain later in the week. Vivian asked whether he wanted dinner at her house on Friday.
"I'll cook," she said.
"That sounds dangerously professional."
"There may be an uneven omelet. You'll need to be prepared."
He smiled. "I'd like that."
At the corner, he took her hand briefly before they went their separate ways. The tour was still months away. Friday, however, had become quite specific.
