So this is what it was like to feel. He wasn’t sure he enjoyed it.
Peyton followed the music rising from the front of the Trinity Falls University auditorium Tuesday morning. Her footsteps whispered against the red cement floor. But Vaughn probably wouldn’t have heard a stampede of cattle charging the room. His piano bench was mere yards from her, but he seemed so far away.
She settled onto one of the second-row seats to enjoy his private performance. The haunting melody Vaughn lifted from the piano keys mesmerized her. The piece was sad and hopeful at the same time, heartbreaking and defiant. His mastery of the music was captivating. He should be giving concerts for millions. Why was he hidden in this small university auditorium, gifting his music to an audience of one?
The music ended. Peyton sighed, then stood to give her unwitting entertainer a standing ovation. “Encore! Encore!”
Vaughn looked as stunned as if he’d found himself naked in front of a classroom. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long.” Peyton stepped out of the audience and approached the band director. “I couldn’t imagine who was playing the piano at seven in the morning.”
“I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Vaughn checked his watch.
“You’re a very talented pianist. And it’s a beautiful piece. What’s it called?” Peyton leaned against the piano, facing Vaughn.
“‘Untitled Opus Number Five.’” Vaughn closed the piano and stood.
“You wrote it?” Peyton’s eyes widened.
Vaughn grinned down at her. “I do have a doctorate in music.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just . . . it’s beautiful.” Peyton stammered her way through a lame apology.
“You didn’t offend me. And thank you.” Vaughn escorted her away from the piano and back up the auditorium’s aisle.
Although Peyton’s office was down the hall, she hadn’t had many occasions to enter the auditorium, perhaps only twice, including the university’s convocation at the beginning of the school year. It was a large room. Roughly six hundred mahogany chairs were separated into three sections and bolted to the red cement floor. Long, narrow Gothic windows were carved into the walls just below the ceiling. In the front of the room, a concert pit stretched between the groupings of folding chairs and the mahogany stage.
“You’ve written five pieces?” Peyton walked with Vaughn, grateful that he’d adjusted the strides of his much longer legs so she wouldn’t have to run beside him.
“I’ve written more than that, but I’ve come up with names for most of them.” Vaughn pushed his hands into the front pockets of his coffee-brown pants.
He had more pieces like those? “Does your concert band perform them?”
“No, people want to hear popular songs.”
“You’re wrong. People would love your work.”
“Thank you.” Vaughn’s face darkened with a blush.
“What do you do with your music if your bands don’t perform them?”
Vaughn smiled. “You ask almost as many questions as Darius.”
“I’m sorry.” Peyton’s face heated with embarrassment, but she still wanted an answer to her question. She stared Vaughn down.
“I’m working on something.” His words were barely audible.
“What is it?”
Vaughn stopped just inside the doors to the auditorium and faced her. “It’s a musical. But not many people know and I’d rather not talk about it.”
Peyton smiled. “I’m glad you’re working on the musical. Thank you for telling me. I can’t wait to attend your opening.”
Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if there’ll be an opening.”
“Make it happen. You’re too talented for those songs to sit in a drawer.”
“Thanks.” Vaughn looked