It’s not that I don’t like bad boys. I do. Sometimes. Other times, what I want to read is the story of a music teacher with a secret. There’s music, too, so really, could I say no? And the muse, nudging the two together, feels such a sweet one… I’m telling you this because I too have a muse. He’s a dude that wonders in the house wearing a blue striped pj, and he’s an a**h**e. Guess I deserve him…
The story here is Love in the Key of C by Daryl Devoré.
Can a slice of pizza and a flute erase the ravages of life and allow Giselle and Ethan to fall in love by Christmas?
Collapsing in front the biggest department store in the city on one of the busiest days of the holiday season was not how Giselle imagined her day. Cold and hungry, she trudged through her daily existence wondering if she’d ever find happiness again.
Teenagers. Ethan loved working with them and turning their raw musical talent into something beautiful and rewarding, but that didn’t fill the black void in his soul.
Like fate, the songwriters’ muse nudged Giselle and Ethan together. But can Giselle overcome her fears and can Ethan get past the darkness that surrounds him, so they can find love?
Rock bottom is hard. And I’d smashed up against it. Bruised not only my pride, but also my body. Guess that’s what happens when you haven’t eaten in a few days and pass out on the sidewalk in front of the largest department store witnessed by hundreds of Christmas shoppers. And all of them with cell phones recording another titillating moment in the biggest city in the country. Yeah, it just wasn’t my day.
Tears stung my eyes as I shifted to my hands and knees while watching feet scurry past. I didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see their faces. The judgmental disdain and embarrassment etched into their frosty red cheeks. Their sanctimonious scorn of myself and the condition to which I’d sunk. Their chagrin from not being willing to help and of desperately trying to pretend I was invisible.
Icy droplets fell from the sky, settling on my neck. It wasn’t quite snow, but was no longer rain. And it was a raw cold right through to my core. I pushed up to standing, brushing away the frigid sleet from my arms and legs. I pressed my scraped palm against my hip to stop the bleeding, then checked my bag. It and its contents seemed all right. Yes, my existence has been reduced to having pretty much everything I own in a bag or two.
My life wasn’t always like this. How I got here doesn’t matter. Another sad sob story. A cruel twist of fate. A dream shattered. I could go on using a dozen more clichés, but I’m pretty sure you get the idea.
So again, I say, hitting rock bottom is hard. And, I might add, it sucks.