In front of him, Sydney Mellon’s soft pink chin sank to his chest, his eyes drooped closed, and his lips rhythmically pouted and parted in little puffs of breath. His pad and pencil remained poised on his small paunch, held tight by a hand that had developed a reflex grip much like a bird uses to sleep on a perch.

There were artists who’d been mortally insulted by Mellon’s catnaps, but Kate was oblivious. Even if she’d known the critic was sleeping, she wouldn’t have cared. She was alive with the beauty of the moment; Gioacchino Rossini’s music flowed from her cello in resonant waves of controlled emotion. Dave leaned forward, totally entranced by the music and the woman.

Kate paused, turned the page, and began the final allegro. Mellon’s eyes flashed open and his head snapped up with a snort that could be heard fifteen rows back. It was the first time Kate could ever remember being jolted out of place in the middle of a piece. She improvised a few bars and almost dropped her bow when she saw Dave roll up his program and smack Mellon on the top of his shiny bald skull.

Later, when they were in the car, driving home, she turned to Dave and grinned. “That was a nice shot you gave Sydney.”

It took a minute for Dave to connect. “Sydney?”

“The somnolent sitting in front of you.”

Dave’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you believe that guy? He fell asleep. He’s lucky I only smacked him on the top of his head.”

“That was the music critic for the paper. He always falls asleep. Usually he doesn’t wake up until intermission. I must have been a little loud on the allegro.”

Dave parked in front of the house and cut the lights. “You were perfect on the allegro. I can’t ever remember hearing anything more beautiful. I can’t remember ever seeing anything so beautiful.”

She was used to receiving compliments, but she wasn’t used to having them whispered to her in the dark intimacy of a Porsche. The words were as much of a caress as the touch of his hand. They flowed over nerves still strung tight from the concert and sent ripples of excitement coursing along her spine. She knew exactly what she was feeling. She’d experienced it many times before. Stage fright, she thought. He was going to kiss her, and she was scared to death. It was great. The best part of a performance… anticipation. She sat perfectly still, barely breathing, feeling deliciously intoxicated with the moment.