Ash
You don't become a world renowned classical musician by doing things halfway.
Ash Winters was a prime example of that. He began studying the cello at the age of ten, and it had been an obsession since then. His parents insisted that he played an instrument, and starting at five, he had lessons.
First, it was piano.
He took lessons every week and practiced nearly every day, but it was only because his parents made him do it.
Finally, at eight, he talked them into buying him a violin. He wanted a cello, but they told him to start with a violin.
This almost hit the mark.
His parents still had to remind him to practice, but it was more enjoyable to him then the piano, and for the first time, he was somewhat self-driven.
Then, on his tenth birthday, everything changed.
His parents bought him his first cello, and all was right with the world.
For Ash, the cello was an extension of his own body. Sitting behind it felt natural and peaceful. His parents no longer had to remind him to practice—if anything, the opposite was true. They almost had to urge him to stop. They never had an interest in sports, but they made Ash sign up to play soccer simply because, if they hadn't, he would have devoted literally all of his free time to playing the cello.
He learned dozens of classic compositions from memory before composing his own piece at the age of fourteen. He performed it at the age of fifteen. It was an unaccompanied piece, which he premiered in front of two thousand people at Severance Hall in Cleveland.
At seventeen, he went to Juilliard where he graduated at the top of his class, making countless connections and having an unprecedented impact on the lives of aspiring musicians. Ash became the poster child for youth in the symphony. He was passionate about music, and he had a charismatic attitude and a face that made fans out of women, young and old.
He made a living doing exactly what he loved.
He traveled, performing concerts and extended engagements with world-class musicians. He had fans and followers who loved his work and supported him, but he wasn't so famous that he had to deal with paparazzi. Ash had the best of both worlds. He lived a normal life where he was able to go to the grocery store without being recognized, but he also got to enjoy standing ovations for doing something he loved.
He found true joy and peacefulness while getting lost in his music. He would often sit behind his cello and get so enraptured that four or five hours would pass in what seemed like seconds.
Ash didn't date.
He didn't really have time for that.
In the past, he had been in some relationships, but no woman ever completely understood his lifestyle. They would pretend to accept it at first. They would be really supportive of his music and his practice habits at the beginning, but they were all the same. Soon, it would start bothering them that he practiced so much. They would grow discontent and maybe even hurt, saying things like, 'I just wish you wanted to spend as much time with me as you do with your cello'.
Ash would explain to them that he both needed and wanted to spend time on his craft in order to perform at his highest potential, but it never worked out. Women always wanted more of Ash than he could give. They thought his job consisted of showing up at the concert hall and playing a concert, and that somehow practicing was his way of ignoring or neglecting them.
Ash made several attempts at relationships during college and afterward, but finally, he realized he had to choose either music or women, and his choice had been music.
Not that he didn't look at women, because he did. He could certainly appreciate a beautiful woman, and was sometimes tempted to give into his desires to get to know one of them, but he kept his distance. His choice, at this point in his life, was to focus on his career, and he had no regrets about that. Not even (he told himself) when a beautiful, blue-eyed, intelligent, down-to-earth woman miraculously showed up in his new backyard.
Abigail Spencer.
She was knee deep in grime, cleaning the pond in his new backyard when he first laid eyes on her. She looked like a park ranger or a zookeeper, wearing a fitted, short-sleeve shirt with buttons going up the front. Her name and the company logo was embroidered on her chest, and she had on khaki shorts and a pair of shoes that looked like a mix between sandals and tennis shoes. Her long dark hair was tied back, and Ash remembered how stray pieces of it fell free of her ponytail and she wiped them off of her forehead with the back of her arm.
She was adorable. Darling. Innocent. Her face was precious, with rounded features that made her look sweet and young. Ash imagined how adorable she was as a little girl, and he had crazy thoughts of wanting to have children with her so they could produce a little girl who looked just like her. Ash had never, ever contemplated such things, and he wondered how this Abigail had managed to make her way into his thoughts—into his not-yet-existent plans.
He knew from their conversation that she was in her mid-twenties, and he marveled that she wasn't already married. She was perfect in his eyes—sweet and honest, intelligent yet never ostentatious. Most of Ash's encounters with women happened at the symphony or at an event involving the orchestra. He was often exposed to beautiful women, but most of the time, they were wearing their best clothes and were on their best behavior.
Abigail was just about the most unpretentious woman he had ever met. She had flat out told him she didn't care for classical music. She made light of her lack of knowledge about it. Granted, she had no idea who he was at the time, but still. She was just so cute and funny.
She knew a cellist was staying in the house, but she didn't put it together that Ash was that person. Maybe Ash should have clarified who he was, but he had so much fun getting to know her as two normal, regular people that he hated to say anything.
People who didn't know him often assumed, on account of his name, that he was a woman. He was confident enough in his masculinity that it didn't bother him at all. It wasn't the embarrassment of his name or the assumptions Abigail had made about it that prevented Ash from telling her who he was. It was simply that he liked how she acted around him. She was natural and normal. He didn't want that to end. He had caught himself wanting to spend the whole afternoon with her.
But then, like a switch had flipped, she was suddenly in a hurry to leave, and she ran off. It was like Cinderella, and Ash was left holding a glass slipper, only the glass slipper was a bag of salt, and when he chased her down to give it back to her, she just took it from him and drove away.
Abigail had gotten under his skin.
He had to see her again.
He didn't care about his own rules of not dating—those limitations didn't even cross his mind. He didn't even consider that he had taken some kind of stance against dating women. He would do everything in his power to encounter Abigail Spencer again. The prospect of not seeing her wasn't an option.
Abigail had only been gone for about an hour when he called his landlord, requesting that she be the person to maintain the fishpond while he was staying there.
He got a call back from Mandy the following day. He was practicing, but she left a voicemail informing him that "All Things Fish" would be maintaining the pond on a weekly basis. They would come on Thursday afternoons beginning not this week but the following. Mandy also said that Ash could call them directly if he had any problems or concerns with the pond and they would send someone out.
Her message didn't require a response from him, but he wanted to call her back. He wanted to make sure that Abigail specifically was the person who would be maintaining the pond, and he wanted to ask why in the world they were waiting so long before her next visit. Next Thursday? That was nine days away. That was entirely too long. Didn't something have to happen with the filter before then?
Ash, realizing he was being uncharacteristically impatient, restrained himself from calling Mandy back. He figured that next Thursday would be there before he knew it, and he assumed that Abigail would be the person responsible for cleaning the pond when that day came.
***
Turned out, next Thursday did not get there before he knew it. Ash was in a ridiculous hurry to see Abigail again. It had only been a few days, but he genuinely felt like next Thursday might never arrive.
He considered throwing ham sandwiches and pizza crusts into the pond just so he could call her and tell her there was a problem.
He would obviously never do that. He had already grown fond of the fish during the last three days and would never want to hurt them. But he did have strange temptations when it came to Abigail.
It was Friday morning when he succumbed to one of those temptations. He tried to talk himself out of it, but it was no use. He knew Abigail would be at the Bombay Country Club that morning. She had told him that. So, he got in his truck and drove there. He called Wayne, his agent, before he left and had him set up a guest visit at the place.
He knew he wouldn't have any trouble getting in once he arrived, but he was still slightly reluctant about going since the main objective of his visit was to encounter Abigail. Ash avoided his t-shirt and jeans and went for a pair of dress pants with a button-down shirt. He rolled the sleeves and left the collar unbuttoned, but he did tuck it in and he wore a belt and nice shoes. He was actually nervous, and he rarely ever got nervous.
The receptionist was overly friendly and really eager to show Ash around. She had someone watch her post while she gave him the tour. He repeated more than once that he didn't need such treatment, but she insisted, and he hated to be rude.
They had just gone into the cocktail lounge when he saw her. Abigail. There was a massive aquarium behind the bar, and she was tending to it. She was standing on a stepladder with her arm in the water, holding some kind of cylindrical shaped contraption with a hose attached to it. She looked away from the tank long enough to speak with the bartender, but she did not see Ash.
The bartender happened to be a nice-looking young man, and Abigail smiled at him like they were old friends having a comfortable conversation. Ash wanted nothing more than to go over there and interrupt them. He wanted the tour to be over. There was no need for a tour. He didn't play golf or tennis, anyway. While Ash was busy noticing Abigail, his tour guide had been talking about how delicious the food was in this particular lounge, so he figured he'd make the most of the opportunity.
"You know what?" he said, nodding a little. "I think I'd like to sit and have some lunch, if you don't mind." He didn't care that it wasn't even eleven o'clock.
"Oh, really?" she asked, glancing around with a look of surprise.
"We haven't even seen the—"
"It's okay," he said. "I wanted to get a bite to eat, and this place looks good."
"I can show you our other restaurant, if you like. We have a James Beard award winning chef in there, and a full menu for lunch."
Ash gestured to the bar. "This looks great," he said casually.
"Would you like to sit at a table?"
"I'll just go to the bar."
"Okay," she said, obviously reluctant. "Are you sure?"
Ash nodded, glancing at Abigail again. "Definitely."
"I'll be at the front if you want to finish the tour after your lunch."
"I appreciate it," Ash said. He reached out to shake her hand as a way of saying goodbye, and she shook it back before turning to walk away.
Abigail didn't see Ash approach the bar. She was preoccupied with her work. The bartender made eye contact with Ash, smiling at him when he realized that he was heading in that direction. There were only a few people sitting at the bar and they were all the way down at one end. Ash sat right in the middle of an empty stretch of bar. He was extremely close to Abigail, but she had her back turned to him.
"How are you today?" the bartender asked.
"Doing fine," Ash answered.
"Can I get you a drink menu, a lunch menu, or both?"
"I'll have some water and a lunch menu, if you don’t mind."
The bartender smiled and set the menu in front of Ash before grabbing a glass. He went through the motions of adding ice and pouring water out of the spout. "Lemon?" he asked, looking straight at Ash. Ash shook his head, and the bartender set the lemonless water on a napkin before sliding it toward him.