In An Instant, Chapter 6

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Chapter 6. Caccia

Weekends were Beth’s crunch time. Every Saturday, she accompanied music students in Cedar Falls preparing for recitals, competitions, and juries. Sometimes there was opera workshop, too. Almost always, she returned to Des Plaines with barely enough time to make her shift at the diner, which was followed in turn by early morning church services on Sunday.

That Saturday, Beth’s dad picked up Toby at eight. Half an hour later, she was speeding toward Cedar Falls in the passenger seat of Prescott Fauberg’s car. It was a pretty drive, and she had always liked it, particularly in the fall. Today, however, she had trouble concentrating on the scenery—or her companion. “Sorry, Prescott, what did you say?”

He spared her a glance. “Man, you’re spacey today.”

“Sorry,” she repeated, but she wasn’t about to admit she’d been daydreaming about Dean Townsend. He’d sent her a silly .gif each of the last two mornings, sparking an exchange that added spice to the day and sharpened her anticipation of getting to see him again.

Prescott glowered at the passing yellow lines for several moments before repeating, “I said, what time are you done?”

“Oh. Five. What about you?”

“Four, supposedly.” He paused. “Are you okay, Beth?”

Beth tried and failed to stifle a smile. “Fine.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that guy, would it?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and Beth deflated. She’d always thought Prescott flirted with her to throw people in their small, conservative town off his real interests. But reactions like this…

“Isn’t he a mechanic or something?” he said.

“Yeah.” Beth tried to ignore the implication, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Not exactly your type, is he?”

She drew her arms in close to her body and began to massage her lower lip. She didn’t like the trembling in her fingers, harbinger of an all-too-familiar panic that had sabotaged her every attempt at romance. Once her brain got going, she could talk herself out of anything. The best thing about Dean, the last few days, had been the absence of that panic. But judging by the pain in her stomach, her luck had run out. “And what exactly is my type?”

“Come on, Beth. A mechanic? What could you possibly have in common with him? You think he listens to Chopin while he’s changing the oil?”

Beth steeled herself. Not this time, she told herself. She would not let her traitorous brain screw this up. Not with Dean Townsend.

“Besides,” Prescott said, “I thought you were finally getting serious about performing. Did you ever send the demo to the Des Moines Symphony?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Have you called them?” She did not respond, and he sighed. “Look, Beth. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just saying you have a future. Just because you’re raising a kid in a one-horse town in Iowa doesn’t mean you have to stay there.”

Beth clutched at the memory of Dean with Toby, of that amazing kiss, and the euphoria that had carried her through the last three days. There was no reason to panic.

“How’s your job search?” she asked bluntly.

Prescott sighed, but to his credit, he took the hint. “I have an interview next week up in Elmhurst.”

“How’d the one in St. Louis go?”

“Great. I went to dinner with one of the committee members, and he made it sound like I’ve got a really good chance.” He launched into a missive on the shortfalls of small town America. Luckily, he didn’t require input, because Beth spent the rest of the drive trying to force her panic down. What was she thinking, kissing Dean Townsend on a first date? What might he expect of her on a second?

It wasn’t like her to rush into things. The only time she had ever plunged without weighing the consequences was with Geordie. And look how that turned out.

Of course, Geordie had never roused passion in her. Tenderness, gratitude, yes. Passion, no. Wednesday night, with Dean…that was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Like waking up, like sparks flying, like stars in her eyes…pick the cliché, Beth felt it when Dean kissed her. In some ways, that was the scariest part of all. If a relationship without spark could turn her life upside down, what kind of havoc could someone like Dean wreak?

Oh, how she wanted to find out. The very thought of what might be possible made her ankles weak. But it wasn’t just about her. She had to think about Toby, too. He had obviously taken to Dean. What happened if he got attached, and then everything went south? How could she risk that kind of upheaval in Toby’s life? At least when Geordie died, Toby was too young to remember!

If Prescott noticed her preoccupation, he was polite enough not to mention it. He dropped her off at the university without referring to Dean again, and Beth headed up the sidewalk, putting her phone on do not disturb, far too preoccupied by the war in her brain to notice to the autumn glory blazing around her.

It was a long day. Two rehearsals with singers in the morning, a meeting with the director of the symphony about her solo coming up in January, and opera workshop all afternoon. Beth liked accompanying, but Prescott was right. She didn’t stay up practicing every night so she could accompany college students for the rest of her life. She was good. Very good. If it hadn’t been for Geordie—or more to the point, Toby—she would happily have lived a Bohemian existence in New York, waiting to break through. At least, that was what she told herself.

She’d give her last breath for Toby, of course. But it didn’t stop her from trying to figure out how to carve out space for the rest, too.

Anyway, she reflected as she rolled endless chords beneath a tenor recitative, it was all water under the bridge. She should be grateful she had the chance to play Rachmaninov with the symphony here in Waterloo-Cedar Falls. She thought back to Prescott’s comment about Chopin and wondered if Dean liked classical music.

Her left hand slipped, her thumb clunking on a wrong bass note. The director shot her a surprised look—as well he might. It was Mozart recitative, for Heaven’s sake, not Liszt.

She wrenched her brain back onto track. “Sorry,” she mouthed to the singer, who grinned at her mid-phrase.

When opera workshop dismissed, Beth stepped out into the nippy air. The burning bushes splashed brilliant red against the hunkering sky. It looked like they might be in for an early snow. Time to get home.

Prescott’s Prius was parked at the curb. Beth put her head down and stepped out into the prairie wind.

“How’d it go?” he asked as she settled into the passenger seat.

“Well, I found out they’re having a piano festival in the spring—a big one. I think I’ll try to get into a couple of master classes.”

“That’s great! Maybe they’ll be able to put you in contact with somebody that can get you back on track. Now that the kid’s a little older.”

“Maybe.” She felt fluttery with excitement. She reminded herself that Toby was only nineteen months old. There was a long way to go. “That would be awesome. I’d love to have another shot.”

“You want to grab a bite before we head home?”

Beth thought quickly. If she didn’t take Toby to the play place for the next couple of weeks, she ought to be able to squeeze it out of the budget. “Okay,” she said.

They chatted amiably as he drove up Main Street toward the river. Not until he turned into the parking lot did she realize where he was going. Then she froze. “Uh, Prescott, not to be a wet rag, but my budget doesn’t include the Broom Factory.”*

“It’s my treat.” He grinned and reached over to pat her hand. “Your mom was right, you know—you do need to have a little fun sometimes.” He got out of the car without waiting for acknowledgment.

Beth sat for a minute, wrestling a tangle of reactions that included anxiety—is he really making a move?—and irritation—could he be any more condescending? She pondered staging a protest by sit-in.

Then she took a deep breath. She was probably overreacting. On all fronts.

Tiny, hard flakes of snow spattered her face as she walked up the steps and into the restaurant. Prescott opened the door for her, revealing a crowded foyer. But he marched right up to the hostess. “Hi,” he said. “I have a reservation for Fauberg.”

The girl flashed a grin at him. “Right this way.”

Beth followed her between the tables, all the way through the restaurant to the window overlooking the river. And then she stopped dead in her tracks.

A table for two, perched in a prime spot beside the floor-to-ceiling windows. And lying across one place, a single red rose.

Well, her brain said philosophically, I guess now you know he’s not gay.

Beth had to stifle a hysterical shout of laughter.

Prescott put a hand on her elbow and steered her forward. Beth sat down; what else could she do? But no matter how hungry she was—and she was starving—she wasn’t going to do a single thing to lead him on. She and Dean might not be far enough along to discuss commitment, but she’d kissed him, and that meant something.

When the waiter arrived, she ordered the cheapest thing on the menu—a vegetarian casserole—and water. Prescott raised his eyebrows with a faint smile, but he contented himself with a small shake of the head. “We’ll have pain de mer to start,” he said, “and I’ll have the prime rib.”

The waiter departed. Prescott set his chin on his fist and stared out across the river. She studied him across the table, trying to rearrange her perception of him. She’d been so sure he was gay. If he wasn’t…

“I have to admit, it’s beautiful,” he said. “Even if it is the middle of nowhere.”

She spared one glance for the panorama of water flowing over the low dam and one thought for the snobbery of calling a metro area of a hundred thousand, with a standing professional symphony, the middle of nowhere. Then she focused on the really critical thing. “Prescott,” she said, “you’re going to have to excuse me for being blunt. Is this supposed to be a date?”

His looked at her, his eyebrows shooting skyward. “That’s pretty blunt.”

She twisted her napkin. Her face burned. “Well?”

He rested his chin on his folded hands. “Well…not if you’re not available.” He frowned. “Are you available?”

She leaned back in her chair and gave the napkin another crank, hoping it might keep her discomfort from parading across her face. Had he decided to make a move because of Dean?

Of course he had.

Until a few days ago, Mom had been needling her relentlessly about Prescott. Beth understood why: they had everything in common, and they got along well. So why couldn’t she summon the least bit of attraction?

But was she really sure about Dean?

What could you possibly have in common? Prescott had asked, and it wasn’t an entirely unfair question.

She wanted to be sure about Dean, but the truth was, she wasn’t. She’d been lovesick over Dean all of high school. Was all this euphoria she was feeling nothing more than nostalgia?

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Beth blinked and then flushed again, realizing she’d vocalized some part of that mental jungle.

“It’s your life. Your decision,” he pressed.

Beth latched onto the only thing in the whole mess that she could see clearly. “Well, Toby—”

“Leave Toby out of it. This doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

Beth’s jaw clenched; she heard her mother’s voice in her head, and for the first time, she agreed with it. “Everything about me has to do with Toby.”

Prescott gazed intently at her. “It starts with you, and what you want,” he said. “What do you want, Beth?”

The question she’d been wrestling with all day. She tensed.

He leaned back and shook his head. “You really don’t know, do you?” He stared at her for a minute. “Well, that’s the first thing you have to figure out.”

It was borderline condescending. No. Not borderline.

Beth’s hackles went up, but just then, the waiter arrived with a basket of bread. Beth reached for a piece gratefully even as she braced for what she knew was about to be the single most awkward dinner of her life.

When it was over at last, they drove back to Des Plaines without speaking much. As Prescott pulled up at her rental, she gathered her things. “Hey,” he said, and she paused, her hand on the door handle. “I think I was an ass. I’m sorry.”

You think? she wanted to say, but her better angels prevailed. It had to be hard to put yourself out there and get rejected. “It’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t, exactly. “But I need to go get Toby.”

He nodded. “See you in the morning.”

Beth got straight into her car and drove to her parents’ place. Toby flew into her arms, chattering unintelligibly as he showed her every toy in the house. By the time she got home, he was sound asleep. Beth carried him to bed. When she went to retrieve her gig bag from the car, she looked at her phone for the first time in hours and realized she’d missed a text from Dean.

Not a text. A series of them, starting hours ago.

How had she forgotten to take her phone off do not disturb?

She opened the app with shaking fingers.

Shortly after noon, he’d sent a link to “How to build a sensory bin for your toddler,” with the words “was thinking of making this for Toby. Thoughts?” below it.

Twenty minutes later:

Hey. You interested in apple picking?

1:12:

I figured Toby’d get a kick out of a trip to the orchard.

2:02:

No pressure. I didn’t mean to push.

Beth could have kicked herself for forgetting to turn her phone back on. Mom, Dad, and the Alcotts could always break through, and she’d never had anybody else she had to worry about snubbing. That last text just dripped with anxiety.

Well, at least she knew one thing. The fact that half Dean’s texts today had been about Toby told her everything she needed to know. Especially after Prescott’s dismissals earlier today. The awkward guilt Beth had been carrying around for hours suddenly dissipated, leaving her feeling light as air. And free to follow her heart.

Smiling, she tapped Dean’s name on her phone.

Stay tuned! If the slow pace is driving you crazy, check out this read.

In an Instant, Copyright 2026 Kathleen M. Basi. No part of this may be reprinted without written permission. Sharing this post, however? That, the author wholeheartedly approves of.

Seriously….

*In case anyone from Waterloo-Cedar Falls reads this book, I take this opportunity to offer a disclaimer: I am taking a large liberty here and pretending that the Broom Factory, which I loved when I went to school at UNI and could never afford, was not torn down in 2008 but in fact still sits in its lovely spot on the Cedar River, still offering pain du mer. Indulge me, please.