She laughed softly. “Is there any detail that ever gets by you?”
“Not where you’re concerned,” he said. “When are you going to figure that out, Mary Jane?”
She reached over the counter and put a hand on his. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”
He let out a slow breath as he clasped her fingers, his gaze distant as he considered all the possibilities behind this ghostly mystery.
“You loved George,” he said, as if it were fact number one. “And you might think that falling in love with another man is somehow deeply disrespectful to him.”
Did she? She wasn’t sure. “How does that explain the music?”
“Could you be…don’t take this the wrong way, but are you?—”
“Imagining it?” she supplied with a scoff. “I wish it were that simple, but no, I’m hearing it.”
“Okay,” he said quickly. “Then maybe there’s a logical explanation.”
“Other than George himself?”
He angled his head, truly considering that possibility, which she appreciated so much.
“From what you—and others—have told me, it doesn’t sound like George was jealous or small or less than loving in life,” he said. “So why would he be in death?”
“Oh, Matt. Yes. That’s true.”
Slowly, he slid off the seat and came around the island, reaching to embrace her with his strong and loving arms.
“Now I know why you’re exhausted,” he said, pressing his lips to her hair. “You haven’t been sleeping. Your grief is rising up at the same time I’m tempting you to fall in love again. It’s a lot for anyone, especially someone who carries everyone else’s burdens with joy.”
She felt her whole body relax into him, so grateful that he understood. She dropped her head back and smiled up at him. “I heard all that, but I kind of drifted off at the part where you said something about falling in love.”
Laughing, he kissed her lightly. “I’m a straight shooter, Mary Jane. You know why I’m here and where I hope this is going.”
She searched his face, losing herself in his tender brown gaze. “I’m afraid that as long as I’m hearing this music, we aren’t going to get there.”
He brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek. “Not if I have anything to say about it. We shall solve the problem together. Three a.m., you say?”
“On the nose, every night, with military precision.”
“Then let me stay on your sofa tonight. When the music plays, I’ll hear it, too, and help you find the source or figure out where it’s coming from.”
Her breath hitched. “You’d really do that? On Christmas Eve?”
“Nowhere I’d rather be than near you, helping you, and solving all your problems.”
She hugged him tighter, a little overwhelmed with emotion.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes. Please.”
It was nearly one when they finished their tea, shut off the kitchen lights, and headed up to the third floor to her nine-hundred-square-foot one-bedroom apartment.
Just inside, he stopped and sucked in a soft breath.
“What?” she asked. “Do you…feel something?”
“Yeah. Joy, peace, and contentment.” He looked around the living area, taking in the small tree by the window, the comfortable sectional with a few throw blankets, the overstuffed chair by the fireplace where she loved to sip tea. “I’ve never been up here before.”
“Well, this is my little home. Far more humble than the ones you’re looking at.”
