“Part of me went because I was curious after hearing him play the piano so beautifully at your father’s club.”
“You aren’t the first woman to be seduced by his musical abilities, Tate,” Sullivan says with a hint of amusement in his tone.
“I thought he was The Masked Maestro.”
Sullivan lifts his chin from my shoulder and lets out a deep, rich chuckle that I feel in my spine. “Did you tell him that? It would make his day. I’ve heard of that guy. He plays excellently.”
“I didn’t tell him, no.” I turn to look into his eyes. “I remember you telling me thatyouplayed excellently once.”
“What are you asking me, Tate?” His blue eyes penetrate mine with the intensity that only he can create. One that makes every moment with him feel like it’s significant. Like it’s meaningful.
Like he sees deep inside you.
The way I’d felt listening to The Masked Maestro with Ashley that night stole my breath. I’ve listened to him numerous times. But something about that night was different. It was…more.
“Are you The Masked Maestro?” I whisper, reaching up to run the backs of my fingers down his cheekbone.
He leans into my touch, inclining his face and pressing the softest of kisses to myfingertips.
“Are you?” I breathe, my heart climbing up to my throat as I wait for him to answer.
Maybe he walked into the coffee shop that day for a reason. Maybe I chose to stencil a bunny on Molly’s cup, and not a bear, or a cat, for a reason. So that I’d mention Bumper when I took her the pictures to color. So that Sullivan would look at me and question the name. So that he’d then ask me to watch Molly for him.
Maybe it wasallmeant to happen.
Because that moment in Grand Central Station when he played a song that wasn’t classical for the first time, I felt something.
I felthim, through the music.
I was supposed to hear him play that song. I know it.
Sullivan shakes his head, holding my eyes with a heartbreaking clarity in his.
“No, Tate. I swear to you. I’m not him.”
Ashley slams an espresso on the counter. “It’s not vodka, but we need something strong for this. Drink.”
“What?” I laugh.
“Drink.” She points at the cup.
I lift it and she clinks hers against mine and then knocks it back like she’s doing a shot on a night out.
“You’re in love with him.”
I spray the espresso out and Ashley calmly hands me a napkin.
“Let it sink in,” she soothes.
She waits for me to dry my mouth, before I stare at her in shock.
“I…” I shake my head. “No… I…”
She looks at me with a patient smile, and my throat turns scratchy.
“Sullivan?” I squeak. “I do… I am… I mean…” My shoulders fall. “I’m…in lovewith him?”
“There it is.” She pulls me into a hug, and I stare over her shoulder at the noticeboard. Molly’s purple rabbit coloring is still pinned in the center, in pride of place.
