“Your grandfather told me you were quite the musician yourself. Piano and singing, right?” Don asked, his grin widening.
“Yes,” Connor admitted with a shrug, modest as ever. “I’m in school right now at Dalhousie majoring in music.”
“I went there! It’s a great school!” Don remarked, his smile growing. “So, I take it you’re here to book studio hours?”
Don’s question came as Connor turned to me, biting down on her lip. “Are you booked solid on weekends?”
“For the next three weeks, yes. But after that, I’ll have Sundays available,” Don replied. “Weekends tend to book up pretty quick, so if you’re interested—don’t hesitate.”
“Do you think Cal would want the weekend slot?” Connor pondered.
“Probably not, he’ll want weekends free.” I was guessing, but if the object of the game was to make up for lost time with his son, I doubted Cal wanted to work on the weekends.
I glanced at Connor, who looked back at me, deliberating. I let the ball fall in her court and waited while she sifted through her emotions. She straightened her spine, as if coming to a resolution.
“Okay, let’s book those Sunday hours then. Three weeks from now is perfect,” Connor said bravely.
Don smiled with such excitement. “Excellent, I put you down. Don’t worry about the deposit fee—your grandfather had that taken care of.”
“Pardon?” Connor looked surprised.
“Oh! Frank came in here a couple months ago and paid for 140 hours of studio time for his granddaughter. Said it was a graduation gift.”
Connor’s eyes welled up, and she drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, well. That’s…totally Gramps.” A laugh escaped, and a single tear—which she quickly wiped away.
“It really is,” I murmured, less surprised. Frank had known what I knew: Connor was made for music. “Guess that’s a sign from above; you better record that album.”
“I guess so.” Connor smiled.
“The boys and I need to get into a studio within the next two weeks. We’ve got an album to record. Do you have any weekday spots open?” I asked Don.
“I’ve got a few slots available. What days were you thinking?”
“Why don’t we come in together this week and hash it out?” I suggested.
Don nodded, looking at the calendar in front of him. “I can book some time to talk to you guys Monday morning?”
“That’ll work. We’ll see you then,” I told him.
Don nodded, and we said our goodbyes before Connor and I left the studio. The studio was on the main strip, and just down the street was a diner.
“I can’t believe Gramps. It’s like he left little breadcrumbs of himself everywhere,” she said, brushing another tear off her cheek, though she was still smiling. I took her hand in mine, rubbing my thumb along the inside of her palm as we walked.
“Knowing Frank—he probably did.” I shook my head, smiling. “Are you hungry?” I asked her, gesturing with my chin to the diner.
“Starving,” she confirmed. We started walking toward the diner, and although I wanted to keep holding her hand, she gave mine a gentle squeeze and let go as we neared the diner, shoving her hands in her pockets.
This town was small too, and the townsfolk would recognize me. We used to play at the Harbour Folk Festival back in the day. While Connor might feel brave enough to accompany me on some errands, it was clear she was less comfortable with displays of affection.
I opened the door to the diner, letting Connor walk in ahead of me. It was busy, but we were able to find a booth near the back. I took my coat off, hanging it up on the hook separating each booth, and sat down opposite from her.
She unzipped her jacket, and my mouth instantly started salivating over how delicious she looked. The V-neck, long-sleeved top beneath it called attention to the swell of her breasts. She shrugged it off and hung on the coat rack with mine, sitting down across from me.
Pilfering a look my way and catching how affected I was, she smiled seductively, as if pleased with herself.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” I told her. She blushed, the apples of her cheeks pinkening.
Before she could reply, movement caught my eye. It was the waitress walking over with a couple of menus and a coffee pot.
