I lean against the side of the piano, glancing over at Mel and Mark. They both look bored but I couldn’t care less. At least Andy and Claudia are interested, poised and ready to hear Myles, though I hate to think of how disappointed they’re about to be.
I glance down at him and he gives me a wink. Well, if he wants to humiliate himself, fine.
“I’m a bit rusty.” He rests his fingers on the keys. “Haven’t played in a while. But I’ll do my best.”
“Okay,” I say sardonically. I’ll be lucky to getChopsticksfrom him.
There’s a beat of silence, then he begins to play. And to my astonishment, he’s playing—properly playing. It only takes me a second to recognize the song—Pachelbel'sCanon in D—and as soon as I do, something inside my chest squeezes hard.
Immediately, I’m transported back to my childhood home, to the shaggy orange rug in our living room. Dad is at the piano playing this song, and I’m on the rug, on my stomach with my chin resting on my hands, watching him play, thinking he’s the best thing in the world. He could make the most beautiful music seem so effortless and I thought it was magic. The memory is so vivid, I can smell the smoke from his cigarette, feel the wool of the rug on my skin, hear Mom humming along in the kitchen.
Myles looks up at me, grinning proudly and playing seamlessly, and I swallow against the sudden stinging in my throat. I know he can sense it, because he hesitates and a little line forms along his brow, but I nod at him and he turns back to the keys.
I put my drink down, resting my chin on my hands on the top of the piano. And as I watch him play, I can’t help but think that he is not who I thought he was at all. He glances at me again, checking if I’m okay, and I gaze back at him in awe. Myles is playing my favorite song to me on the piano, and he doesn’t even know what it means. But somehow, he does. Because he knows me—because he sees me.
There’s a fierce ache inside my ribcage as his eyes meet mine again. He has the most tender expression on his face, and now he’s playing just for me. I canfeelit, in my heart. I don’t know how he does this, but he does—he gets through to me. It’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
When the song comes to an end, I want to sob. Myles lifts his fingers off the keys, looking up at me with a soft smile. But I feel as if I’ve been torn apart and stitched back together, a patchwork quilt of sad memories and new, intense feelings I’m too afraid to acknowledge.
He steps out from the piano and pauses in front of me. His eyes map my face, charting every emotion I can’t hide. Cupping my jaw in his hands, he draws my mouth up to his and kisses me, feather-soft. Then he gathers me into his arms and holds me tight against him, and I can’t even breathe because it feels so good.
“Well. I should learn to play like that,” Andy says with a chortle, and that’s when I remember we aren’t alone.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice croaky as I draw away from Myles. “I just… I’ve never heard him play that before.” I glance up and his gaze is trained on mine, like he’s only got eyes for me, an affectionate smile tugging at his mouth.
That mouth.
I wrestle my gaze away and reach for my drink, taking a long sip. Because if I keep staring at that mouth of his, I’ll kiss him again—and this time I won’t be able to stop. I suddenly find myself longing for cocky Myles—the one who struts around like he’s God’s gift to women, the one who irritates the shit out of me. I don’t know who this sweet guy is and it’s rattling me.
“So, Myles,” Mark says over his glass of rum, “how’s your real estate game? Got much in the way of investments?”
I raise my eyes to the ceiling. I know what Mark’s doing. He’s trying to show Myles up, show him he’s a bigger man, and I feel a stab of defensiveness for Myles. Because he might not have much in the way of property, but he has a lot more than Mark—things you can’t put a price on.
God, I don’t know how I ever convinced myself that these two were the same. I couldn’t have been more blind.
I glance at Myles apologetically, but he gives Mark a nod, sipping from his glass. “I’m doing okay.”
“Really?” Mark asks in surprise. “Because—well, no offense—but I can’t imagine you’re earning enough as a bartender to buy much in the way of Manhattan real estate.”
I turn back to Mark with a scathing look. “You’d know, right? You were a bartender for years.”
“Yeah. But then I grew up.”
My fist balls at my side, and I decide enough is enough. It’s one thing for these assholes to have a go at me, but I’m not going to sit here and let them attack Myles. He’s done nothing to deserve this.
“You didn’t grow up, Mark,” I mutter. I drain my glass and set it down, turning to Myles. But of course, he’s not mad. He’s his usual calm self, regarding Mark with quiet amusement.
“I didn’t have a lot of spare cash for a while, no. But once I’d paid off my MBA, that freed up some money. And then I sold my app and made a pretty decent sum.”
I smother a smile. That was a good one, with the app. Where does he come up with this stuff?
“You sold an app?” Mel asks, perking up with sudden interest, clearly sensing a gold-digging opportunity.
I shoot her an icy glare, sliding my hand into Myles’s and squeezing protectively. If she thinks she’s getting her claws into him, too, she is mistaken. I’ll punch her in the throat.
Okay, it’s not like he’s mine, or anything. But it’s the principle. That’s all.
Myles squeezes back. I see he’s noticed her sudden interest too, because the amusement is glimmering in his eyes again. He looks at me and we share a secret eye-roll. A warm, comforting sensation blossoms in my chest, and it takes me a second to realize what it is. It’s the feeling that I’m not alone. Because right now, I have never felt more supported—never felt more like I have someone in my corner, looking out for me.
