Fern looked at Daniel. ‘Matilda studied music?’
‘She did,’ replied Daniel before turning back towards the man. ‘Would you be interested in purchasing the piano?’
The man shook his head. ‘Not on this occasion, but it’s extremely impressive,’ he replied, standing up and grabbing his cane before moving towards an antique gramophone and browsing through old music memorabilia.
As they watched him, Daniel leaned in and whispered, ‘How did you not know that Matilda studied music?’
‘Like I told you, I didn’t even know she existed until forty-eight hours ago.’
Daniel widened his eyes. ‘You know nothing about Matilda?’
‘Nothing whatsoever,’ she admitted.
The man turned towards them. ‘I don’t suppose you have any music boxes?’ He swept a glance around the shop.
Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen one and I’ve worked here a while.’
The man nodded as he waved his cane in the air and turned and walked back through the door.
‘Tell me more about Matilda. It’s crazy that I write about musicians for a living, and I’ve ended up inheriting a shop once owned by a talented musician.’
‘You write about musicians? That sounds an amazing job. Your next feature could be about how you found a man on the train whose guitar playing dazzled you, and you lived happily ever after.’
Fern rolled her eyes. ‘Back to Matilda.’
‘Spoilsport. I believe she was an incredible composer back in her time.’ Daniel picked up an acoustic guitar that had been propped beside the counter, settling it upon his lap.
Fern, still processing everything, watched as he absentmindedly strummed a few chords. The sound was warm and rich, filling the shop with an easy rhythm. He wasn’t just playing nonsense, there was a melody there, something familiar yet unknown.
Curious, she stepped closer. ‘What are you playing?’
Daniel glanced up at her, his fingers still moving over the strings. ‘A song Matilda taught me.’
‘She taught you?’
‘Yeah. She had all these melodies in her head. She’d hum them while working in the shop. I picked up a few.’ He played a chord, letting the note linger, then gave her a teasing smile as he strummed a jaunty little riff.
‘Can you write a song about me? Go on, sing something.’
‘All right, you asked for it. Here goes nothing.’
He strummed a lively, upbeat rhythm, and then began to sing,
‘Well, here comes Fern from the big city lights,
‘With a suitcase full of dreams and a head full of heights.’
He strummed a few more chords and carried on.
‘You claimed you were scared of the moose’s head, but let’s be real…
‘You just wanted to cuddle, to see how I’d feel!’
Fern threw back her head and laughed. ‘You are mad!’
He struck a final chord, a playful grin spreading across his face. ‘Don’t even pretend you didn’t love it!’ he teased, his voice warm and light as he leaned the guitar against the desk.
‘That was so ridiculous, Daniel!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I was scared of the dark and all that mooing.’
