“Would you play another piece for me?”
I nod, my fingers already itching to touch the keys again. “Of course. What would you like to hear?”
“You know it, dear.”
I grin, recognizing the unspoken request, and I begin to play “Comptine d’un autre été”by Yann Tiersen again. The familiar melody flows from my fingers, filling the room. As I play, I steal a glance at Mr. Donovan. His eyes are closed, a contented smile on his face, completely absorbed in the music.
When I finish, he opens his eyes and claps enthusiastically, his joy evident. “That was wonderful, Amelia. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“More than enjoyed it, dear. It brought back many fond memories.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” I really am. Giving him something back feels right after his generosity of letting me play here.
“You know, Grey never wants to play it for me because he thinks he’s not good enough to play it. But that boy could play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and I would be brimming with pride. Everything he is, everything he worked to be, I couldn’t be prouder of the man he turned out to be.”
A small smile tugs at my lips as I say, “You should be. Grey is amazing.” Mr. Donovan’s eyes sparkle with pride as he returns my smile knowingly. “And he should be so happy to have you. It must be a nice feeling having someone be that proud of you.”
“Every parent is proud of their child.”
A sarcastic scoff escapes me unwillingly while stroking Peanut’s head, my fingers moving rhythmically through the silky fur.
Mr. Donovan furrows his brows, genuine concern etching lines on his face. “Your parents are proud of you, Amelia. I’m sure of it.”
“They’re not,” I whisper, my gaze dropping for a moment. “But that’s okay.”
His expression turns soft, and he shakes his head. “That’s not okay, Amelia. Because you are so much to be proud of. You’re such a talented, charismatic, smart, and well-behaved younglady.” I blush at his words, feeling the warmth spread across my cheeks. “Blushing is a sign of a good heart,” he adds kindly. “And you give the best advice. Grey and I can testify to that. Youaresomeone to be proud of, andIfor sure amproud of you.”
Never in my life have I heard someone tell me that they’re proud of me.
Well, besides Jamie, but he doesn’t count.
I bite my cheek hard to try not to cry, but a stray tear escapes before I can rub it away.
Fuck.
Stanleys don’t cry.
“You look like you could use a hug,” Mr. Donovan says as he stands and reaches out a hand to me. “Can I give you a hug, please, Amelia?”
I nod before standing, and he pulls me into a fierce, warm hug. His embrace envelops me, letting me breathe in his comforting old wood scent. He strokes my upper back in gentle, soothing motions, not letting go until I am ready to.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. Today was just a lot and…” I trail off, feeling the words stick in my throat.
“Never apologize for needing someone,” he interrupts, his voice full of understanding. “We all do. I needed your advice, too, today. We helped each other. Thank you for taking me up on my offer. I wasn’t sure if you would. I thought about you and if I should reach out again. And I was so happy when you messaged me.”
My phone vibrates, pulling me from the moment. I look down to see a message from Grey.
Grey
Where are you?
Mr. Donovan chuckles, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Seems like I’m not the only one who thinks about you.” He gives me a knowing wink.
“I should probably text him back and get home,” I say, a small smile returning to my face.
“Of course. Thank you for coming over, and please come back soon. I need to keep you updated about Morgan.”
