“Really. Now off you go. You’ve got a break now, right?”
I nod.
“See you on Friday, Rayne.”
It seems that I’m dismissed. I hesitate for a second and then nod again before leaving the studio. I’m already on the stairs when I hear the soft sounds of a piano coming from the third floor. My feet carry me upstairs of their own accord, even though I don’t know for sure it’s Easton playing. After all, he’s not the only pianist who accompanies classes. Still, I have a feeling it’s him.
The music is coming from the middle studio on the right. Sure enough, Easton is sitting at the shiny grand piano. His eyes are closed, completely focused on the music as his fingers dance across the keys. I put my bag on the floor as quietly as possible and standin the doorway, watching him. Yes, it’s rude of me, but I can’t just walk away or interrupt him. All I can do is listen and watch.
He has such beautiful hands. And a beautiful smile. With dimples. Oh my God, he has dimples. Why did I never notice that before? I guess I’ve never seen him smiling like this. His hair is falling into his face. It’s longer than it was in the photos that he uploaded to Insta, the last of which is already a few months old. I like this length on him, but I don’t know why.
I’m not sure if I made a noise or something, but somehow he senses I’m here and stops playing. He turns around to look at me. I catch my breath as his smile gets wider.
“Birdy,” he says, and the way he says my nickname makes my stupid heart skip a beat.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”
“I heard you playing.” I feel for my rings again, only to once more find they’re not there. I’m not even wearing my bracelets.
“You heard me playing?” He slides over to make space for me on the piano bench.
“Yeah. I thought I’d come and say hello.” I swallow and move toward him. As I sit down next to him, there are butterflies in my stomach, and I don’t know why. I didn’t have them when I lay next to him on his bed, at least not like this. I think. But I was also worn out from all the crying, and it was darker, and I couldn’t see his face as well as I can now.
I’m afraid I might just be confused.
“Hi,” he says and laughs softly. The sound of his voice makes my skin tingle. I can’t help it. Also, he’s looking at me so intensely.
I put my right hand on the keys and begin to play a simple melody, one of the first that Dad taught me when I was a kid.
“Why am I surprised that you can play?” Easton asks, sounding amazed.
“I don’t know.”
His arm brushes my shoulder as he raises his right hand and places it next to mine. He plays the same melody as me, just two octaves lower.
“Do you play any other instruments I don’t know about?”
“A little guitar. That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
I don’t have to look to know he’s rolling his eyes, and I smile a little.
“As if that ever stopped you.”
“I’m not good enough to mention it,” I reply, my fingers gliding over the keys a little faster now. I haven’t played in a long time, and only now that I’m doing it again do I realize how much I’ve missed it.
“Somehow I don’t believe you.”
“Then don’t.” I glance at him for a second, and he really does roll his eyes. But he’s grinning. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask quickly, before we can talk about me more. Also, I realize I haven’t actually asked him yet.
“Right now, or in general?”
“Both.” Why does that sound like a question?
