He gets out. I don’t wait for him and open my door on my own. He still comes around and offers me his hand as I step out.
With my hand wrapped in his big one, he leads me to the front door and enters the code on the lockbox. The door opens, and automatic lights illuminate the space. My heart is beating at the speed of someone running for their life.
The warm ambient light, the silence, the door closing behind us and leaving us alone—everything ignites the nerves on my skin. I’m suddenly sensitive even to the air touching me. His scent of spicy citrus has grown stronger, or maybe I’m just breathing him in too deeply. I can feel the sweat on my palm, still held in his.
You’re here to play piano, Wen, for God’s sake.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” He slowly lets go of my hand. It twitches, wanting to reach back for him.
The question throws me into a rush of memories, the time Salvario took me to his apartment, the first time we kissed, the first time we had sex.
“Water,” I answer. I need it to moisten my dry throat.
He walks toward the kitchen; I follow him there. He fills a glass with water and hands it to me. I drain it and place the glass on the counter along with my coat and bag.
“Where’s the piano?” I ask, looking around. Thankfully, my voice doesn’t reveal how rattled I am.
“In there,” he points to a closed door.
I walk toward it and open it. A dim, warm light fills the room as soon as I enter. It’s a small library with a black piano set to one side, its bench facing the door. All the furniture in the room is light brown except the piano. It’s a cozy, beautiful space.
I walk to the piano and settle on the bench. I look up at Hunter, who’s standing at the door, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. His jacket is gone; the black T-shirt highlights his defined shoulder muscles and biceps.
“Why don’t you come and play with me?” I get the words out through a throat that’s already dry again. I think my body is using all the water inside it to make me sweat.
He comes closer slowly. “I can only play after getting drunk.”
“Then let’s get drunk,” I quip. But the idea isn’t bad. I would very much like to get drunk.
A small smile softens the hard lines of his expression. He stops at the side of the piano, still at a distance from me. I slide aside, making space for him.
“That would be a bad idea.” His voice comes out huskier, or maybe I’m just hearing it that way, with my pulse pounding in my ears.
I don’t know if he means sitting near me is a bad idea or drinking would be a bad idea, because apparently, they both are.
He slowly comes closer and sits beside me. As his right side meets my left, the memory of the rose garden crashes into the present, stealing a few beats from my heart and several breaths from my lungs, leaving me breathless in seconds.
The breathlessness could also be because of the thick air, it’s as if he’s sucked all the oxygen out of the room, leaving only a thin share for me, and even that is saturated with a spicy citrus scent.
My fingers tremble as I press a few random keys. I want to tell him I’m going to start playing the song we played back in Greenland, but my tongue has become too thick to move. Small currents skitter through me, sparked by him sitting this close.
I start playing the music. Once the music begins flowing smoothly, I turn my head to look at him. He’s already watching me.
“Play with me,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage, and I’m thankful for even that.
He places his fingers on the keys, and I yield the primo position to him. He plays a few notes awkwardly at first, but soon finds his rhythm.
We play exactly the same. It’s like we’ve teleported back to that moment two years ago.
As we reach the final chorus, I sing along with the music. It’s hard to sing tonight; my throat is tight and tears burn my eyes, but I still do.
“I don’t need the sky to bend for me,
Or fate rewriting destiny.
I just need your arms around my fears,
Your whisper drying all my tears.
