The concierge must’ve called upstairs because Finn was standing in his doorway when the elevator opened. She was relieved to find him in jeans and a t-shirt with the image of a computer and the words, I hear voices in my head, but they speak Java. Studying him closely, she noted his face was thinner, but a healthy glow had returned to his skin. He might’ve lost a pound or two, yet she could still see his muscles flexing beneath the thin material covering his chest. A wide black band covered the PICC line on his arm. It wasn’t until she felt her stomach relax that she realized how worried she’d been. The image of him lying in bed, unresponsive, was forever etched in her mind.
“You look nice.” His compliment was hard to believe, since his face turned a deep shade of crimson. Either he was lying or embarrassed from the effort of being polite.
“Thanks. I just threw something on.”
“Come on in.” He swept his hand ahead of him. “What are we having for dinner?”
“Chicken enchiladas. I make them pretty spicy…”
She forgot what she was saying when her eyes fell on the grand piano—mahogany wood gleaming, centerpiece of the large living area. Standing like a statue, she barely noticed when the grocery bags lifted from her arms.
“I’ll put this stuff in the kitchen. Go ahead and check it out.”
She crept close and slid onto the bench, her fingers reverently brushing the tops of the keys. She played a few notes, relishing the rich sound as it reverberated in the room. Unable to resist, she let her fingers reproduce the only song she could play by memory, Fur Elise, pleased when she only stumbled a few times.
The clapping behind her almost startled her off the seat.
“Well done.”
She turned with a hot face to glare at his mocking, but his expression was sweet and sincere.
“I know it’s childish and easy compared to what you can play.”
“Not at all. You play with emotion, and you have a nice touch. You definitely have musical talent.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that?” Her chest swelled, though she suspected his evaluation was generous.
“It’s not the difficulty of the music that makes it beautiful. It’s how it’s played.”
“Well, thank you. The piano is amazing. Do you play often?”
He nodded. “It’s my reward for doing my nightly CF treatment.”
“Will you play for me? I’m dying to hear you.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. “What if I serenade you while you’re cooking dinner?”
“I’m guessing you’re hungry.” She followed him into the kitchen where he’d unpacked all her groceries in a neat and orderly fashion. “You go play, and I’ll get these ready and into the oven. It’s my mom’s recipe—hope you like it.”
“Shall I show you where everything is?”
“Nope, I think I can find what I need. It’ll give me an excuse to poke around in all your drawers and cabinets.”
His eyes sparkled as he laughed. “I cook all the time. I’ll know if anything is missing.”
“I’d steal this whole kitchen if I could hide it in my purse. Not that it would fit in my current apartment.”
His eyes narrowed. “Speaking of your apartment… I’ve done a little research, and I think I’ve found a safer place. It’s not too expensive.”
“Mind your own business, Finn. I’ve got school loans up to my eyeballs, and my place is dirt-cheap.” She searched until she found a cutting board and knife and started slicing the chicken breasts.
“There’s a reason it’s dirt-cheap,” he said, sullenly.
Hoping to divert his attention, she paused and cocked her head. “You have an awful lot of energy for a guy who almost died last week.”
“I didn’t almost die,” he protested.
“Could’ve fooled me.” She returned her attention to the chicken. “But the whole reason I’m here is because you told me you’d be all weak and feeble.”
“I never said feeble.”
“Pretty sure you did.” She bit her lips to keep from laughing.
“I didn’t say feeble. I would never use that word. It sounds like a little old lady.”
She dared a glance and spotted his pouting lip.
“Why don’t you go rest that feeble body on the piano bench and play for me?”
“Okay, you win,” he said, with a deep chuckle. “What do you want to hear?”
“Anything. Everything. For sure play some Chopin and Bach. They’re my favorites.”
“Chopin and Bach? Such opposites.”
A glance over her shoulder showed his forehead knotted in a thoughtful frown.
“I like Chopin because it’s got so much feeling in it. And I like Bach because it fits together like a puzzle.”
