Oh God. He was feeling it already.
“If whisky was a song,” he continued, “I think it would start with a punch and then simmer into something slow and easy.” His fingers danced in the air as if he were playing the song, and it was then that I noticed what was glaringly missing in the room.
“Where’s your piano?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Why not? Isn’t that kinda important for you to have?”
“Something about noise complaints.”
Perks of living in an apartment right there. “Gotcha. So you practice at your parents’ house?”
“Nah, they got rid of theirs years ago.”
“Huh.”
Reid stopped “playing” and tilted his head back to look at me. “What?”
“Well, where do you play?”
“I… I don’t know. I guess I haven’t.”
Since the accident or even before, I didn’t know, but what kind of shit was this? He’d stopped following his dream for a stable life and now he didn’t even have an instrument to play in his downtime? It seemed strange that he wouldn’t have access to what was obviously his passion, unless he stole a few moments at the school.
“I bet you could always go to that music store on Broad. The woman there seemed so excited to have you there, she’d probably pay you to play.”
“Hey,” he said, sitting up. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“You should do it.”
“I guess that means I’ll have to suck it up and ask for her name, though.”
“I’m telling you, use the brain injury excuse. You’ve got the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card right there.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He sank back down as I traced the swirling pattern of the chair arm. “Would you come see me if I played?”
“If you paid me.”
He shot back up. “Seriously?”
“No,” I said, laughing at his shocked expression.
“Oh. Good.” He moved onto his stomach, stretching out on the couch like a cat, and rested his chin on his arms. “I’d like it if you came.”
I’d like it if you came, too—not that we’re thinking about anything even remotely the same.“What would you play?”
“Hmm. MaybeAir on the G Stringby Bach…something from Chopin’s nocturnes, maybe nine. Then I’d throw in a little Beethoven, maybeMoonlight Sonata, so you wouldn’t get bored.”
I let out an inelegant snort. “I’d never get bored.”
“You might.”
“I wouldn’t. Trust me.”
Reid’s brow furrowed. “I do trust you. Which should be weird, right? But it’s like…I’m safe with you.”
There was no way he couldn’t hear the rapid staccato my heart made then, and I could only try to calm that shit down by taking in a breath before saying, “You are.”