Cole groaned. “Already?”
“You said you had things to do.”
“I say a lot of things.”
Luis leaned in, murmuring something too quiet for me to hear. Cole rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Fine.” He stood. “We’ll behave.” I rose with them, and Cole pulled me into another brief hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
Cole hesitated for a fraction of a second. “And you’ll find someone,” he said in a firm decisive voice.
I smiled. “I’m not looking for someone.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that’s usually when it happens.”
I didn’t answer. I sat down to finish my coffee, and watched them walk away together, their shoulders brushing, their pace unconsciously matched.
You’ll find someone.
I didn’t believe him, but I wasn’t entirely sure I was right.
Kieran
I opened my eyes groggily, then reached for my phone on the bedside table. I peered at the screen.
Whoa. I’d slept for six hours.
I sat up and dragged my fingers through my hair. I caught voices from the living room, so I got up and trudged in that direction.
Karl was sitting on the couch next to a handsome man maybe my age. Karl glanced up as I drew closer.
“Kieran, this is Friedrich, a friend.”
We shook hands.
Karl pointed to a bottle of white wine. “Would you like a glass?”
“Why not?”
“You’re a pianist too, Karl tells me.” Friedrich pointed to the grand piano by the window. “Would you play something for us?”
Karl caught his breath. “Please, Kieran. It’s been so long since I heard you play.”
As if I could refuse my amazing host.
I walked over to the piano and sat on the bench. It was a beautiful, polished instrument, well cared for and probably used often, if I knew Karl. I rested my fingers on the keys.
What should I choose? Something technical? Impressive? Something that says ‘look what I can do’?
None of those things fitted the mood in Karl’s apartment. Then I realised there was only one piece that felt right. A piece I didn’t have to think about—just feel.
I began to playClair de Lune.
The opening notes spilled softly into the room, almost tentative at first, then settled into something steadier, more certain. I let myself sink into it, shutting out everything else—the accusation, the meeting, Diana, the journey…
Only the music existed. It flowed without urgency, without demand, the space between the notes as important as the notes themselves. My mind stilled. I didn’t rush the melody, or try to shape it into anything more than it was. And when the final notes faded, I let my hands rest on the keys for a moment longer before lifting them.
Silence.