“Oh, this is Robert Thompson. I was in Kell’s the other day and picked up a number for piano lessons. Is this Mia?”
“Yeah. Hi, so you have a child you’d like to put in piano lessons?”
“Yeah, I think we kind of met. I was in there with my son and you helped me at the counter?”
It was Mr. Suitable and Stable.
“Oh yeah, how’s it going?”
“It…” He paused. “It’s going well, thank you. How about yourself?”
“Great. When would you like to bring…?” I waited.
“Jacob.”
“Yeah, Jacob. When would you like to bring Jacob over?”
“Whenever you’re available.” He was being slightly curt, or maybe he was just a snob.
“How about Saturday, around six?”
“Perfect,” he said.
“I live above Sam’s restaurant just down from Kell’s. Just hit the button for two when you get here and I’ll buzz you in.”
“Okay, we’ll see you Saturday, Mia.”
He didn’t ask me how much the lessons were or how long they lasted. I wondered how safe it was to give piano lessons in New York City. I would have to arrange something where I let Sheil or the ladies at Kell’s know when I was going to start a lesson. That’s what I would do. My phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Hi, sweetheart. I was worried about you.”
“Sorry, Mom, I got busy. Aren’t you coming out this week?”
“I can’t for at least a few more weeks.” There was a long pause. “Okay?”
“Yes, of course,” I said in a low voice.
“I’ve been slammed at work. Everything okay, Mia? You sound distracted. How are you holding up?”
Suddenly my feelings shifted from being worried about what my mom would think of Will, to being disappointed that she wouldn’t be coming sooner, to feeling alone and missing my father.
“I’m fine. I miss him.” My voice cracked.
“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Aw, Mia, I’m so sorry I can’t be there sooner. Just know that he’s with you, sweetheart, coursing through every single one of your veins.” She whispered the last part, sounding pained.
I hovered over the piano and tapped a continuous beat on the middle-C key while I pondered her comment.
“I suppose he is,” I said as one tiny tear traveled down my cheek.
We said our goodbyes. That night with Jackson at my side, I cried myself to sleep thinking about my father. I woke up hours later and reached for the glass of water on my nightstand. I glanced at the clock; it was three thirty a.m. There was no light coming from Will’s room, but I could hear him sleepily strumming his guitar. The healing sound sent me drifting into a much more contented sleep.
The next morning I got ready quickly. As I headed toward the hall, I glanced into Will’s room. He was shirtless and sound asleep on his side, facing the window. His tattooed arm was up over his head, his bicep almost covering his eyes. He looked peaceful and warm and it gave me the sudden urge to strip down and crawl under the covers with him. I shook my head to clear the thought, then motioned for Jackson to go lay down. He walked in and sniffed around and Will reached his arm back, petted the dog’s head, then patted the bed, calling him up. Jackson jumped up and curled into a ball against him. I took a mental photo and then tiptoed down the hallway and out the door.
It was a slow day at Kell’s. At five, I went to the market and got all my favorites: wine, cheese, strawberries, and chocolate. I was going to play some music and indulge, alone. When I walked in, Will stood up abruptly from the couch and reached out to grab my bags.
“Let me help.”
“When do you go to work?” I asked while handing over the groceries.
“I don’t work Fridays, in case we have gigs, and there was nothing tonight.”
“Oh. No barhopping with the boys?”
“I work in a bar, Mia, and I play in bars. It’s kind of nice to be home at night once in a while.” He paused and asked without a trace of sarcasm, “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, of course. So you’ll probably want to have some quiet time and hit the hay then?”
“Actually, I thought maybe we could have that coffee. You know, just as friends.”
“I have wine,” I said.
“Even better.”
I started to cut up the strawberries and cheese and spread our feast out on a platter along with the chocolate, some almonds, and a few crackers.
“Yum, that’s the best.” Will said, eyeballing the plate.
“Yeah, it’s great with wine.”
“Mia, it’s great with anything; it would be great with tequila.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“No, seriously, I’ll show you.” He disappeared to his bedroom then came strolling down the hallway with a big smile and a bottle of Patrón.
I took in Will’s appearance. He was wearing baggy, faded blue cargo shorts low on his hips along with his usual belt and a plain white V-neck T-shirt. He had just a tiny sprinkle of chest hair. Barefoot and unshaven, he looked hot.