“I think I’d better take you home,” Walker said.
Disappointment swept through Keira, but it washed away when Walker reached down and took her hand. His warm fingers curled around her cold ones.
“I have to work tomorrow, but I want to see you again. Soon. Preferably in a seagull-free environment.” A wicked smile crept across his mouth.
The wind had tugged Keira’s hair free of her collar, and it danced around her face. She let it slide across her neck and stream past her cheeks. It made her feel stronger—more free.
Like she could say yes.
“I’d like that,” she said, her words half-lost in the wind.
Walker’s eyes narrowed, the gray in them darkening like a wet stone. “You do know that I’m asking you on a date, right?”
“I know. What part of ‘yes’ are you not getting?” she shot back at him.
He shook his head, but the smile on his face was genuine. “You confuse the hell out of me, Keira Brannon. I like that.”
“You’re not exactly a typical guy.”
“You have no idea how atypical I am,” he said, looking down at her.
The rocks under Keira’s hands suddenly felt colder, but the heat in his gaze made the biting chill feel almost pleasant against her fingers.
“Well,” she said with more confidence than she felt, “I look forward to finding out. Now quit distracting me or I’m gonna fall and break my wrist and then I’ll be screwed.”
“And you can’t play the piano with a broken wrist,” Walker said.
“Yep,” Keira agreed. “Now shut up!”
Walker laughed and then obediently closed his mouth. The only sounds she heard as they picked their way down the rocks were the rush of the ocean and the call of the seabirds overhead.
Chapter Fourteen
THAT NIGHT, KEIRA SAT in her silent house and stared at her cell phone. Her parents had “gone out to dinner,” though if she had to guess, they’d hit a drive-thru and were continuing their screaming match in the car. There was no way she could have Susan over tomorrow, not with her parents locked in their own private war.
Keira called Susan to cancel their plans, but she got dumped into voice mail.
Keira was ready to cut off the call without leaving a message, but she couldn’t do it. She put the phone back up to her ear.
“Hey, Suz—it’s me. Listen, about tomorrow—something’s happened. My parents are fighting again. It’s pretty bad. Can we reschedule for sometime when they won’t be home? I know you’re working Monday—maybe Tuesday afternoon? Anyway. I’m sorry.” She hesitated, wondering if she should say something else, but the words caught in her throat. She ended the call before she started to cry.
Keira wandered over to the piano and sat down. Keira hated bailing on plans—plans she’d been looking forward to—on account of her parents’ drama.
Speaking of unresolved . . .
Her miserable practice session that morning loomed over her like a storm cloud. On the floor around the piano, her music lay scattered like the last, stubborn patches of snow in the spring. She didn’t want to pick them up. She didn’t want to play any of them.
But she did want to play.
Keira put her hands on the keys. She thought about Walker, and the dark, salt-rimed rocks on the coast. The memory tugged at her fingers, and a simple, eerie melody sprang from the keys. Surprised, Keira played it again, stretching her pinkie up to reach a high note that echoed the sound of the seabirds. The resulting harmony made her catch her breath.
She snatched a piece of scrap paper off the coffee table and scribbled down the notes. With the pencil tucked behind her ear, she positioned herself at the keyboard and waited. She didn’t know how to turn those haunting sixteen bars into a song. She’d never composed her own music before. It hadn’t held any appeal, not when there were already thousands of gorgeous pieces waiting to be played.
But she wanted to remember the way she’d felt this afternoon, for that split second before her strange vision had ruined the mood. If she could catch that moment in a song, then she could have that feeling back anytime she wanted.
She played through the short little snippet again and again, thinking of the way the ocean had sounded. How the wind had felt when it caught at her hair, and the heat of Walker’s hands as he’d swept the salt water off her face.