‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’
I removed my hands from the keys and hit the sostenuto pedal to minimise the cacophony. ‘It’s fine. Looking for something to read?’ I asked inanely as he came over to stand beside me. He stayed at arm’s length though.
‘Picking another one for Nan.’ He waved the small, worn paperback in his hand. There was a half-naked woman on the cover who was either being abducted or rescued by a half-naked man. Whichever scenario it was, she looked like she was enjoying it.
‘You’re good at recommending romance novels, are you?’
‘I’ve never read one, but she tells me there’s a big selection to choose from and she finds it too difficult.’
Therewasa big selection of romance novels in here. Most had been my nanna’s and my mum had then read them. Particularly after Nanna passed away. I’d read a few. Obviously trying to find the sexy bits to start with when I was a teenager, then I just loved the happy endings…and the sexy bits.
‘They’re over here.’ I got up and went to the only waist-high bookcase in there, situated by the chaise. All the others were heavy floor-to-ceiling affairs, loaded with crime fiction, thrillers, local history, picture books, and those beautiful vintage classics my mum couldn’t resist. We even had a little stepladder for getting up to the top shelf.
‘Uh, great.’ He crouched down and tilted his head to the side to read the spines. That impulse I had to pluck at his curls was still there, tingling in my fingertips. But it was too intimate. It would smack of ownership or something. Lydia’s optimistic voice was whispering from one shoulder but there was another telling me this was all a terrible rebound mistake I would end up regretting. ‘Wow, these titles are very…descriptive.’
‘It’s nice to get what it says on the tin. You’re not one of those boring people who sneer at romance are you?’
Part of me wanted him to start saying really patronising, derogatory things about romance. To break the accumulation of desirable characteristics I kept discovering about him. It was a lot harder to convince myself that I didn’t want to date Nick when I was in the same room as him and his scent was curling its way into my lungs and fogging up by brain.
‘No. Of course not.’ He looked up at me, eyebrows raised, the picture of innocence. ‘My nan loves these, and happiness isn’t something to be sneered at.’
God damn it, Nicholas, could you not just be a chauvinistic arsehole for one moment?
‘I’ve never really paid a lot of attention to what Nan was reading though.’ He looked at the novel he was still holding critically. ‘I mean, this guy’s got a kilt on. So Scottish and maybe historical? Men don’t wear kilts much these days, do they?’
‘They do at weddings.’
‘I don’t think they’re at a wedding. Unless it’s a really messy reception – her boob’s nearly hanging out.’
I laughed and he smiled at me like he’d won something. If he had, I’d won it too. My heart was getting too big for my chest. I looked away and pretended to focus on the titles again.
‘Here, this one’s a good one.’ I plucked a newer one out with a lovely purpley-pink cover and the hero lifting the heroine up like they were dancing. ‘She’s been ignoring emails saying that she’s betrothed to an African prince, because obviously it’s just a scam but guess what?’
He laughed. ‘That does sound good.’ He took it, turning it over and sliding his glasses down his nose to read the blurb on the back. He laughed again. ‘Kind of like the Eddie Murphy film.’ He slipped the book his nan was finished with into the space on the shelf and stood up, sliding the new novel into his back pocket.
‘First chocolate in your pockets, now romance novels. You’re like a walking vending machine for women with PMS.’
‘Just need to stock up on hot water bottles and paracetamol.’ He gestured to the piano. ‘Were you about to practise?’
‘Yeah, sort of. I was thinking of playing this evening to see if everyone wanted to sing carols but…’ I lifted one shoulder and glanced at the piano. ‘Maybe it’s not such a good idea. Bit cheesy.’
‘Christmas is all about cheese. I think lots of the guests would like that. I know Nan would and my…’ He trailed off as he looked from the piano to the fireplace, to the Christmas tree, his face growing more sober with every decoration or festive centrepiece he found. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands away, like he was trying to hold himself in.
I took a step towards him and touched his arm. The muscle beneath his shirt was rock hard with tension. ‘Are you okay?’
He nodded quickly. ‘Could I listen to you practise? Just for a minute before I go give Nan her book. She’s gone upstairs to her room for a nap before dinner. Wants me to wake her in half an hour.’
There was no way that I would say no. Nick was reaching for something to pull himself out of his agitated state and he’d focused on music. The piano is so versatile, whatever music would help, sad or joyful, I could offer it to him. And I wanted to. This was what I loved about music. The way it could build a bridge between people who couldn’t find the words themselves, or offer an escape, or anchor them in a special moment. There was nothing like it.
I took his hand and led him over to the piano. The seat was a long one, so we could sit side by side. I just had to push it to the right a bit so that I was still central.
‘I’m not sure if it’s been tuned recently,’ I warned him.
‘Better to find out now, than in front of everyone later.’ He pressed his arm against mine, warm and firm and steady.
‘Good point.’ I winced at the thought of everyone plugging their fingers in their ears and storming off to bed with a headache. When I glanced at him, his lips were pressed together so hard they turned white, and it was obvious that my imaginary humiliation was nothing compared to the internal battle he was fighting. ‘So, what do you want me to play?’
He released his lips and a tiny puff of air escaped, a cross between a gasp and a sigh. ‘What anything? You can playanything? Like a jukebox.’
