My fingers hover over the keys. I haven’t played anything in a while. And I’ve also never had access to a piano has grand as this. I press down gently and a note fills the room, warm and alive.
A smile tugs at my mouth. I play another note, and another until a melody forms beneath my fingers. It’s achingly familiar, emotions within me I can’t name. They flow out of me unbiddenand soon my lips start to move, a song that I didn’t realize I’d been holding back.
The lyrics are filled with longing and hurt. Loss and need.
I think of my little girl and I think of my mother. I think of Rafaelle and I let my eyes fall close. The melody drifts through the room. Filled with yearning and honesty. It makes my throat feel tight, despite the words being pushed through it.
Somewhere in the middle, I hear the door open. I don’t stop singing. I don’t look up. I already know who it is. His presence washes over me like a balm.
Eventually my eyes open. Rafaelle stands at the doorway and the sight of him almost steals the lyrics from my throat. He’s every bit the same man he was that night when I first met him. But he is also different and real and alive in ways I didn’t know I needed.
He’s dressed simply in dark slacks and a black shirt. The sleeves rolled to his forearms. His tattoos disappear beneath the fabric before emerging again at his wrists.
He doesn’t say a word and he doesn’t move. His eyes remain on me until the song ends. There’s something in his expression that I’ve never seen before. Something unguarded that has my pulse stumbling.
The last note leaves my lips and the piano falls silent. The room seems to hold its breath. Like a dam about to break, washing away everything in his path.
This particular dam washes away my hesitations.
Rafaelle takes a single step forward. And another. My pulse quickens.
He stops beside the piano. Close enough that I can smell his cologne.
Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
“You should have told me about this place,” I speak first.
“I knew you’d find it on your own,” he says easily. “That song-”
My breath hitches, waiting for him to continue.
“What’s it about?”
I pause, something unfolding in my chest at the open look in his eyes. It feels intimate enough that I have to look away, my fingers brushing the piano keys in front of me.
“Music isn’t linear, Rafaelle. My intentions behind the song don’t matter as much as what it feels like for you,” I tell him, meeting his eyes again. “What did it make you feel?”
His throat bobs as he swallows gently. For a moment, I think he’s not going to reply.
“Loss. Grief,” he says quietly.
And I know without a doubt that he’s giving me an opening. One I might never get again.
“What’s your story, Rafaelle? What made you this way?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
He shrugs, “I was born this way.”
“Nobody’s born a monster, Rafaelle. What changed you?”
“What else makes people change, little siren?” he questions sardonically. “The love of a woman.”
“You were in love?” I ask surprised.
“Not romantically,” he replies, moving to take a seat beside me.
He’s too close and yet so far away. I don’t know if I want to lean into him or stay as still as possible so he doesn’t change hismind. I can tell he wants to open up and I need this. From the moment I met him, he’s felt like a puzzle that needs to be solve.
And more than anything I want to solve that puzzle.
