Page 96 of Love Felt Like This

She gives me a pursed-lip smile. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“I’m always a jerk. I like this, though,” I say, flicking the orange floral bandanna folded back into a triangle over her blond hair. I can’t help myself. I feel like a kid, tugging the girls’ pigtails just to get their attention. I’m in my thirties, and I can’t stop finding ways to touch her.

Beverly shakes her head. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m being serious, B. It’s very you.”

I draw my eyes over her, taking in her wispy bangs, vintage Birds on the Block T-shirt, long flowing skirt, and pleather boots. I like her whole look. It’s as if her creative, classic-TV-show-loving brain influences every part of her, all the way down to her fashion.

The longer Beverly concentrates on her laptop, the more her eyebrows tilt in. She’s been dancing with that expression all day. She’s stressed about something. I wish I knew what it was. I wonder if I caused it by bringing up the Grammys.

Ever since I asked her, it’s all I think about. Her laughing with my bandmates. The dress she might wear. Would it fit her unique style too? I want to see it.

Piano keys suddenly plunk down in shrill notes. Beverly startles, pressing a hand to her chest. I turn and see Ava’s tiny hand smashing down the keys again as she says, “Piano!”

“Piano. That’s right. Very good.”

“Cake?” Ava asks next.

I snort. “No more pancakes today, munchkin.”

“She’s gonna turn into a pancake,” Beverly says, smiling.

Ava presses another piano key, probably more out of frustration that she can’t get what she wants.

“Hey, let’s be careful what we touch,” I say. “That’s not ours.”

“It’s okay,” Beverly says. “She can play around. That’s what this house is for. There’s probably still a dent beside the TV where I threw a ball too hard one time.” Beverly stands, gesturing for Ava to follow. Ava walks over with pounding feet and shaky legs—both a toddler’s unsteady walk and a small temper tantrum. Beverly points at a tiny crack in the plastered wall. “See?”

I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. She’s so natural with Ava. I could watch them play all day long.

When Beverly’s eyes snap up to mine, she sees me staring and averts her gaze, as if she didn’t expect me to be looking in the first place. I could be embarrassed, but why should I feel shame for admiring her? When was the last time someone that wasn’t Beau paid attention to her?

Though I am looking more often than I should.

I turn back to the piano. I haven’t played it since our first day in the apartment. It felt too tempting. Too easy. There’s no reason for me to practice when piano won’t be used on the studio album or Birds on the Block. But sometimes I find myself drumming fingers against the wood, like I do now. Not playing but feeling like I’m getting away with something anyway. Just like I do with Beverly.

When I turn around, Beverly is watching my fingers tap.

“You got some songs to show me?” Beverly asks.

“Oh. Yeah.” She’s right; better to move on. “I came up with something for episode four…”

I stand to walk toward the guitar case in the corner, but Beverly walks straight to the piano. A key is plunked, drawing my attention back.

“No, I wanna hear this,” she says. “You at the piano.”

“I’m the guitar guy, B.”

“Be the piano guy for a second,” she says. “I want to experience the magic.” I cross my arms over my chest as she raises her eyebrows and drops them cheekily. “Please?”

She’s cute.

Ava, now sitting on the floor with a car clutched to her chest, blinks up at me. She points. “Piano.”

I pull in a breath and grunt out, “All right, then, you two.”

Beverly pulls that bottom lip in between her teeth in excitement, stepping to the side so I can take a seat on the piano bench.