Page 31 of Part of Your World

She really should be paying attention to what he was showing her, but all she could think about was how close he stood, and how wonderful it would be to lean ever so slightly to the left and brush her cheek against his.

Once her thumb found its place, Zane dutifully stepped back, allowing Muriel the space she really didn't want but probably needed. Her eyes followed him, though, as did her chin and entire face, twisting away from the instrument to maintain whatever connection she might finagle from his gaze.

His eyes crinkled in a smile, and her belly flipped like one of Alana's pancakes, dangling in midair for a heartbeat before finding its way to the platter.

"Give it a try."

Muriel smiled, set her mouth upon the whistle, and gave a mighty blow. A dreadful screech blasted from the recorder, startling a group of sleepy seagulls from the roof of a nearby warehouse.

Zane lurched backward, and his face contorted as he jiggled a finger against his ear. His good-humored laughter came next, though, and soothed her embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have warned you. You don't need to blow hard. Just use a steady stream of air, like when you sing. Try covering the top two holes and thumb hole. That's an A. You can use the thumb on your right hand to balance the recorder while your other fingers hover loosely above the holes."

Determined not to imitate a tortured seabird this time, Muriel concentrated as she rested the mouthpiece against her lower lip and blew into the whistle. A note emerged! A little shaky and not terribly beautiful, but it was a note.

She released the mouthpiece and grinned up at Zane, exulting in the pleasure etching his face.

"Great job!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second flute then demonstrated some basic fingerings.

They practiced for a few minutes, and Muriel managed to pick up the first few bars of "Three Blind Mice." It helped that adding one finger at a time moved the notes down the scale. Of course, when they got to the trickier bit about the farmer's wife, Zane took off, adding intricate flourishes, until returning to the simplistic melody where she could join.

It was ridiculous how much she loved it. Making music with Zane. Even silly nursery songs about doomed rodents. She could have stood on that bridge serenading the gulls all night. They must have played that tune at least ten times before Vanessa called a halt to their concert.

"We really ought to be heading back, Miss Quinn."

Muriel enjoyed a fleeting pied piper fantasy, where a blow on her flute would mesmerize the gulls and send them squawking down upon Vanessa's head in protest. Imagining the young woman shrieking and dashing about as she tried to swat birds out of her hair made it a little easier to accept her unwelcome interruption, though disappointment still tugged hard on Muriel's heart as she handed the recorder back to Zane.

"Why don't you hold onto it for a while?"

Muriel shook her head, thinking she must have misheard. This was a family heirloom. She couldn't keep it. What if something happened to it? She thrust it toward him. He pressed it right back toward her, his gaze warm and kind and so heart-stoppingly tender that her will to fight evaporated.

"It's all right. That one's mine. I'll hold on to Grandpa Clem's." He held up the one he'd been playing. "I figured you might enjoy a different way to make music. Until you're able to sing again." He shrugged and his expression turned a bit sheepish. "But if you really don't want it, I'll take it home with me."

She hugged the recorder to her chest and twisted sideways to protect her prize. There was no way she would let him think she didn't want it. Not when the gift had been so thoughtfully given. She'd play it every day and think of him with every note.

His eyes brightened, and she couldn't help but smile in response. Until she considered his motive. He thought to restore music to her since he believed her voice lost. Such a beautiful gesture. And completely unnecessary. Her voice wasn't lost, merely trapped inside a box of her own making.

With the sun dipping low on the horizon, Zane escorted her back to the Ursuline Academy via the most direct route. He offered a few comments here and there, but one-sided conversations were hard to maintain when your partner was distracted, and Muriel could think of little more than the letter in her pocket, and the fear that once he read it, their time together would end.

When they reached the academy door, Zane turned to face her. "I enjoyed our time together this evening, Miss Quinn. Would you permit me to call on you again?"

Muriel nodded eagerly, praying he'd not change his mind.

His smile brightened the shadowy street and gave her the courage to reach into her skirt pocket.

"My mother would be honored to host you for dinner tomorrow evening. I could come get you around six?"

Dinner in his home? Muriel's stomach tightened. Mrs. Underhill would expect her to search for the journal. Maybe even pick a lock.

Muriel hid her worries behind a smile and another nod. Then before she could lose her nerve, she pulled the letter from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. His brows raised, but he took the note and slid it into his coat pocket. She dipped her chin to bid him good night then followed Vanessa inside the academy.

Zane whistled his way home, the tune of "Three Blind Mice" earning him more than one raised eyebrow from passersby. Not that he cared in the slightest. It was his new favorite song. When he reached his house, he skipped up the front porch steps.

"Went that well, did it?"

The creak of a rocking chair and a whiff of tobacco smoke drew Zane's attention to where Grandpa Clem sat in the shadows, enjoying his evening pipe.

"It was perfect." Zane sauntered over to his grandfather and leaned against the whitewashed railing. "Thanks for loaning me your recorder." He pulled the flute from his coat pocket and held it out. "She loved the music, by the way."