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He’d noticed, then. The way that she grabbed every bit of overtime that came her way, even though it meant that she had less time to spend with Isaac. ‘Yes, they do.’
‘You’ve worked hard. No one’s going to take that from you. Just explain everything to my father and let him sort it out. And in the meantime you can stay here. Isaac seems...well, he doesn’t seem to mind the arrangement.’
‘You’ve made us both very welcome. Being here has be
en so good for Isaac.’ It was Edward who had been good for Isaac, not the house. Providing a broad pair of shoulders that her son felt he could rely on. For that matter, he’d been good for Charlotte, as well.
‘You can stay as long as you like.’
‘Thank you. But we won’t outstay our welcome.’
Like always, his smile was reticent, hard won, but all the better for it.
‘Then I think we’ll be okay. I can outlast you.’
No doubt he could. At the moment Charlotte reckoned that she had about ten minutes before she made a fool of herself and threw herself into his arms if she didn’t find something to distract him.
‘Will you play something else?’
* * *
Edward couldn’t get the image out of his head. Charlotte in a dark figure-hugging dress. Something sparkly at her wrist and around her neck and a glass of champagne in her hand. Leaning against the piano, the gold flecks in her eyes reflecting the light better than any jewel could.
He played for a while on autopilot, while he added the fine detail to his vision. Then the real Charlotte broke in, her body warm and moving to the rhythm next to his.
‘You’ll have plenty of offers if you ever decide to give up the day job.’
Her smile made him stop thinking and start feeling as he ran his hands across the keyboard in a short, improvised cascade of notes.
‘I used to play in a bar. When I was at medical school.’
‘Yeah?’
‘It paid better than stacking shelves. And I got to keep the tips as well.’
‘Tips are always good.’
‘Yeah. Made a big difference.’
‘I bet you spent them on books.’
‘Um... Yeah. Okay, you’re making me feel predictable again.’
With Charlotte he could begin to fathom what people saw in small talk. It was easy. Delightful. Maybe they were getting a little too close to flirting, but that would be okay as long as he kept playing. Somehow the music made pretty much anything permissible.
She laughed. ‘I think you’re one of the most unpredictable people I’ve ever met.’
‘Dancing to the beat of a different drum, you mean?’ People had said that to him, and about him, all his life. That he was gifted. Different. That he didn’t need the company of his peers as much as he needed to fulfil his potential.
‘Is it a different drum? I rather thought that it was the same drum, but you just hear it a little more clearly.’
Edward let the thought percolate. ‘That might be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.’
The unexpected idea that words might not be enough to express his feelings on the matter occurred to him. He wanted to hold her again.
She smiled and his theory morphed into a tried and tested fact. Charlotte’s smile held so much more meaning than words, and he allowed himself to bathe in it, feeling its warmth lap against his skin.
He didn’t know how long he played for, and didn’t much care. However long she sat here next to him, her body melting into the rhythm of the music, it wouldn’t be enough.
