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It’s Monday morning and Zane starts work today. He hasn’t made an appearance yet. I’m sure my practicing woke him up when I started at five am, earlier than usual. I couldn’t sleep.
When he finally walks out, owning his swagger, dressed in ACUs (Army Camouflage Uniform) and looking so handsome, I miss my fingering and an awful jarring sound emanates from the piano. Artie whines from his bed.
“Sorry I disturbed you,” he says, rubbing his ears. “Ouch.”
I smooth my palms over my thighs. “Hard to cover up a mistake on the piano. It happens, though. All the time.”
“It makes getting it right all the more impressive.”
Small talk. Ignore the elephant in the room. Pretend like nothing happened between us. It’s what we’ve been doing since Chinatown on Saturday. Keeping up a light banter.
Technically, nothing did happen between us.
I wish I could convince my mind of it.
I keep things light. “First day on a new job. Shall I make you a sack lunch? I’ll even writehave a great dayon your napkin.”
“Do it and I’ll frame it in my office.”
“Nah, the element of surprise is gone. Maybe next time.”
He leans down to tighten the laces on his boots. “Fine. Ruin my day at only six-thirty in the morning.”
“Hey, you lied to me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You do know what socks are.”
He laughs aloud as he stands. “Guilty. Join me for breakfast?”
I want to, therefore I shouldn’t. “No, thanks. I think I’ll keep practicing.”
He mock stabs his heart. “You’re far too dedicated, Mila. Especially at this hour.”
“This hour is the best time of the day,” I holler as he retreats to the kitchen.
“For sleeping,” he hollers back.
I smile as I return to my piano. My safe place. I’ll hide here whenever he’s home. Ignore the spark between us.
Zane returns with his bowl of cereal and parks himself on the couch, watching me intently. I keep playing as though I’m in front of an audience. Total concentration. I let nothing distract me. It’s the place I have to enter when I perform. Or I’d blank every time.
When I’m done, I realize Zane is now standing next to the piano, his finished cereal bowl on the coffee table. His aftershave pricks my senses.
“I could sit and listen to you play all day,” he says.
That was the best I’ve ever played that Mozart number. I wanted it to be perfect for Zane. Crowds often applaud me. But hearing Zane’s compliment makes my heart soar.
“And you did. Several times last week.”
“My private performances. Lucky me.”
I tear my eyes away from his and start to play again, hiding in my piano. “Enjoy your day,” I return lightly.
“You too. See you for a Jeopardy rematch tonight. I will prevail.”
Not if I come home late after symphony practice. Which I have every intention of doing.
