By the time she parted from Laura outside the tearoom an hour and a half later, Ashley had reached a firm conclusion.
Jonathan Gray was a man she’d like to know better.
And that verdict had nothing to do with the sparks that had skittered along her nerve endings the day he’d leaned close to show her his revised ideas for the gazebo garden.
Oh, come on, Ashley. Who are you trying to kid?
Huffing out a breath, she pulled the keys from her purse and stalked over to her Civic.
Fine.
Jon did have a certain magnetism, despite his scars and camouflage, even if she wasn’t in the market for romance.
But beyond that, he also seemed as if he could use a friend, as Laura had confirmed. Why couldn’t she offer him that at least?
He’d have to be receptive to such an overture, though, and he’d given no indication he was.
So what could she do to get past the barriers he’d—
Wait.
She stopped beside her car. Frowned.
When had her mission in Hope Harbor morphed from creating a historic special events venue and museum to include helping Rose—and perhaps Jon? Didn’t she already have an overflowing plate?
Yes.
Meaning she ought to forget about the two isolated people who seemed in desperate need of the warmth and joy that only human contact provided.
Yet as she slid behind the wheel and pointed the car back toward Edgecliff, her mind was already scrambling to come up with new strategies to persuade Rose to play at the open house and to convince a wounded warrior to accept the hand of friendship she planned to offer.
Someone was playing the piano.
Jon slowed his pace in the circle drive in front of Edgecliff as the muffled notes wafted through the darkness. The piece was classical and vaguely familiar, filled with a deep emotion that clutched at his heart.
It could be a recording, but based on the light filtering around the curtains in the room to the left of the front door where he’d once spotted a piano through the window, it was more likely a live performance.
If so, it had to be Ashley. After all, in the many hours he’d spent on this estate over the past two years, never once had music seeped through the walls of the stately, silent house.
And wow. She was good. Better than good. He might not be a musician, but he could recognize exceptional.
The melody followed him to the gazebo, growing fainter as his distance from the house increased. But once he had his forgotten phone in hand, he returned to the mansion.
Music continued to fill the night. A different selection, but also stirring and evocative.
Could he sit on the steps of the porch and listen for a while? No one would miss him at home. Laura had gone to bed at nine in anticipation of her dawn rising tomorrow to catch her flight, so what was left of the evening was his. As long as he didn’t have a Saturday night date, why not end his day with a private concert?
He approached the porch quietly, but as he lowered himself to one of the treads, a slight movement drew his attention.
Someone was sitting in the solitary rocking chair on the front porch, in the shadows, head tipped back.
In the gentle glow of light from around the curtains, it took him but a moment to identify the profile.
It was Ashley.
So who was the pianist?
He hovered halfway down, suspended.
Stay or go?
If he stayed, he’d have to alert Ashley he was here. Watching her clandestinely would be impolite. Or worse.
But sitting here alone in the dark with her, listening to music that stirred the soul, might not be wise. Not if he wanted to keep his distance. Maintain the vendor/client relationship. Follow the smart course.
Did he?
What a ridiculous question.
Of course he did.
Which meant he had to leave.
As he straightened up, the rocking chair creaked and she leaned forward, posture taut, an almost palpable tension emanating from her. “Jon?”
The question was tentative, as if she wasn’t certain of his identity.
Understandable, since he’d left his cap, glasses, and scarf at home. Why bother with them when darkness provided excellent cover? Especially since he hadn’t planned to run into anyone.
“Yes. Sorry I startled you. I left my phone here earlier, while I was watering a few of the more fragile annuals we planted. I came to get it, heard the music, and walked closer to listen.”
She relaxed back against the chair, her features obscured by the dimness. “You seem to be making a habit of scaring me.” Amusement feathered the edges of her words, lightening the atmosphere.
“Trust me, it’s not intentional.” He motioned toward the house. “Who’s playing?”
“Rose.”
Given that the property was occupied only by the two women, that made sense. But still . . .
“I have to admit I’m surprised.”
“You and me both. I heard her a few days ago, and for a brief second I thought maybe the place was really haunted.” She set the chair rocking, a hint of laughter in her tone. “I’m trying to convince her to play at the open house, but I’m getting nowhere.”
He shoved his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “From what I know about her, your campaign may be an exercise in frustration.”
“I’m finding that out.”
“So what are you doing out here at this hour of the—”
“Oh.” Ashley stopped rocking, breathing the single syllable as the music shifted yet again. “Puccini. ‘O Soave Fanciulla’ from La Bohème.”
“You know your opera.”
“Thanks to Dad. We used to listen to recordings on our road trips. He loved classical music.” A wistful note crept into her voice. “Why don’t you sit? This is too beautiful to miss.”
After a brief hesitation, he lowered himself to the step.
Ashley fell silent as Rose played, and he sat back against the column that supported the roof, tuning in to the melody within the house. Even the muffling effect of the walls couldn’t diminish the power of the soaring notes.