I recognized the kid the longer I watched them. It was Danny Caruso, the owner’s son. I didn’t know much about him, but from what I did know, he was a good kid. He treated his mom like gold and was a hard worker around the restaurant. He went to college and still managed to pick up extra shifts when people called out. I didn’t really know him, but he’d always been nice to me.
I couldn’t place my annoyance with the way he was staring at Sarah.
He waved goodbye to her after a few minutes more, and I lit up the second cigarette as I watched him walk away, making sure Sarah was safe. I had no reason not to trust Danny, but Sarah was young, and new to town. I didn’t want him taking advantage of that like most guys his age would.
Like I would have when I was that young.
Sarah bent to pull on her shoes once Danny was gone, rolling up her yoga mat with a smile that stretched from ear to ear when she stood again. It was almost as if she was laughing at an inside joke she had with herself, or maybe it was something Danny had said, something she was replaying.
Whatever the case, that smile slipped when she saw me.
I took a drag from the cigarette hanging between my lips as she made her way toward me, mat under her arm. She stopped when there were a few feet between us, and I glanced over her shoulder, watching Danny pull out of the parking lot.
“Hey,” she said on a breath.
“I thought you were off tonight.”
Her smile slipped even farther, brows tugging together. “I was… they called me in.”
I nodded, taking another drag. “You know Danny?”
Confusion washed over Sarah’s face before she followed my gaze to where she and Danny had been standing. “Uh… yeah, kind of. I mean, we work together.” She paused, facing me again. “Obviously.”
“What were you guys talking about?”
The question left my mouth before I had the common sense to stop it, and once it was out in the air, I couldn’t take it back. I aimed for nonchalance, leaning against the brick wall and flicking the cherry off my cigarette. It was just an easy question. I was just making conversation.
Sarah lifted a brow. “He asked me on a date.”
I sniffed, bracing the sole of one shoe on the wall behind me. “He’s a good kid.”
She watched the smoke floating between us for a moment, adjusting the mat under her arm before her eyes found mine again. “He is.”
“So, when are you going?”
“I’m not.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not,” she said again with a shrug. Her dangly earrings moved with the gesture, and I realized I’d never seen her wear them before. She was always so natural — no makeup, no accessories — but tonight, she wore two long, flowy, sparkly earrings. “I told him no.”
“Why?”
Oh my God, stop fucking talking.
Sarah shook her head, face twisted up like she was as uncomfortable as I was. I didn’t know why I was being weird. I was her teacher, but if anyone had seen us in that moment, they’d have thought I was a protective older brother. I didn’t have any right to be so invested in her safety, and judging by the look on her face, she felt the same.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Because I don’t want to.”
I waited for her to explain more. Did she already have a boyfriend? Was Danny not her type? Did he creep her out?
My jaw ticked.
Did he make an unwanted move on her?
Frustration seeped through me as I reminded myself, yet again, that I didn’t have a right to ask any of those questions. I sucked on my cigarette, instead.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked, searching my face. “You seem… irritable.”
Great. And now I was creeping her out.
I blew out a breath, snuffing what was left on my cigarette and tucking the bud in my pocket to throw away inside. “Sorry,” I said. “Just been a weird week. I should get back inside. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
Sarah frowned. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
I gave her one last curt nod before ducking back inside, tossing Ronaldo his lighter and making a beeline for the piano. I needed to play, needed to work my muscles in a way that felt familiar and safe. I felt like an animal, triggered by the need to protect a girl who I knew without a doubt did not need my protection.
Maybe it was that I’d opened up to her, that I’d let her in. Maybe that vulnerability had caused me to feel some sort of unnecessary connection, some strange need to ensure she was okay. Either way, judging by the smile she had when Danny left, she was just fine.
I didn’t have an explanation for my sudden awareness of her, or my bizarre behavior. All I knew was that by the time she showed up to my house for our next lesson tomorrow night, I needed to box away whatever the hell that just was and be professional.
As I sat down at the piano, hands moving on autopilot over the keys, I repeated that sentiment over and over until I slipped away into the music, into the night, into another dimension.
I needed to get out of my head.
And that’s exactly what I’d do.
Sarah
“Relax.”
Reese’s voice was soft, gentle, mixing with the notes I played on his piano. He didn’t yell and there wasn’t an ounce of attitude laced under his request.
Still, I had to force a stiff inhale to keep from screaming at him.
I played Sentiment by Robert Gafforelli, each note strong and romantic, dripping with emotion. My wrists felt good that day, and I was doing everything I could to lay myself bare at his piano. That’s what he had requested I do that night he took me up the Incline, and that’s what I had promised him.
It had been nearly two weeks since that night, and every lesson with him, every night I went home to practice on my own, I felt myself getting stronger. Still, he watched me each lesson with a quirk in his brow that unnerved me, like he was disappointed, like there was something missing.
It was maddening.
I saw him every Tuesday, and Thursday night for lessons, and starting next week after school let out, we’d add Sunday and Monday, too. When we weren’t at his house, at his piano, I saw him mesmerizing the crowd at The Kinky Starfish.
It seemed every facet of my life was tied up in Reese Walker in some way.
When we were on top of that mountain, I’d seen a side of Reese I knew for a fact he didn’t show anyone. And ever since then, that version of him had been put under lock and key again. The first couple of lessons we’d had after that felt heavier, like by asking me to be vulnerable, he’d agreed to do the same. But just as quickly as that wall had come down, it was up again, and we were back to only talking about piano and music and tension and technique.
We didn’t talk about the Incline, or that night, or the woman he loved who was married to someone else.
And even though that was normal, and that was what our relationship as teacher and student should have been, I couldn’t get the other version of Reese out of my mind.
There were so many layers to him, so many sad, broken, busted-up pieces that made the man who sat down at that piano every night and left the residents of Pittsburgh speechless with his musical ability.
I’d only gotten a glimpse, but it was enough to make me crave more.