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“Nothing.”
“Oh, I get it.” I grin. “You thought I was too self-absorbed to notice anyone else lived here.”
“No. Imighthave assumed you only flirted with women under the age of forty.”
“Fifty is my hard limit actually.”
She huffs, shaking her head as the doors open again. This time, we’re on the right floor.
“Home sweet home,” I announce, striding down the hallway.
Collins trails behind.
I unlock the front door and push it open, gesturing for her to enter first.
She kicks her heels off as soon as she’s inside, which makes mesmile. I follow her as she pads deeper into the penthouse, flicking on lights as I go.
“Wow.” Collins pauses when she reaches the edge of the living room.
The layout of the first floor is mostly open, mainly to maximize the aerial view of Central Park that she’s currently admiring. The scenery was more impressive over the summer, when the leaves and grass were green, but it’s still pretty spectacular.
“Not bad, huh?”
“Not bad,” she agrees, continuing to look around. Her eyes land right where I expect them to. “Do you play?”
I study the Steinway in the corner. “Not really. I just like the way it looks.”
Collins gravitates closer and closer to the instrument, an awed look on her face.
“Play it if you want,” I offer. “It was tuned a few weeks ago. I’m going to go change. Want to borrow something to wear?”
She’s still in her dress and blazer from work.
“Sure,” she replies absently, lifting the fallboard that covers the keys and letting her fingers run over the ivory. Gliding across, not pressing down.
I continue into the kitchen, leaving the takeout on the center island, then down the hallway and into my bedroom. I change into sweatpants and a T-shirt, then grab a pair of joggers that have a drawstring and a college sweatshirt from my closet.
Halfway down the hallway, I hear the music start.
My steps slow as I absorb the sound.
Lili told me Collins was talented. But no one in my family is particularly musical, so that statement didn’t tell me much.I’ve attended plenty of events where a professional was playing, but it never registered as anything more than pleasant background noise.
This is different. There’s no crowd or commotion to distract me from the music. And it’sCollinsplaying. I’d develop an interest in watching paint dry if that was an activity she was interested in.
I resume a normal pace, wanting a sight to accompany the sound.
I don’t get much of a chance. Collins glances over her shoulder and pauses her playing when I enter the living room, pink flushing her cheeks as she quickly stands from the bench.
“You sound a little rusty,” I comment.
She scowls. “I do not.”
“Prove it.”
Her laugh is wry. “I’m not falling for that trick again.”
“Technically,Ifell for it.” I toss the clothes to her. “There’s a guest room down the hall on the left, if you want to change in there.”