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Loren wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in. He dusted the curls off my brow, then planted a kiss in their place.

“I’d like to do this, Doll,” he murmured. “All of this. All over again.”

Appetizers at High Notes, fashion exhibits at the Brooklyn Museum, cozying up at the top of the Wonder Wheel… All of that.

I leaned harder into Loren’s side, thinking back to before Coney Island. To the Narcotics Anonymous meeting. To Travis and his story. To mine.

“Hey, Lore?” I began, but he was sliding away and tugging me along after as he moved around the curve of the booth.

He stood, looking tall and trim in his slacks and button-down with a sweater over the top. It was one of the few that didn’t have a worn spot on the sleeve, saved for special occasions.

When I rose, he took my hand.

“Time to go?” I asked.

His fingers laced in mine, then tightened. “Not yet.”

He angled toward the piano, and I gave a delighted shimmy. I’d been hoping for this.

It didn’t happen in every lifetime, but a lucky few versions of me knew that Loren was a gifted pianist. His long, elegant fingers moved across the keys like liquid, pouring from one ivory to the next. The only reason I’d ever wanted a house was so I could buy a piano and listen to him play. If not a house, maybe a townhome with a balcony where I could open the windows and let the light in and the music out in a clash of beauty.

Speaking of beauty, there he was, climbing the steps to the baby grand’s stage and sitting on the bench, bringing me beside him.

There was a crowd. People were staring, and I knew he hated that. It was obvious when he hesitated to let go of my hand, though he couldn’t play until he did. We sat for a moment with him holding onto me while staring at the keyboard with a single-minded purpose.

“Baby?” My whisper seemed loud in the hushed room. “You don’t have to…”

He tapped the keys with one hand, then added the second. I rested my empty palm on his leg, maintaining contact while harmonic notes poured out of the piano.

Why are you doing all this?I wanted to ask.

Loren could wine and dine with the best of them, but this had begun as a bad day. He cried after sex, and now he was doingsomething I knew terrified him, playing beautifully but posed so tight and stiff it must have been painful.

Determined. That was the look now. To get through the song, to stave off the melancholy, and why?

Ifucked up.Irelapsed, lied, snuck out.

Ishould have been groveling.

He had nothing to prove.

Reaching over, I tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, giving myself a clear view of his profile. I studied his face as he played and wished I could push my worry away long enough to enjoy the music.

I didn’t know the song, but I’d ask him later to tell me its name. I’d ask him other things, too. Like what I should have pressed about before we left the trailer this morning. Why did he cry?

Loren was focused, and I was deep in my thoughts, so the buzz of my cellphone in my dress pocket startled us both.

I moved to silence it, but a sinking feeling slowed my hand. Sully was the only person who called me, and she was too busy with the hellhounds to make time for casual chats. Still, I didn’t want to interrupt this moment or dismiss this overture, even though it confused me.

The call rolled to voicemail in my pocket, and Loren played on.

The song ended to a round of applause. I kissed his cheek before he stood and snagged my hand on a hurried descent from the stage. On the floor, out of the spotlight, he looked at me with eyes as wide as a deer in traffic. I laid my palm on his chest and felt his pulse jumping.

“Thank you, baby,” I said and kissed him again, this time on the lips.

A few members of the crowd clapped, and someone whistled. Loren blushed. I could see it even in the dimness. His cheeksdarkened deep red, and he ducked until his hair fell forward around his face.

Smiling, I looped my arm around his to lead him back to our booth.