Page 35 of Perfect Composition

— Moore You Want

“You know you’re trespassing,” I say haughtily from my perch on the stone foundation.

“I know,” comes the mumbled response.

Good Lord above. He doesn’t even have the decency to look in my direction, and he’s playingourpiano. I bend my knee to stomp my foot when I catch the side of his face.

I know him.

He’s Beau Miller from Kensington High.

Entranced by the way his fingers are racing up and down the keys, even if they sound odd with the missing keys, I lower my foot. There’s a haunting beauty to the music without the right keys there. But someone who plays as well as he does must know that. Instead, I wait until his fingers stop moving before I begin to clap with enthusiasm.

Much to my surprise, he flushes before he turns his back and starts to walk away.

I jump off the foundation and chase after him. “Hey! Where are you going?”

He stops moving. “Like you said, I’m trespassing.”

I whip around until I’m facing him. Even with his head ducked down to his chin, I’m shorter than he is. “So, who cares. According to my Daddy, so am I.” I can’t quite hide the bitterness in my voice.

His head cocks to the side. “How can you be trespassing on your own land?”

“Because I’m just agirl.” I stress the last word.

“That doesn’t make any sense…” He shakes his head, causing his overlong hair to flip in front of eyes the color of the Texas blue sky. “Damn, I know I’ve seen you around.”

“Paige. I’m Paige Kensington.”

His mouth twists slightly. “That’s right. Princess Paige. Matriarch of Kensington.” He swoops low for a bow.

My temper fires. “I’m not like that.”

“No, but some of the guys think that.”

“Then they’re stupid. And so are you if you believe everything you hear.” I start to move away from Beau Miller.

But he catches my wrist. I don’t know if it’s because my anger is so close to the surface or because it’s him, but my pulse flutters.

He steps closer. “You’re right.”

“About what?” I demand.

“So far? About everything.” He jerks his head. “How about we sit on the wall and talk and you can tell me all about who you really are?”

I pull my wrist back and cross my arms. “I know who you are, but we’ve never formally met.”

This time when his lips curve, the funny feeling causes my stomach to clench. “Beau Miller.”

I finish telling Austyn the story of how her father and I first met. Her eyes are wet. “He was playing the piano.”

“He wasn’t just playing it, baby. He was making magic on it,” I correct her.

Her hand reaches for mine and grips it tightly. “My father’s name is Beau Miller.”

I hedge. “Legally, yes.”

Her head tips to the side, causing her rainbow-hued braids to brush her midriff. “What does that mean?”