Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
The town is Mira Cove.
It’s all whitewashed buildings that cascade down toward the water like a staircase. There are flowers in window boxes, and a corner bakery that smells divine. A line of shops runs along the main road, looking like they’ve been there for decades.
We had lunch at a place with outdoor tables right by the water. I spent ten minutes watching a seal in the harbor while Griffin watched me watch the seal. I only knew because I caught him when I finally looked over.
He didn’t apologize.
My skin warmed under his gaze, and I found myself squirming in my chair.
He didn’t apologize for that, either.
After lunch, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and holds out a card.
I look at it, then at him. “What are you doing?”
“Go shopping.” He nods toward the street. “You’re going to need clothes for the weekend.”
“We have clothes,” I say, resisting on principle. “We can just find another laundromat.”
“You’ll need different clothes.”
“For what?”
“Can you just do as you’re told and go buy some clothes?”
“That is—” I take the card, the plastic cool against my palm. “This is very—”
“Very what?”
“Very Pretty Woman.”
He tips his head back and laughs. The real one, all the way up from his chest. A woman passing by with a dog glances over at the sound of it.
“Does this have something to do with the plans you still won’t tell me about?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I flip the card over. Griffin J. Hayes. I know the J stands for James, after his father. “What kind of clothes? Give me something to work with.”
“Comfortable but fun.”
“Comfortable but fun,” I repeat.
I look at the card again, then at the line of shops. There’s a boutique two doors down with a promising rack outside, something with a colorful sign beyond that, and a vintage store with a mannequin in a yellow sundress that I already want.
“I can wear what I have.” It’s one last half-hearted attempt. “Really, I don’t need anything.”
He reaches over and tucks two fingers under my chin, tilting my head up the way he does when he’s decided I’m going to look at him. The sun catches my face, but it’s his gaze that holds me.
“Do you want to wear the clothes you have?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “I want to go on a shopping spree with your card.”
“Then go. I saw a bar down the street.” He releases my chin. “I’m going to put my ass on a stool.”
He takes my face in both hands and presses a quick kiss to my mouth like it’s a habit.
My stomach does the thing it’s been doing since the motel.
He steps back. “Go.”
I turn toward the shops. I get exactly three steps before I spin back around. “Just so we’re clear—”
He rolls his eyes. “Piper.”
“I’m going to spend an irresponsible amount.”
“I know.”
“On things that are comfortable and fun.”
“Yes.”
“Just so there are no surprises.”
“The only surprise,” he says, already walking toward the bar, “will be if you come back with anything sensible.”
I spin back around. The vintage place with the sundress is calling to me.
I go there first.
∞∞∞
Two hours later, I’m sitting on a bench with bags crowding my feet and Griffin’s card still cool in my hand.
I feel like… myself.
Not the version of me that got dressed for someone else. Not the version that stood in front of a mirror and adjusted, corrected, and silently apologized for the space she occupied. Just me.
In the changing room of the first shop, I’d tried on the yellow dress and thought, Ezra would hate this.
Then I thought, Great, and bought it. I found shorts shorter than anything I’ve worn in years and a linen shirt in a blue-green that the woman at the counter swore matched my eyes. I even bought earrings to match.
I was at the register when I spotted the underwear display.
Here’s the thing about the last few years: my underwear has been practical. The kind of thing you buy when you’re with someone who has made you aware—in a way that leaves no physical marks—that certain things are “a lot.” I had quietly adjusted accordingly.
I picked up a set that was black, lacy, and entirely unapologetic. Then I grabbed a second in deep red, because why not?
I added a small watercolor print from a street artist—the ocean from a headland—because it looked like a view we’d driven past, and I wanted to keep it.
By the time I emerge onto the main street, my arms are full, my feet hurt, and I feel scraped clean in the best possible way.
I’m sitting on the bench reorganizing my haul when I hear it.
Music.
It’s drifting from across the street, coming from a shop with a narrow frontage and a weathered wooden sign: The Sound Post.
A smile spreads across my face, and my heart races a little. I cross the street, captivated by the window display—stacks of yellowed sheet music, a metronome ticking out a silent rhythm, a collection of resin-stained bows, and a violin.
It’s hanging on the wall behind the glass. Dark wood with a beautiful curve to the scroll. I’m at the door before I’ve even processed moving.
Inside, the air smells of old wood and rosin. It’s a scent that hits a part of my brain that’s been silent for months. There’s a piano to the left. I drift toward it, dragging my fingers across a run of keys, barely pressing down, just wanting to feel the ivory.
“Can I help you?”
The man behind the counter is older, with a shock of white hair and a smile that reaches his eyes. I find myself drifting toward the violin on the wall before I can even answer. My body knows something my brain is still catching up to.
It’s even more beautiful up close. I reach up and run two fingers along its side without taking it down. Hello. I’m not going to hurt you.
“Do you play?” the man asks, appearing beside me.
My face goes warm.
Do I play? I played for most of my life, then I loaned that skill to someone and forgot to ask for it back.
“Yes,” I say, because it’s the only answer that doesn’t require an explanation.
“Would you like to try it?” He’s already reaching for it. “I don’t get many players through here.”
“Oh, no, I just—” I take a half-step back. “I’m not buying anything today.”
He waves a hand. “I don’t need you to, but if a musician walks into my shop, they have to play.” He nods toward a piece of card tacked above the register:
IF YOU’RE A MUSICIAN AND YOU WALK INTO MY SHOP, YOU HAVE TO PLAY.
HOUSE RULE. NO EXCEPTIONS.
I smile at him as he holds it out for me to take.
I don’t let myself think. If I think, I’ll put it back. I drop my bags before I take the bow, tighten it, and run it across the strings once, twice, as the man waits patiently.
I bring the bow to the strings.
Then, there’s no more thinking. It’s just my hands and the memory in them, with the music rising up through twenty-three years as if it never left. My fingers find the positions with beautiful precision. The room fills with something I forgot I was carrying, so I close my eyes and play.
When I finish, the silence holds for a heartbeat.
Then, two pairs of hands start clapping.
My head snaps up. Griffin is leaning against the doorframe, watching me in that way that makes my stomach flip. Next to him, a woman who must have wandered in from the street is beaming and clapping as well.
“My God,” the old man whispers, shaking his head. “It’s been a long time since I heard anyone play like that.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
“Your lady plays beautifully,” the man says to Griffin.
Griffin doesn’t look away from me. “She always has. She’s something of a prodigy.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Or so we’ve been told.”
I hand the violin back carefully. As I move toward the door, the man says quietly, “You’ve been away from it.”
He isn’t pitying me. It’s just the level recognition of one soul seeing another.
“Don’t leave it so long next time,” he says.
I look at him for a moment. “I won’t. Thank you.”
Outside, Griffin falls into step beside me. “I leave you alone for two hours, and you charm half the town.”
My face burns, so I nod toward the bags in his hands. “You did some shopping too. What did you get?”
“You’ll find out.”
I try to peer inside, but he shifts them away.
“All you need to know is that we have everything for the weekend.”
I don’t bother to argue. Instead, I hoist my bags higher. “I got something as well.”
“Did you buy something yellow?”
I freeze. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t, but now I do.” His mouth curves. “It’s your favorite color, and I haven’t seen you wear it since I came back.”
My entire body goes to mush.
Ah, shit.
He looks at me properly. “What else did you buy?”
“Can’t say.”
“Piper.”
“It’s a surprise.”
When we reach the car, he opens the trunk to start loading the bags.
I wait until he’s reaching for the last one, the trunk door half-down, and I say over my shoulder, “It’s lacy.”
His hand stops dead on the trunk. “Fucking hell, Piper.”
I get in, buckle up, and stare out at Mira Cove. I’m grinning so hard my face hurts.
Griffin gets in and starts the engine without looking at me. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
He drives for a couple of minutes before he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. He leaves it there without a word, and I don’t move it because I’ve come to love the contact.
I look out the window as the town disappears.
Good trip, I think. Really good trip.