Chapter 8 #3
His employer had been pleased with the news of Norroway’s son showing up out of nowhere.
But now he wanted confirmation that it was really him—apparently he knew Taran from some past interaction—and information on who Taran interacted with.
Canon reopened his camera and stole a few photos but didn’t hit send.
Because right now, who Taran interacted with was Cadenza.
This employer was the source of Canon’s ability to read people’s wants, but the gift still worked on the giver, and Canon’s gift made it clear that his boss wanted Taran dealt with.
But Canon didn’t know yet what he wanted with the people around Taran.
He frowned at the pictures on his phone, debating.
This gift, to know what people wanted, was invaluable, and Canon was grateful. But he was not naive. He did not trust this man.
On the other hand, even though Cadenza’s accident didn’t strike him as totally accidental, running her off the road didn’t fit with what he knew of his employer.
If he’d wanted to hurt Cadenza, he could’ve done it before yesterday, so she must not be in any real danger from him.
And Canon did have a bargain with him. Bargains were sacred things.
He texted the pictures to his boss and sighed.
Cadenza touched her fingertips to the lump on her eyebrow, and Canon headed to the kitchen for an ice pack for her.
At least he could do that. He should have been the one to help her.
If she’d just stayed longer at the open house, he could have followed her home and there wouldn’t have been an accident.
And he’d be the one sitting next to her right now, not Taran.
Well, let’s work on that. Canon wrapped a towel around the bag of ice, relaxed his jaw to replace the frustration on his face with concern, and took the ice to the living room.
“Here.” He touched the cold pack to Cadenza’s forehead. “You said you hadn’t had a chance to ice it yet.”
“Thanks, Canon.” Cadenza smiled, took the ice pack, and went back to watching Taran play.
No matter. Try again.
Canon perched on the arm of the loveseat, his hip almost brushing against her shoulder. “How goes the Italy fundraising?”
She grimaced. “Not there yet. But I’m working on it. Brylee should be coming over for a lesson tomorrow. If I can find a few more students, that’d help too.”
“I’ll see about rounding up a few more for you.” At least that had been helpful for her.
“You don’t have to do that, Canon,” she said. “I’m working on it.”
“It’s no trouble.” He leaned down closer. “I want to help. Us ‘gonna go somewhere’ types need to stick together, right?”
“What’s this about Italy?” Taran lowered his bodhran.
“Cadenza’s going to Italy for a gig,” Canon said. Let Taran chew on the fact that he already knew about Cadenza’s plans.
“Yes,” Cadenza said slowly. “I’m just working on the funds for the trip.”
“I think it’s brilliant, Caddie,” Drostan said. “You’ve wanted this since you were a wee thing. I just wish you’d let me help you with it, you know I’d be happy to.”
“Thanks, Drostan, but you’ve done so much already. I’ll manage it.”
“It was your mother who found the part for you, wasn’t it?” Canon threw out another tidbit of information and found Taran staring at him. Ha. Take that. Canon stared back with his best polite smile.
“Yeah, she’s arranging it.” Cadenza fidgeted with the ice pack, her voice smaller.
“Bah.” Drostan made a face. “No need to bring up that woman.”
Canon kicked himself. Apparently, her mother was a touchy subject.
Taran stood and held out a hand to Cadenza. “I’m thinking that bump of yours’ll be wanting some rest. Can I walk you home?”
She rose and followed Taran out the door. Canon heard her laugh just as the door shut.
Alright, fine. Let Taran walk her home. Canon was in it for the long game. He’d promised himself at his father’s graveside that he’d build himself an extraordinary life.
And Cadenza Cavalieri was extraordinary.
She could still hear Taran’s heartbeat. Moonlight and drums rippled through the dark night as they strolled towards her apartment, but his heartbeat shone like a lighthouse.
Cadenza experimented with reaching out to his music and pulling back again.
The lighter drum pattern—The bodhran pattern, she corrected herself—tripped over her arms, constant and playful.
The ocean of deeper drums, she found when she reached for it.
Not tamed, but navigable as long as she kept to the harbor of his heartbeat.
She smiled, almost laughed. It was like learning to sail, when before she’d been drowning.
“That’s a happy look,” Taran said. “Feeling better than last night, I imagine?”
“Much, yes.”
The earthsong of the evening mixed with Taran’s rhythm in a summer symphony, and Cadenza didn’t hurry on their way up the hill.
“Thanks, by the way,” she said. “For trying to keep Canon at bay tonight.”
He chuckled. “He’s a determined sort, isn’t he?”
“Very. He’s been genuinely helpful to me, it’s just…”
Taran shook his head. “You don’t owe me any explanations. Although, to be totally honest, I’m afraid my motives weren’t entirely altruistic.”
“No?” She arched an eyebrow.
“No. I was hoping to ask you a question.”
They halted at the garage door, and he stepped in closer.
“I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow night?”
The secret smile blossomed again in Cadenza’s chest. Taran stood close enough for her to see the pulse in his neck, beating in time with his drumsong.
Venice reared up in her mind, strict as a rehearsal schedule. What are you doing? Think of gelato and gondole!
A breeze tangled flute notes through his hair, and she caught the faint scent of motor oil and summer leaves.
Teatro la Fenice! Piazza San Marco!
She reached out a hand. Brushed the errant lock of hair behind his ear.
Drums boomed.
“I think I am free tomorrow night, actually.”