Page 145 of Perfect Pitch

“She did.” Austyn’s quiet as we pick our way along the path. “What I didn’t share with her was I composed my first song on that same piano when I was fourteen. A song I want to play for you.”

The thumping of my heart increases as we get closer to the stone wall. Austyn’s hands slip from my waist and rein in Sharp. “Whoa, boy.”

The stallion stops on a dime. Austyn kicks her feet out of the stirrups before sliding off the horse. I wait for her to back up before I do the same, wincing a bit as I get my land legs back.

Her lips quirk before she holds out her hand. “Come on. We’ll walk the rest of the way on foot.”

My pulse starts hammering against my ribs when I realize we’re passing through an old stone wall, painstakingly put together. Maybe twenty yards away, there’s an ancient piano.

Just like Austyn described.

I lace our fingers together. “Do you understand why she didn’t tell you?”

“Understand, yes. That doesn’t mean I still don’t resent it a little, but there’s no place for that right now.”

“There’s always a time and a place for your feelings, Austyn.”

Her eyes shift from the path to mine. “Is there? Amid all of this?”

I stop her and cup her cheek. “There is to me.”

Her head falls forward until it’s resting against my chest. “And that’s why I brought you here with me.”

* * *

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Two words, people: Special Order!

It is not the teenager at the grocery store’s fault that your Domaine Valette Pouilly-Fuissé is not available at your local Stop & Shop! It’s yours.

Own your mistake and stop ruining someone else’s holiday by spending twenty minutes ranting at the poor kid.

—StellaNova

After I’ve put up Sharp with Mitch’s help, I feel more settled. My emotions aren’t careening out of control, ready to lash out at the next person who says something I might misconstrue.

For a long while at the old homestead, we just talked. I shared with him all the information my mother had passed along to me. He confessed to Beckett’s emotional condition the night I met him.

And then I admitted something I’d never say to anyone but him. “I’m not certain I’d be the same woman I am right now if I’d known Beckett Miller was my father.” I blinked tears away.

“How do you feel about knowing Beckett’s your father now?”

“I don’t know. How awful is that? The man was devastated because he didn’t know I existed. Mama was carrying this burden all alone. Yet, I can’t let myself go too far down that path because if I do, I don’t know how I’ll react. And right now, that feels pretty damn trivial.”

He nudged my shoulder. “What happened between your mother and Beckett isn’t your problem, Beats. What is within your control is how you react to it. Are you going to give him a chance?”

The “of course” was out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about it. Then I clarified, “I can’t, won’t, become his little girl, Mitch. I’m a woman. What I can be is his friend first. I hope more will evolve from that.”

“All that will matter to him is a chance.”

My breath caught in my throat when I asked, “Are there any more secrets? Because after this, I’m not certain I could handle any.”

He bumped shoulders with me. “I’m an open book.”

“Good to know.” With that, I stood and made my way over to the old piano with its discordant sounds and missing keys. My mind goes back to one verse I added not long before I left for New York, when I knew I’d soon have the leave to ask my mother his name.

I know it won’t be easy, to build a bond so late.

---