Page 150 of Perfect Pitch

She nods. “Ten years older than you, but you balance each other out. You bring light to him when you’re together. As for him...” Her voice trails off.

“Yes?” I ask, curious.

“You’ve matured even more, darling. I don’t know if that’s a natural progression or Mitch’s influence. But either way, he brings you happiness.” Her hand squeezes mine. “As your mother, that’s all I want for you. I... ahh.”

I look at her to see her smirking. It’s an attractive look. “What?”

“Beckett and Mitch are in a huddle together. They’re equally uncomfortable.” Satisfaction fills her voice.

I casually look to where her eyes are fixed and find she’s absolutely right. Innocence morphs over my features. “Now, Mama.”

“Darling, if I can’t torture your beau because you’re a mature woman who can make her own choices and because he works for your father, there’s likely nothing unsavory in his past I can threaten him with, allow me these small moments of joy as your parent.”

“Does it help you to know parts of his naked body won’t appear on a magazine cover?” I ask innocently.

She rolls her eyes heavenward. “Immensely.” Then I hear her rich laugh. I dart my eyes upward to see why. Then I join in her merriment. Right above our heads is the mistletoe. I give my mother a huge kiss on the cheek before announcing, “I love you, Mama. Merry Christmas.”

Her eyes warm and I ache when I recognize a little relief passes through them. “I love you too, Austyn. Are you going to play tonight?” She nods in the direction of our baby grand.

I give her another smacking kiss before I announce, “Like that was in question?”

Sauntering on my heels through the crowd, I wind my way through a wave of good tidings to the piano bench. As I seat myself, the volume of the room dims. Beckett, I note with some amusement, has moved closer to where I’m about to start playing as if he’s been merely waiting for the opportunity for someone to approach the grand instrument.

Mitch is still propping his shoulder near the window. He’s joined by my uncle Jesse. His mouth moves to respond to Jesse, but his eyes are locked on me anticipating whatever I’m about to do next.

Considering everyone here except Beckett and his entourage knows what’s about to happen, I don’t bother with an introduction. Instead, I just launch into “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” I jerk my chin at my father and indicate the bench beside me. He smoothly slides next to me, picking up the lower chords as I slide toward the higher register.

The hooting and hollering starts within seconds as I continue to belt out the traditional song with my own twist. As soon as I finish the first song, I look at Beckett, who grins at me for the first time unencumbered. Then before he has any idea I’m about to do so, I drag my fingers up the keyboard twice before launching into Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

I wink at my father.

He winks back and immediately joins in.

This is my favorite part of the night when everyone at the party sings along off-key and loudly. So much more than the lyrics of a song can be expressed through music—love can. Thankfulness can. And maybe this is the true reason I could never settle down with one instrument—I want to open myself up to feel all the emotions of my audience.

My gaze surveys the crowd. Even though we have wall-to-wall bodies, some attempt to dance—shaking it where they can. The energy in the room is just right for the next song.

Desperately wishing—as I do every year—for the infamous saxophone lead in that predicates this song, I start banging on the keys. Beckett’s laugh sounds even as my voice rings out clear and true when I snark, “Bah humbug...”

I almost shove my piano partner off the bench when I cast a sultry glance at Mitch over my shoulder. Until now, I hadn’t given Mitch much attention at the party. I know the minute I do, I’m not going to want it to waiver.

The second his eyes lock with mine, his lips curve around the crystal highball, and his dimples make a quick appearance. I knew I was right not to do so before now.

Now that he’s in my sights, there’s no chance of my attention wavering.

It’s really a good thing this is being hosted by all the Kensingtons—including Jesse and Ethan, I muse, because this Kensington is ducking out of the party soon.

I have a personal present to unwrap.

That’s when Beckett’s head ducks toward me and I see his tattooed hand next to mine. My breath catches and tears prick my eyes. My fingers dance up and down the keyboard as my hips shake on the bench. It’s a Christmas gift like no other.

I’m playing the piano with my father.

Every wish on all my birthday candles and every falling star has come true in this moment. Flirting with my boyfriend can wait. My head twists, and my blue eyes lock with his matching ones. Directly to him, I deliberately misspeak the lyrics singing, “I wouldn’t have missed meeting you this year.”

Mist clouds his eyes before he presses a brief kiss to my cheek. He murmurs, “Same, kid. Same.”

Then he pulls back and grins, “You ready to wrap this up?”

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