Page 89 of Perfect Pitch

“Like?” Austyn beams.

Her smile brings my own forward. “You’re obviously close.”

“Incredibly. She raised me on her own—well, with the help of my uncles and grandfather.”

“You love them?”

“I’d die for them. No, I’d give up my dreams for them.”

We ride along for a few moments before I remark, “You resemble her closely. She’s aged well.” I probe a bit to see if she’ll give me any information about the esteemed Dr. Paige Kensington that I can’t find in the good doctor’s file.

“Mama’s my hero. She had me when she was seventeen and still managed to accomplish so much.”

“What kind of doctor is she?”

“An audiologist. She specializes in hearing difficulties in young children.”

“Admirable.”

“Very. She was there for every back-to-school night, every concert, every milestone in my life.”

“I hesitate to bring up what I read in your file—”

“Then don’t.” Her gaze shifts out the window. “We’re having a nice conversation.”

“But you don’t know your father?”

“I know he’s never been in our lives.”

Because the man who believes he’s your father had no idea you existed until two days ago. Instead of admitting what I overheard, I ask, “Who facilitated your love of music?”

“Mama,” Austyn answers immediately. “I could play songs on the piano by ear by the time I was four. By the time I was seven, I branched out to Uncle Jesse’s guitar. I was composing music in my teens.”

I blink rapidly behind my sunglasses. “You were?”

“My high school instructor called me a virtuoso.” The information is delivered matter of fact with no semblance of bragging.

“Why DJ’ing then? Why not focus on an instrument or composing?” The urge rides me hard to tack on, Like your father, but I refrain.

Barely.

“Because I couldn’t decide on one instrument; I wanted all of them.”

“That makes an odd sort of sense.”

“In the right hands, music is malleable. At any given moment, it’s my choice to hold back or to give everything. I can spin up romance or cause a room to break down using just these.” She wiggles her fingers. “As a DJ, no two performances have to be the same. Every moment is personal.”

“Especially when you sing in French?”

She flashes me a wicked grin I feel in my groin. “That’s just fun.”

“How did you learn?”

“Mama. She speaks fluently as well. The way my grandfather tells it, so did my grandmother.”

I wonder if Beckett remembers that about Paige. I tread carefully. “Do you know if your father was musical?”

“I have no idea. I’ll have to ask.”

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