Page 55 of Shattered Chords

I shut off the water and dropped the hose into the grass, then walked to the terrace to check the time on my phone, which I’d left on the table next to a bottle of wine. It was quarter to six.

Dante Martinez would be here very, very soon.

The thought curled in my stomach and around my spine, somewhat disturbing and somewhat exciting. I realized my emotions were too complex to give them a proper name.

A strong gust of hot air rushed past me, pushing the swing and the tree branches forward. In turn, the oak met the onslaught of the wind with a groan.

In the driveway, a car hummed. Moments later, I heard the doorbell.

Not only wasn’t the asshole late. He was early.

Sure, I’d promised Ally that I wouldn’t interrupt the lesson, but she wasn’t the one paying the mortgage, which meant I had every right to assess the man first to grant my approval.

With that idea in mind, I took off my wet flip-flops and strode down the hallway and toward the front of the house, where my daughter had already opened the door and Dante Martinez stood on the threshold, his silhouette tall and sunlit and utterly ethereal against the backdrop of the trees, the sky, and the neat houses that lined my street.

He wore a pair of dark blue jeans, and a white shirt underneath his long-sleeved one, and something told me that he’d done it on purpose, despite the heat. His tattoos were hidden, and I hoped it was because he’d remembered that Ally wanted to get one.

Relief rushed through my chest. The man at least looked decent enough to be one-on-one with my fifteen-year-old daughter. Except for his tousled hair. But I decided to blame that on the wind.

“Hello.” He raised his hand by way of a greeting, his dark gaze locking on my mind for a fraction of a second, then moving to Ally. “Hey, Hendrix.”

She offered her fist and he bumped it. “Mi casa es su casa.”

This made Dante smile even wider. My daughter got an A in Spanish but never bothered to speak it outside of school assignments, and her effort to impress Dante didn’t go unnoticed. Finally, she stepped to the side to let our guest into the house.

His eyes found mine again as if asking my permission. To my surprise, his face didn’t give away his thoughts about my outfit. He looked at me the way he’d looked at me the day we met and every single time after that—with subtle reverence.

I nodded.

“You have a really nice house,” Dante said, surveying the living room.

“Oh, I’m sure yours is better,” I joked.

“Mom?” Ally shot me a furious stare that spoke volumes.

“Why don’t I show you the rest before you begin?” It seemed like the polite thing to do, and I motioned toward the dining area first. After that, I led Dante to the kitchen and pointed out the restroom. He regarded everything with genuine curiosity, stating that a painting I had in my hallway was stunning and my china set that my mother gave me on my thirtieth birthday was lovely. I didn’t think he had such words in his vocabulary, but evidently, I’d underestimated him.

Ally trailed after us, trying to hide the unease on her face.

Once the tour was over and we returned to the living room, where my daughter had already prepared both guitars and an amp, I said, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. If you need anything...water...or some lemonade, I’ll be outside.”

“Thank you,” Dante moved toward the couch, holding my gaze.

“Thanks, Mom,” Ally repeated, a frown creasing the portion of her forehead not hidden behind a layer of hair.

And that was my cue to go.

I spent the next hour cleaning the terrace and spying on them. The door to the den was cracked and I could make out guitar sounds alternating with hushed voices, sometimes laughter. It was bizarre hearing Ally so happy in the company of a complete stranger, because she hadn’t been happy in my company for a long time and I often wondered if there was enough joy in her life.

Apparently, yes, and apparently, it now came from an ex-addict.

I sighed and settled into one of the chairs with a glass of wine in my hand.

The wind grew stronger and my string lights bounced against the angry current.

In the living room, a muffled riff gave way to Dante talking. Some of the words were unfamiliar, but from the little I understood, it was clear he was explaining something to Ally about chord progression.

He had a nice voice, it suddenly occurred to me. Low and deep and a bit raspy at times, and I, too, found twisted joy in listening to him talk.

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