Page 29 of Heart Thief

He turns out the lights so we can watch the TV in darkness. Fog hangs in the air outside, but not enough to hide the city lights sparkling back at us from the large windows.

While the contestants are being introduced, Zane says, “Found a house today. It’s an old Victorian fixer-upper. It’s three stories, big on charm and authenticity. Big on the wallet too, but I fell in love with it. I’m gonna go for it. The seller’s eager to get it off his hands. I should be out of your way soon.”

He said he’d be out quickly and he’s keeping his word. A flash of disappointment washes over me. I enjoy his company.

“But who will make me chili when you’re gone?”

“No worries, I’ll bring you some. Don’t mind sharing.”

His answer makes me smile.

chapter twelve

~

I JUST PLAYEDevery piece I’m practicing for my upcoming symphony performance perfectly two times in a row. Not one single mistake, not one single slip up or hesitation. I’m so thrilled I stand next to my piano bench and do my silly happy dance.

It’s always been my reward when I finally get a piece right. After all my hard work, it’s my release, my own personal celebration. In truth, it’s a great stress reliever. I jump up and down, my fist hitting the air several times in a row, my head bobbing from side to side.

My fellow musicians nicknamed my dance, Mila’s Musical Moment. It became a joke at Juilliard, something I was known for.

Little did they know, I did it as a kid every time my strict piano teacher told me I’d passed off a song. It seemed to me as though it was a moment worth celebrating, no matter how brief.

Old habits die hard.

The front door slams and Zane walks in with his lazy swagger, his flip flops rhythmically hitting the floor. He removes his sunglasses and tucks them into the neckline of his t-shirt as he always does.

“What was that?”

I sit at my piano bench. “What?”

“That funny dance you were doing? I saw it. You can’t deny it.”

Fine, I might as well fess up. “It’s my victory dance for whenever I get something right on the piano.”

“It’s cute.”

“It was cute when I was five and proud of myself for playingRow, Row, Row Your Boat. Now it’s triumphant.”

He chuckles. “Do it again.”

“No, it’s reserved for winning moments. Doing it now would be blasphemous.”

He points at me. “Gonna be watching for it. Got my eyes on you, Westerman.”

“Whatever.” He’s been easy to live with over the past week. Nothing seems to bother him and he’s never in a hurry. He’s a go with the flow kind of guy. I haven’t seen his “unpleasant” side. Instead I find him affable and easy going.

“I have news,” he announces.

I turn on my bench and face him.

“We have been summoned by the queen mother to dinner at the palace promptly at six this evening, along with a reminder that being late is completely unacceptable. We shall therefore show up at six-fifteen. No Jeopardy for us tonight. No worries, I’ll DVR it and we’ll catch it later.”

Jeopardy has become our evening pastime and stiff competition. “Hold up. We?”

“Yes, Debra’s spies found out I was in town and that I’m living here with you. I imagine her head is spinning on her neck right about now. Watch out for projectile pea soup.”

Gross. “Why do I have to go?” I ask, sounding like a petulant child.

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