Chapter 17

Bryson

We were walking hand-in-hand through Central Park. She was smiling at me, and the breeze was blowing, ruffling our hair. It was early fall, and the leaves were just starting to change. It was my favorite time to be outside. There were kids laughing nearby as they chased each other, dodging other walkers and a few joggers. Penny was smiling at their antics. "Let's go over there." She pointed to a spot where we could hear the faint sound of music. She began pulling me faster and faster, and the closer we got to our destination, the louder the music became. "I love this song." She leaned against me.

It was then that my eyes fluttered open against the sunlight. I was tangled in the sheets of her bed. There was music playing though. I laid there as the melody floated in the air. It was soft at first, but then became more pronounced, demanding even. As I listened longer, I realized I knew this piece. This was her senior solo. There was pause as the notes kinda stumbled over one another, then the banging of a fist against the keys before the tune started over.

I tossed the covers back, and stood, searching for my shirt. I slipped it on, and then my pants before wandering into the living room. The sight before me almost took my breath away. There she was in nothing but a t-shirt with her hair twisted up on her head. There was a pencil gripped between her lips, and she was concentrating on the keys in front of her. I moved silently. I didn't want to disrupt what was happening here. This was huge for her. When she stumbled over the same part again, she pounded against the keys and yanked the pencil from her mouth. "Grrr. I hate this part." She sat back and her shoulders dropped. "I suck." She looked over at me.

"You are far from what I would call sucking." I smiled as I moved closer. I rubbed her shoulders. "How long have you been at this?

"For about an hour." She sighed as her head lolled. "That feels good."

"And how long did it take you to learn this the first time?" I continued rubbing her shoulders.

"Six months." She groaned in pleasure.

"And how long has it been since you played it?" I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck. She shivered and I moved up, continuing a trail all the way to her ear.

"Five years." She swallowed.

"So maybe you'll need more than a few hours to practice, but you don't suck." I backed away and her eyes flew open.

"That was just mean." She glared at me.

"Hmmm. Maybe I can work up a reward system or something for practicing." I shrugged as I turned to go into the kitchen. I needed coffee, and a lot of it.

Aspen

He was so dead. How dare he come in here all sexy with his bedhead and kiss me and turn me on, and then just walk away. Who does that? I do suck. I'm out of shape and out of practice, and if I ever want to play like I used to, I need both. I can be covering pop songs and playing in the park for fun. I need challenging pieces that I have to work at.

When I woke up this morning, I felt something inside me that I haven't felt in years. It was that need that used to be there when I was in school. It was a hunger that only playing could satisfy, and I came out here thinking I could sit down, and nothing would have changed. Boy, was I wrong. My fingers were stiff, and they stumbled over the same parts that they did when I was learning this the first time.

Just when I thought it couldn't get harder, he comes in here, gets me all turned on and then walks away. "Keep going. You sound great." He smiled from the kitchen.

"I need to work on something else. This piece is just too much right now," I muttered as I shuffled the sheet music together and went to slip it into a folder. A tattered piece fell onto the top of the keys. I didn't think much of it at first, but then I saw the scrawling handwriting across the top and my breath caught. My dad always had the prettiest handwriting for a guy. My mom teased him about it.

I lifted the paper and read the words "Penny's Song" from the penciled lettering. There were rows of musical staff lining the paper and about half was filled with notes. A sob caught in my throat. My dad wasn't a composer, I never knew he even tried to write anything, but the markings were clear. He'd added a time signature, key, and dynamics to the piece. "What is it?" Bryson came over and reached for it.

"It was tucked in here. I didn't even know about this." I took the sheet and set it in front of me and played what was there. It was a light bouncy tune and made me envision myself skipping along the sidewalk when we'd get ice cream together.

There wasn't much to it, and I began to really search the folder to see if there was a second sheet, but I never found anything. "That's it. That's all there is." The tear slipped free, and I wiped it away. I started at the beginning and started playing it again, but this time I began to ad lib when I got to the end. It flowed together seamlessly and brought a smile to my face. I frantically began to search for the pencil I'd had moments before, and then began filling in notes on the paper.

I worked like this for hours, filling in where my dad left off creating music that he had tried to write for me. Bryson stayed until lunch, but then had to go back to his hotel to get clean clothes. "Let's grab dinner tonight," he called as he left, and I waved, letting him know I'd heard him. I couldn't stop now though.

Bryson

I called her twice this afternoon, but she didn't answer. I'd been here before with her. When Penny is in music mode, she forgets everything around her including eating. I ordered a pizza from the shop down the street and picked it up on the way there. I grabbed some sodas, and cinnamon breadsticks for dessert. She'd given me to code the day before, so I went straight upstairs when I got there.

I could hear her as I walked down the hallway. Music, then banging. I envisioned her sitting at the piano, getting frustrated because I'm sure she's been at all day and hasn't taken a break. I knocked. Nothing. Knocked again, this time pounding on the door. The piano went quiet and then I heard the lock release. When she opened the door, she looked exhausted. "It's break time." I showed her the pizza.

"I'm starving." Her eyes flashed as she took in the pizza box.

"Wow. That was easier than I thought it was going to be." I laughed as I set everything down on the table and opened the box, offering her a slice.

"Thanks." It was garbled as she stuffed a bite in. She polished off the first piece and reached for a second before taking a moment to look at me. "I can't get this last part right. I need your help." She sighed.

"Me? It's your dad's piece." I was kinda shocked that she wanted my help.

"Yeah, and you're the writer." She looked at me as if it was the obvious answer.

"Ok. Let's finish eating and you can show me what you have." I sat down and opened one of the sodas, handing it to her before opening the other one for myself. We enjoyed the pizza but saved the cinnamon sticks for later. It was going to be our reward for finishing the song.

"It's the bridge here. It doesn't sound quite right." She blew out a breath, causing her hair to flutter where some of it had fallen loose. She played, and it sounded pretty perfect, but she was right. Some little part made it off a bit.

"Try changing keys here. Like maybe go in A?" I watched as she shifted her hands, so she'd be playing in the key of A, and her lips pulled into a smile.

"That sounds so much better." She bounced happily. "Thank you."

"I didn't really do anything." I shrugged as I started to walk back over to the table. I sat down and watched her.

She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and started from the beginning. Her hands danced along seamlessly until she hit the final chord. I clapped and she looked over with teary eyes. "I wonder if he likes what I did." She blinked away the tears as she closed the piano.

"I'm sure he loves it. Your dad adored you. He would have liked anything you did." I opened my arms and wrapped her in a hug as she collapsed against me.

"You're probably right." Her voice was muffled against my chest. "Now I just have to stop sucking on that Vivaldi piece," she grumbled.

"You just need practice," I soothed. "I think you've played enough today though. Why don't we watch some mindless show on TV, eat those cinnamon breadsticks, and be lazy the rest of the night?"

"First you want me to play, now you don't." She stared at me with a confused look.

"I'm glad you're playing again, but it's always all or nothing with you. I have to leave tomorrow. Maybe I want these last few hours to just be about us." I pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

"Who's going to bring me pizza and make me stop practicing if you leave tomorrow?" She pouted.

"I'm working on that," I mumbled as I pulled her next to me. What she didn't know was I'd been on the phone all afternoon with my contacts in New York trying to get an audition set up for her. I didn't want to leave her here anymore than she wanted me to, but I needed to give her a reason to follow me.