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“HURRY UP.” AUSTIN HELPED Morgan add the leaf to the dinette set. “It’s almost six, and they’ll be here any minute.”
“All under control, buddy.” She handed Austin the cheese platter. “Put this on the coffee table, and the cocktail napkins, too.”
She hoped Randy and Sarah liked chili. She wanted to pay them back for their dinner invitation, and crock pot chili fit her budget and culinary skill level. The cornbread came from a mix, one step above store-bought.
“Can we let Mr. Detweiler play our piano?” Austin asked. “He doesn’t have a Steinway.”
“Of course.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Remember, telling people we have a Steinway sounds like bragging, and that’s not polite.”
“I know. But I’ll bet he’d like to play it.”
Cole showed up first, with a bottle of wine and a chocolate mousse pie from Ashley’s bakery. And a quick kiss on Morgan’s cheek. It had been three days since Cole came over to talk her off her ledge. Made her take the first steps to believing teaching piano wasn’t another admission of failure. She wasn’t all the way there, but she’d moved from observer to active participant when Austin practiced.
Her hands might not be as nimble as in the past, and she couldn’t play for more than thirty minutes before they insisted she call a halt, less time if the piece were fast and intricate, but there was nothing wrong with her ear. She could guide Austin well enough.
“Thanks,” she said to Cole. “Would you open the wine, please?”
Randy and Sarah arrived with another bottle of wine and a vase of mixed flowers. A vase Morgan had admired in Sarah’s shop.
Morgan put the wine on the counter and the flowers in the middle of the dinette set. She hadn’t thought about entertaining when she’d made the decision to resurrect her baby grand from storage. Since it took up the official dining area, the kitchen was her dining room.
“Shall we eat?” she said.
Dinner, Morgan assumed from the lack of leftovers, was a success.
Austin cleared the table, obviously eager to move on to phase two of the evening. He’d picked his top five pieces, but Morgan had suggested—strongly—that he play three and save the other two for encores or another time.
“This isn’t a concert, Austin. The Detweilers will have to get home to their babysitter.”
When Austin finished his three, Randy stood and shook the boy’s hand. “You’ll play Carnegie Hall one day. Soon.”
Austin beamed. When she’d revealed her past, she’d told him about playing at Carnegie Hall, and Austin had said he would, too. A glow of pride filled Morgan’s chest.
Cole stood and cleared his throat. “I’ve had a discussion with Morgan about her piano playing. She played for me, and I thought it was fantastic, but she pointed out I have no qualifications.” He grinned in her direction. “Now, if she’d played something by Metallica, I might be a better judge. At any rate, since we have another musician in the room, I’m going to put Morgan on the spot and insist she play.”
Heat rose to Morgan’s face. A chill ran down her spine.
“Hey, we’re all friends here, right?” Cole said. He stabbed her with his blue eyes. “They deserve to hear something played by Morgan Tate.”
Morgan Tate. Not Tatiana Morgan. Did that give her permission to give less than her best? Had that been her problem all along? Thinking she was useless if she couldn’t be Tatiana? Not allowing Morgan to be Morgan?
Cole took her by the shoulders and steered her to the piano.
With a flourish, Austin swept his arm toward the seat.
Protesting would be useless. She sat. Placed her fingers on the cool ivory. Let them take over.
“Moonlight Sonata.” One of her first pieces.
Lost in the music, she was unaware of any carpal tunnel issues. When she finished, she ignored the applause. These were friends. They’d clap no matter how poorly she’d played. Only Randy would know how it could have been.
Cole stepped to her side. “Detective Detweiler. You’re experienced in things musical. Morgan’s going to use the I’m rusty excuse, but even so, do you think she’s good enough to teach piano?”
Morgan looked to Randy. “I trust you to be honest.”
“You’ve got the music chops for sure. Now, I haven’t observed your teaching style, but I don’t see you as the knuckle-rapping sort.” He threw a stern look in Austin’s direction. “What does she do if you hit a wrong note? Or get the timing off? Mess up the dynamics?”
“Mostly, she waits until I finish a section, then asks me to play it again. Sometimes, she’ll play it for me. Just the part she thinks could be better.”
“I’m not hearing anything that would keep me from recommending Morgan Tate to anyone who’s looking for a top-notch piano teacher,” Randy said. “Any sixth grader’s parents who were at the ceremony would jump at a chance to have their kids—or themselves—taught by Austin Jackson’s teacher.”
She was grateful Randy hadn’t said she should promote herself as Tatiana Morgan. She tugged on a curl. Thoughts that had been roiling around her head surfaced. “Thank you. I guess I should look into a business license. Advertise. Get a website.”
“Like yesterday,” Randy said. “Now, if you would permit it, I’d love to take a turn on your magnificent instrument.”
While Randy played, clearly enjoying himself, she took a seat on the couch next to Cole and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, drew her close, and warmth filled her.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
A too-short while later, Randy relinquished the seat to Austin.
“Sorry,” Sarah said. “We had a wonderful time, but we have to get home.”
Randy and Sarah said their good-byes, and after another fifteen minutes, Morgan sent Austin up to bed. “You can play more tomorrow, and I’ll look into places you can perform.”
Cole seemed hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he should leave, too.
“You can stay awhile longer.” Morgan divided the remaining wine into their glasses. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Always dangerous,” he said, grinning.
“Seriously. Until my parents died and my surgery failed, I’d been defined by my music. That’s who I was, and when I couldn’t have that, I felt like a nobody. I muddled through life, but I wasn’t living it. Thank you for giving me a chance. For helping me put music at the head of my top five list.”
After a drawn out kiss that curled her toes, Cole cupped her face in his hands. “You think we can make this work? You, me, and Austin?”
Bailey trotted over and shoved his cold nose between them.
Morgan jerked, then giggled. “And Bailey.”
“Way to spoil the mood, fella,” Cole scratched the dog’s ears. “And Bailey. We’ll have our challenges, but what life worth living doesn’t?”
Morgan raised her wine glass. “Here’s to challenges.”
Cole tapped his glass to hers. “May they make for an interesting life.”