Chapter Four

Harmony rushed down the sidewalk, street lamps lighting the way. Thank goodness the Haynes Music Academy was only a few blocks from Finnigan’s. Clouds billowed in the early night sky, threatening to dump massive amounts of snow on her head. Hadn’t the storm a few days earlier dropped enough white? Shivers jolted down her spine. Rock salt crunched under her boots. Would her bones freeze before she reached her destination?

Damn, Miami’s mild winters had softened her up.

Five days had passed since Birley escorted her back to the inn. He’d pecked her cheek in goodnight, a sad smile curving his lips. Oh, man, how she’d wanted him to devour her lips.

She ducked her head against the biting wind. Each step jogged her memory. She’d walked this path before, anxious to play with her best friend—and later to make out with him—but now a heavy weight leadened her stomach. She turned the corner at Rockwell Elementary, her old school, and paused in front of the two-story Victorian house.

White lights and red garland twisted around the porch columns and rails. How festive. Dormant azalea bushes lined the porch. Dark-green shutters popped against the beige siding.

The copse of tall, snow-laden trees that she and Birley had climbed as children separated the right side yard from the elementary school. Birley’s SUV and a sedan occupied the parking area on the left. Whew! He was here. Since they’d exchanged numbers at Sugarbush, she should’ve called him before making the trip, but she needed to see him. Had to see him, touch him, feel him. Her throat tightened.

She hurried down the concrete path through the snowy yard and climbed the steps. What was that smell? She wrinkled her nose and blew hard puffs to clear the passageways. There—the stench of fresh paint wafted from the door and siding. She gripped the curved handle and pushed. Hinges squeaked. Bingo! If the door had been locked, she would’ve had to call Birley after all. Heat rushed out. She dashed across the threshold into the small lobby and shut the door on the pervading cold.

“Hello?” She loosened her scarf. The lemony scent of instrument cleaner hung in the air, as it always had, and commingled with pine. Garland adorned the tops of portraits featuring classical musicians, a few of whom she recognized. Unlit pillar candles topped the end tables. She tapped a glittery snowflake ornament on the tree in the corner. Nothing had changed, except the addition of the holiday decorations.

Muffled music flowed from down the hall, jump-starting her heart. She stuffed her gloves in her purse and followed the sound. Was that a flute? She couldn’t play an instrument to save her life, but whoever was practicing was damn good.

A sharp whistle rent the air.

Eek. Good, but no professional. She skimmed her fingers down a plush red garland strand. Despite the soundproofed walls, the lilting notes vibrated a little clearer from the parlor on the right. She cracked open the door, jostling a ribbon-festooned wreath, and peeked in.

Birley flipped a page of sheet music on the black stand, which was in front of his student.

No. His son. Wowza. Andy was the spitting image of Birley, even though he had darker hair than his father. The picture she’d seen hadn’t done the kid justice.

His cheeks puffed as he blew into the instrument. He sat on a stool, tapping his right foot with each beat. Another out-of-tune whistle hissed. After he finished the song, he rested the flute on his lap.

“Much better, Andy. You’re getting the hang of this.” Birley patted his son’s back.

“Can I try the sax now?” The child’s high voice squeaked from his little body. He pointed toward something, presumably a saxophone, across the room.

“It’s too heavy. Once you’ve mastered the flute, we’ll move from there.”

Andy pouted, pushing out his bottom lip.

Aw. She pushed the door all the way open and clapped.

Birley flipped around, his eyes wide. “Harmony, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Obviously, since I was able to catch the last of Andy’s performance.” She grinned at the boy. “You play wonderfully.”

His gap-tooth smile spread up his face. “My daddy taught me.”

“Andy, this is Harmony. She’s an old friend.” Birley’s cheeks reddened. He nodded toward a bookcase along the far wall. “Go clean the instrument and store it on the rack.”

The boy sighed, but he hopped off the stool and hurried to the shelf. He unsnapped the mouthpiece from the flute, then wiped it with a white pad.

Birley met Harmony across the room. He hunched his shoulders. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again. Not after, well…”

“It was an argument, a disagreement really. We shouldn’t let it ruin the time we could spend together, but I’m still moving to California.” The wall between them twisted her heart. Would he accept her olive branch and have fun with her while he could?

He rubbed his crinkling forehead. “I understand.”

Andy grasped his father’s pants leg and peered up at Harmony. “Do you play the flute or the sax like my dad?”

Birley chuckled. The creases around his dark coffee-brown eyes faded. “Nope, she doesn’t. Poor Harmony can’t carry a tune. She doesn’t have a musical bone in her body.”

She playfully struck the man’s shoulder as the boy giggled. The tightness in her chest eased. “He’s right, sweetie. I used to be a student here. I tried the guitar, the oboe, and the drums, but I couldn’t get it. I even took singing lessons with your grandma. It was pretty embarrassing.”

She and Birley had never been in the same classes—she in the beginner’s course for each instrument, and he in the advanced courses—but he often pulled her into the break room for snacks after practice. She’d attended the academy during her middle-school years, but her parents eventually refused to pay for more lessons. Not that she blamed them.

The overhead light gleamed off the various woodwind and brass instruments hanging on the walls. The two-foot-long black cylinder oboe probably wasn’t the same one she’d used, but she winced anyway.

“Where’s Kay?” She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets.

“With my mom. Unlike Andy, she isn’t showing a desire to learn an instrument, but I hope that will change.”

“She’s always playing with her stupid old dolls.” Andy scrunched his nose.

“Don’t badmouth her dolls.” He lifted his eyebrow at his son. “What if she called your action figures stupid? You wouldn’t like that, right?”

The boy frowned and ducked his head.

Birley flashed Harmony a small smile. “Want to get a drink?”

“Now? It’s only six o’clock.”

He laughed, scratching his cheek. “No, not the kind where we won’t remember the night before. I meant water or soda from the break room.”

“Oh. Sure.” Her face heated.

“Lead the way.” Birley smirked, the dimples in his cheeks showing.

Was he testing her memory of the building’s layout? Prepare to be amazed. She strode from the room with Birley and Andy at her heels.

A soft giggle escaped from two doors down.

She popped open the door and grinned. Busted!

Dylan sprang back from the blonde woman he was kissing against the wall. “Aw, shit. I mean crap.” He tunneled his hand through his dark, spiky hair.

The woman flushed scarlet and patted her puffy lips.

Andy brushed against Harmony’s leg, squeezing by her, and raced to his uncle.

“Hey, buddy. Have a good practice?” Dylan picked him up as the boy bobbed his head.

Harmony stepped aside, letting Birley into the room.

He cleared his throat. “We’ve talked about this, Dylan—the cursing and the making out.” He nodded toward his son, then at the blonde.

“I changed it to crap, man. Besides, it’s after hours. All the classes are done for the day, and the students have left. No harm done.” He set Andy back down and approached Harmony. “It’s been a long time, H. You look good. Sorry I missed you the last time you were here.”

Few people used her old nickname anymore. She hugged the tall, brawny man and stepped back. “Don’t worry about it. Weren’t you on tour or something?”

“Most likely. Those days have blurred together in my head.” Dylan rubbed his slightly crooked nose. “I quit Fortune’s Glory about two and a half years ago. The band broke up not long after.”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

Dylan was five years her junior. He’d played the drums in an indie rock band and worked the New York circuit. She’d seen a few of his shows while she was living in Newark, and she continued to follow the band through their website after moving to Miami.

“It’s for the best.” The shadows in his eyes vanished as his lady friend joined them. He pulled her close and nuzzled her temple.

“Geez. These men.” The woman grinned, rolling her eyes, and pushed from Dylan’s embrace. “They have no manners. I’m Erica Timberly.”

“Harmony Holdich.” She shook Erica’s proffered hand.

“It’s good to finally meet you. Brenda has told me so many stories about you and Birley.”

“Oh no. How bad were they?”

“No, not bad. They’re funny.” Erica swished her hand in the air. “My favorite story so far was when you pushed Birley in the mud after catching him eyeballing your undies at your birthday party.”

Birley burst out laughing. “I hadn’t thought about that in years.”

Neither had Harmony. Her pulse quickened as Birley perused her red jacket and dark slacks. Crazy man. Was he thinking about her current pair of underwear?

She’d been nine years old, standing on top of a jungle gym at the park, and he was hanging out below, staring up her dress. She’d chased him down and knocked him in a puddle.

The boy he’d been had a lot to learn about showing a girl he liked her, which he’d made up for in the years that followed.

Tingles shot through her. Damn, did he learn well.

“Harmony, do you have plans tonight?” Dylan asked.

She shook her head no. “Why?”

He turned to his nephew. “Want to spend the night with Erica and me?”

“Yeah!” Andy bounced on his toes. “Can we have pizza? I’m hungry.”

“Sounds good to me, if it’s good with Erica.” After his fiancée nodded, Dylan flashed his grin at Harmony. “Birley doesn’t have plans now either. You guys can have dinner.”

She arched her eyebrows. If that wasn’t a set up, what was?

“Dylan, no.” Birley pinched the bridge between his eyes, then scowled at his younger brother. “First, you should ask me if you can take Andy, not him. Second, I—”

“Daddy, please. I wanna go with Uncle Dylan.” Andy whined, pleading with his big eyes.

He rested his hand on his son’s head. “Tomorrow is a school day.”

“We can take him to school. We’re more than willing to babysit Kay as well—if that’s all right,” Erica amended as Birley cocked his head. “We’ll swing by your parents’ place to get her.” She nudged her smirking man. “Great idea, but this scheme is a little on the nose.”

Hell, yes. Harmony bit her cheek, fighting laughter.

“C’mon, Daddy.” Andy tugged on Birley’s shirtsleeve.

“Sorry, Harmony. We don’t have to do anything together, if you don’t want to.” Birley shuffled his feet.

His cheeks flushed redder than cranberries. She grasped his sweaty palm and trailed her thumb across the beige paint splattering his knuckles. What a sweet, hesitant man. “I’d love to catch a bite with you.”

He straightened. The lines bracketing his mouth smoothed. He nodded back at Dylan and Erica. “Okay. You guys can take the kids.”

“Yippee!” Andy jumped and thrust his little arms in the air.

“On that note—” Erica gripped Dylan’s arm and stared at Birley. “—we better go. Do you mind if we grab the kids’ book bags and whatever else they’ll need from upstairs?”

“No, go ahead, and take Andy with you. Bring him back here before you leave.”

Erica pulled Dylan from the room, and Andy trotted after them.

Birley fidgeted with a loose string on his shirt. “I wasn’t expecting them to play matchmaker, but I should have. I teased Dylan a lot when he and Erica were first dating.”

“Payback’s a bitch.” They weren’t dating, but his brother and future sister-in-law hadn’t gotten the message. She licked her dry lips. “How about that water?”

He hurried to the whirring fridge and grabbed two bottles from the dozen-plus inside.

The squeaky plastic chilled her hand. She screwed off the cap and guzzled the cold liquid. Oh yes. Just what she needed. She plopped on the brown leather sofa across from the coffee table and armchair. “Why were you painting? Cold weather keeps paint tacky.”

“I had to.” He scraped his nails across the beige stains marring his hands. Tension permeated from him as he sat beside her.

“What’s going on?” She recapped her drink.

“I wish I knew. Someone spray-painted some nasty words on the house a few days ago. Dylan and I painted over it yesterday, and I did some touch-ups this morning. This isn’t the first incident.”

Her blood heated, racing faster, as he confided about the dead animal and the vandalism to his vehicle. “Jesus. Someone is super pissed.”

“A patrol car is now driving by twice a night. The police have spoken to my neighbors, but no one has seen anything. Mom and Dad are hoping whoever is doing this will grow bored and stop, but I doubt it. These attacks feel personal.” He fisted his hands on top of his knees.

She huffed. “A brick through my windshield would feel personal too. Can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge against you or the business?”

“No, not really. Sheriff Burke asked me the same thing. The only person I can think of is in prison. He was a former instructor here.”

“Huh? Wow. What happened?”

Birley’s lips twisted on one side. “The idiot slept with an underage student.”

She whistled. “That’ll land a man in hot water. And rightfully so.”

“Anyway, Andy and Kay saw the graffiti, but luckily, they’re too young to know what those words meant. None of the academy’s students saw it, as far as I know, but some parents did. Word of these pranks, assaults—whatever you want to call it—is getting around town. More than one student has questioned me about it. The last thing I need is more drama.” He hunched over and gripped the back of his neck. “I’m busy enough.”

“You have a right to be stressed, but try to relax.” She rubbed his stiff, strong back. His muscles bunched under her palm. Stop it. No pawing. Not now. She dropped her hand. Sweat trickled down her spine. She pushed off her jacket, then tossed her beanie and scarf on the table. Had someone jacked the thermostat to one hundred degrees?

“Birley, we’re heading out.” Dylan’s voice echoed from the open doorway. Then he popped in, a bright-pink book bag hanging from his shoulder.

Birley and Harmony stood as Andy rushed toward them. He hugged the boy. “Be good. Listen to Uncle Dylan and Aunt Erica, okay?”

“Will do. Bye, Daddy.” He grinned, darkness shining from his missing front tooth. He reached for Harmony, but then he zoomed out the door.

What was the boy going to do—hug her? Why did he change his mind? Her chest tightened. She probably would’ve teared up had the child raced into her arms.

“Erica is getting the car warmed up.” Blush darkened Dylan’s cheeks. “Hey, H. About earlier, I’m sorry if I came across as pushy.”

“It’s okay.” She coughed a little and blinked rapidly, forcing her polite mask to stay in place. “It’s good seeing you again.”

“And you.” They hugged goodbye. Dylan clapped Birley on the shoulder and left.

“You all right?” Birley turned to Harmony, his brows slanting over his eyes.

She shivered. He scanned her face, surely catching every nuance and twitch. “Yeah, I am. I like being around kids, even if it is hard sometimes. You’re lucky to have them.” All she had was two heartbreaking miscarriages and a broken marriage. Claude had refused to consider adoption, but he was gone now. She didn’t have to do as he wanted anymore.

Her love for him had died before she discovered his string of affairs, but they’d spent eight years together, six of those married. It had to count for something.

“So, dinner?” She reeked of avoidance. Would Birley take her lead and drop the subject?

“If you need to talk, I’m here.” He kissed her cheek, then stepped aside and pulled his cell from his pants pocket. “How about the Red Clover Café? Hopefully, Nate will have a table. If not, Stone Hearth Tavern?”

“Sure. Any place but Finnigan’s.” She swigged from her bottle. If she wasn’t careful, his soft eyes and gentle voice would break her.

Uncle Stan had been encouraging her to pursue Birley since she returned, and her mother jumped on the bandwagon during their video chat the previous night. Dining with Birley under Stan’s nose, however, ranked low on her to-do list.

After Birley called his mom to speak with his daughter—of course, Kay was thrilled to stay with Dylan—he called the café and made the reservations. “We have an hour to spare. If you want, I’ll show you the upstairs. It’s changed quite a bit since you last saw it. We can go after I hit the shower.”

“Will your bedroom be part of the tour?” Fire flamed in her cheeks. Why did she blurt that out? The wicked smile curling his mouth jolted heat through her veins. Oh Lord. He was gonna be the death of her.

“Definitely, but we’ll take the bed for a test ride later. I’m going to treat my girl to a five-star meal first.”

Her heart pitter-pattered. A part of her wanted to be his girl, but she knew better. She was leaving soon, so the best either of them could hope for was a fling. If only her heart would listen.