Page 8 of After All This Time

I drive home with the windows down, the wind whipping through the car asThe Neighbourhoodplays out of the speakers.

When I return to the empty apartment, silence hits me like a brick wall. I take a deep breath, allowing the stillness to settle before I turn on the lights and toss my keys onto the kitchen counter.

Mills mentioned something earlier about a group thing with a few of the people from the dance company, so I know she's out. I don't know when she'll be back, but something inside tells me I need to wait up. It's not just about her coming home safely—there's more to it than that. It's this twisted, gnawing feeling that I can't control, a reminder of how much I hate being alone.

Always have.

I suppose that's what happens when your mom disappears without so much as a goodbye, and your dad treats you like you don't exist until you're old enough for him to want something from you. It can mess you up if you allow it to, but aside from having tiny abandonment issues, I think I'm doing okay.

However, this is only the third or fourth time I've been in the apartment without Amelia, and it's quiet. Too quiet. I know she's fine wherever she is, but until I hear the sound of her keys in the lock and her soft footsteps tiptoeing across the floor, I know I'll be wired.

Chapter 4

Amelia

HARPER

Hey everyone!I'm Harper, and I've been put in charge of welcoming all the new apprentices. There are 9 of you, so I thought we'd have a little get-together to break the ice! We're meeting Thursday night at the Purple Piano bar. Hope to see you all there! Any questions, just shoot me a message! See you soon!

The message meant for all nine of us came through a few days ago, and even though it's not my thing, I decided to go tonight. I'll be working with these people for the next year, maybe longer if my contract gets extended.

It's not that I struggle to make friends or find it challenging to talk to people. I can do small talk, make connections, and blend in when needed.

But people… they exhaust me.

Dressed in something comfortable but appropriate enough for a bar, I make my way to the Purple Piano.

The street buzzes with life around me—shouts and laughter spill from overcrowded patios, car engines rumble in the distance, and snippets of conversations slice through the air as people push past one another. However, my attention is drawn to the large front window of the bar where an actual grand piano sits in the center, painted in a shade of purple so loud and unapologetic you can't help but stop and stare.

The piano not only sits there, but it commands the entire space, mirroring the man sitting behind it. He's an older guy, maybe forty-five, possibly fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly swept back and tucked behind his ears.

I can't help but watch him and the way his fingers effortlessly glide across the keys. It's the kind of ease that comes with years of dedication, a level of artistry that blurs the line between the creator and the creation.

Some people perform.

Some people become the art, and he's definitely the second kind.

"Amelia?"

A voice cuts through the air, and I hear my name. I blink and turn toward the door, where a woman who looks around my age with shoulder-length peroxide-blonde hair and the happiest smile I've ever seen stands before me.

"Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Harper," she says, her eyes twinkling, and I can already tell I'm going to like her. "You coming in? You're the last one."

"Oh, right, hi. Yeah, I'm coming." I nod toward the man playing the piano. "I was just watching this guy play."

"He's good, right?" she says, glancing over her shoulder at him with a small smile. "Come on, let's get you inside."

I force myself to look away, reluctantly leaving the piano man behind as I step through the door after her.

"By the way, knowing who you are wasn't a lucky guess… I stalked you all on social media before tonight." I follow her as she leads me to a round table where four others sit. "This is Amelia. She's our final new starter out of the ones of you who bothered to show up tonight."

A few "Heys" come from the group, and I give them an awkward wave that definitely looks as lame as it feels before I slide into the empty seat.

"I know I've already introduced myself, but I'm Harper. That's Logan—he's in his second year at the company, like me, but I dragged him out tonight because, well, he had nothing better to do."

"Thanks for that, Harper," Logan says, shooting her a playful eye roll before sipping his beer.

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