Page 20 of Chocolate Cherry Cabin

Louis, who was still peering inside the piano, gave a low whistle.

“What?”

“There are a lot of strings in here.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked, hitting a few more keys.

“Ouch! Stop that.”

“Sorry.” Hannah sat on her hands so she wouldn’t be tempted to knock his fingers with the internal hammers that hit the strings he was studying. All eighty-eight keys were covered in a layer of grime from a year of disuse. Off to the right a C key wasn’t sitting properly. Bringing the instrument up to a reasonable standard was going to take not only time, but skill—something she was certain Louis didn’t possess.

“There’s a high C looking odd. How does it look in there?” she asked.

“Which one?”

“Are your fingers clear?”

“Yes.”

Hannah stretched her neck up to peek at him. He was doing something on his phone instead of looking inside the instrument.

“What are you doing? Researching how to tune a piano or texting your girlfriend?”

He gave her a saucy glance, and she couldn’t decide whether that meant yes, he was researching the job, or he was texting a woman.

She tapped and wiggled the funny key, which remained silent. She needed that one for “Here Comes Santa Claus,” the song the kids all sang together at the end to bring out Santa and his bag of gifts. “What’s up with this key?”

He bent forward again. “Wire broke. We can probably bring it back to life if we use a little care. Bring out this old beast’s potential.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if it can be salvaged.” She must have been overly optimistic when she’d looked at it last month.

Hannah ran her fingers down the keys, caressing them like they were old friends. When she was a kid this had simply been a piano. She’d sat down, played her music, got up again. But looking at it now, with its chipped and yellowed keys, she realized that as dear and familiar as it was, the past few years of neglect and abuse were showing. This old barn in Texas wasn’t exactly climate controlled, and the instrument’s precious inner workings were likely cracked and warped from years spent in the dry heat of the dusty countryside. It was time to have the instrument replaced. And like the idea of going back to school, there was no room in the budget.

* * *

Louis watched Hannah over the top of the piano. She seemed resigned to disappointment. Was it the state of the instrument or the fact that she was twigging on to the fact that he didn’t have a clue about tuning pianos? He’d figured with his musical ear he could sort it out, but once he’d opened the lid he’d realized it was a lot trickier than sorting out a six-string guitar.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Is there money for a new piano?”

She shook her head.

“Think we can squeeze another season out of this thing?” It would be a shame if she didn’t get to play in the community concert. She was good, and he’d loved seeing her shine when she performed. Granted, he hadn’t heard her play since a teen, but seeing as she had a piano at home, taught lessons and was looking at this one with sadness and longing, he had a feeling music was still a big part of her life.

He closed the piano, then set his pocket knife on top.

Hannah’s gaze locked onto its beat-up red handle, a strange expression of recognition flitting across her face before she quickly looked away.

She remembered the knife. A gift that went everywhere with him.

She might never know how special it was to him, and that was okay. She might think he’d held on to it for all these years because it was a handy tool. But maybe one day she’d realize he’d kept it because it was from her, and it mattered most because of that.

“We need to find you a new piano,” he announced. “Where should we start looking?”

“I didn’t say it needs replacing right now,” she snapped. “Quit trying to solve problems that aren’t yours.”

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