Page 87 of Love is a Lyric
Tommy himself seated people as they came in. He grinned when he caught sight of them. “My two favorite kids.”
“Tommy.” Chase shook his head. “We’re twenty-one. You ever going to stop calling us kids?”
“Maybe if this one sings for me.” He elbowed Piper.
She rubbed her arm. “You sure like to bribe me, don’t you?”
“Always. I’ve got one table left in the back corner. You two go grab it, and I’ll send out some food.” Piper had never really thought about the fact Tommy knew them so well they didn’t have to order, but she was grateful for the routine.
Chase slid into the round booth next to her. “You good?”
“Let’s make a deal. No more asking me that, and I won’t make you sing with me.”
He barked out a laugh. “Sure.”
They spent the next hour eating way too much food and laughing about inconsequential things, reminding Piper of a time when life was simpler, when she’d only known Ben Evans as her older sister’s friend, the son of the people who’d taken her in.
A time when all she’d needed was Chase.
A waitress set two bowls of chili in front of them, along with all the fixins. Tommy definitely knew how to put her in a good mood.
Piper reached for the bowl of oyster crackers and threw one at Chase. It hit his forehead.
“Did you just hit me with a cracker?” He suppressed a laugh.
“You’re supposed to catch it.”
“Immature.”
“You love it.”
He shot her a grin. This pub was the one place she didn’t have to act like she had it all together. She could play childish games or get up on stage to bare her soul.
They’d finished their chili when Tommy stepped up to the table. “It’s time, Piper. The singers tonight have been atrocious. Show my patrons we know what talent looks like.”
Piper lifted her eyes to the picture hanging on the wall near their table of her fourteen-year-old self. She stood and pressed a palm to the frame, telling that girl she could get through anything as long as she kept music in her throat, her mind, every cell of her body.
Love might only be a lyric, but life was the whole dang song.
Piper winked at Tommy before walking toward the stage. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d played piano, the last time her fingers danced over the bone-white keys. Her mom taught her when she was young, and then Julia continued the lessons. Piper spent hours upon hours sitting at the piano that now went unused in the Evans’ basement.
Since going to work for Quinn, she’d lived in hotels or Quinn’s L.A. loft without a piano in sight. Her sister hadn’t played since their parents died.
It hurt her too much.
For Piper, it healed.
She slid onto the black stool and stretched her fingers over the keys. A microphone hovered in front of her, but she couldn’t see the audience. Maybe that was for the best.
She’d thought long and hard about which song to sing. It seemed like another life when she’d stood in that Florida room and ripped pages out of the notebook she’d kept since she was younger, the one housing her most precious songs. Even after reconciling with Quinn, they hadn’t spoken of the songs, and Piper knew what that meant.
Quinn was still using them.
But for this moment, as Piper sat in a restaurant in Ohio away from prying media eyes, they still belonged to her. She leaned into the mic. “This song is calledLooking for You.”
She started slowly, her fingers picking up speed as she remembered each note like she’d written them yesterday, the music flowing from her in waves.
Music had never been a dream for Piper, never a career to wish for. Instead, it was a method of communication when words had so often failed her, a way to make sense of the world. She’d never cared if anyone else heard her or what they thought when they did.
