Page 30 of Catastrophically Yours
The apartment was quiet when she entered, lamplight casting everything in warm amber tones. Piper closed the door softly behind her, listening for signs of movement. No music drifted from Drew's corner of the living room. No soft humming from the kitchen.
She found Drew on the couch, curled on her side with Pickle sprawled across her chest like an oversized, purring hot water bottle. Drew's face looked younger in sleep, relaxed in a way that made Piper's chest tight with something between affection and longing. Her guitar lay within arm's reach, positioned carefullyso it wouldn't fall but close enough that she could grab it at a moment's notice.
The scene hit Piper like a physical blow. This was what she'd been afraid of—not just Drew herself, but the way everything felt more right when she was here. The way coming home meant something different now, carried weight and warmth and the possibility of finding exactly this: peace and music and someone who chose to stay.
Piper approached slowly, careful not to wake either sleeper. Pickle opened one green eye to regard her, but Drew remained perfectly still, her breathing deep and even. This close, Piper could see the calluses on Drew's fingertips from guitar strings, the slight smile that curved her lips even in sleep.
Without thinking, Piper reached for the guitar.
The Taylor felt different under her hands than her old piano had, wood warm and smooth where keys had been cool ivory. She ran her fingers gently over the strings, not pressing hard enough to make real noise but feeling the vibration travel through her fingertips. The metal wound around nylon created texture against her skin, a tactile memory of music that made her remember why she'd loved playing in the first place.
The strings hummed softly under her touch, creating faint musical notes that seemed to awaken something inside her that had been sleeping for years. She closed her eyes and let herself remember: the satisfaction of finding the perfect chord progression, the way melodies could capture feelings that words couldn't reach, the connection she'd felt with Drew during their impromptu duet weeks ago.
She'd been so focused on the practical—on making sure everything was planned and controlled and safe—that she'd forgotten how music felt like coming alive. How creating something beautiful mattered more than whether it made sense on paper.
The guitar strings continued their quiet song under her fingertips, and Piper found herself remembering other things too: the way Drew's eyes had lit up when she'd played piano, the careful attention Drew paid to her schedule and preferences, the way Drew said her name like it meant something important.
She didn't organize a benefit concert for someone she doesn't love.
Brian's words came back with new weight, carrying truth that Piper had been too scared to examine closely. Drew had spent days coordinating with musicians, convincing venues, organizing details that had nothing to do with her own life or dreams. She'd done it because Janet mattered to Piper, and somehow, impossibly, Piper mattered to Drew.
A soft murmur interrupted her thoughts. Drew shifted slightly on the couch, her lips forming words too quiet to understand clearly. But Piper caught the shape of her own name in the movement, heard the way Drew's sleeping mind reached for her even in dreams.
Pickle opened both eyes now, regarding Piper with the kind of feline judgment that suggested she found the current situation between her humans unnecessarily complicated. The cat's expression seemed to say:She loves you, you love her, and you're both being ridiculous about it.
Piper stood frozen between her old self and her current self, between the woman who'd loved music and the one who'd chosen practical safety, between the person she'd been and the person she might become if she found the courage to reach for what she wanted instead of just what made sense.
Drew murmured her name again, and this time Piper heard it clearly—soft and warm and full of trust that made her chest ache with possibility.
Tomorrow night, Drew would perform at the benefit concert she'd organized for Piper's family. She'd stand on a stage andshare her music with strangers, all for people she barely knew, all because they mattered to Piper.
The least Piper could do was find the courage to tell her what that meant.
FOURTEEN
THE SOUND OF CHOOSING
The Blue Moon felt hollow at three in the afternoon—like a theater waiting for its audience. Drew adjusted the microphone stand for the third time while Marcus hauled tables from the back room, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Fidgeting with that thing won't improve your voice," he called out, wrestling a table into position.
"Just want everything right." Drew's laugh came out thin. Luna leaned against the brick wall, afternoon light catching the worn spots on her grandmother's guitar. Tonight felt like it might demand that same kind of steadiness her grandmother had always carried.
Marcus stopped, giving her the look he reserved for nervous first-timers. "It's not about right, kid. It's about honest."
The door chimed and Piper walked in with her family—Janet moving carefully but determined, Robert offering his arm, and Brian practically vibrating with excitement. Piper had dressed for business in her navy blazer and perfect hair, but Drew caught the tightness in her shoulders.
"Donation table goes there," Piper told Brian, pointing near the entrance. "Better visibility, easier access for?—"
"Piper." Janet's voice carried gentle amusement. "Breathe."
Drew wanted to walk over, catch Piper's eye, share one of those moments that had been building between them. But Sarah arrived with her violin case, followed by two other musicians, and suddenly Drew was pulled into conversations about set lists and sound checks while Piper remained across the room, organizing with mathematical precision.
The café filled gradually. Some faces Drew recognized from open mic nights, others were clearly here for the benefit—drawn by social media or word of mouth. Conversation mixed with Marcus's jazz soundtrack, creating the atmosphere that usually made Drew feel at home.
Usually.
"Drew, honey?" Janet appeared beside her, moving with careful grace. "I wanted to thank you before things get crazy. What you've organized—it means more than I can say."
