Page 33 of Catastrophically Yours
Drew set a perfect cup of coffee beside Piper's elbow—two sugars, splash of cream, the way she'd learned Piper preferred without being asked. "Four days. In a real studio." Wonder colored her voice. "Sometimes I still can't believe we're actually doing this."
"We're doing this." Piper looked up from the calendar to meet Drew's eyes. "The numbers work, the songs are solid, and you've got an audience waiting to hear them."
Pickle wound between their legs, purring his approval of the morning routine. He'd grown even larger over the past three months, his orange and white bulk now a solid fifteen pounds of contentment who showed no favorites—just pure satisfaction at having arranged his humans' lives to his exact specifications.
Drew's plants had found homes alongside Piper's filing system, bringing life to corners that had previously held only functional furniture. Her guitar propped against the bookshelfof financial texts like an old friend joining a conversation. The refrigerator displayed both family photos—Drew's large, boisterous Italian gatherings mixed with Piper's smaller portraits of Janet and Brian—creating a gallery of the people who mattered most.
"Blue Moon tonight?" Drew asked, settling into her chair with her own coffee.
"Wouldn't miss it." Piper made a note on the calendar. "Though I still think you should try the new harmony on the bridge."
"Trust issues," Drew teased. "You've heard me practice it exactly twice."
"I have perfect pitch, remember? You're sharpening the third when you're nervous."
"I don't get nervous performing with you anymore."
The simple statement landed between them with unexpected weight. Drew's fingers stilled on her coffee mug, as if she'd surprised herself with the admission. Piper felt warmth spread through her chest—not the anxious flutter of new attraction, but the steady glow of recognized truth.
"Good," Piper said quietly. "Because you're brilliant, and I like being there when people realize it."
The Blue Moon Café buzzed with early evening energy, the exposed brick walls warm with Edison bulb lighting and the comfortable chatter of familiar faces. Drew tuned her guitar while Piper adjusted the piano bench, their pre-performance routine as natural now as breathing. They'd developed an easy musical conversation over the past months—Drew's emotional intuition guiding Piper's precise technical skills, creating something neither could achieve alone.
"Ready?" Drew asked, fingers finding the opening chord.
Piper's hands settled on the keys, and they began.
The song was one they'd arranged together, Drew's melody enhanced by Piper's careful harmonies and subtle piano accompaniment. But tonight felt different—Drew's voice carried new confidence, while Piper's playing showed a creative freedom she'd never allowed herself before. When Drew nodded toward the bridge, Piper followed her lead into an improvised section that made the small audience lean forward with interest.
Sadie caught them afterwards, grinning with satisfaction. "You two are getting scary good at that mind-reading thing."
"Practice," Piper said, but Drew laughed.
"She means we spend way too much time together."
"Not possible," Piper replied without thinking, then blushed when Drew's smile went soft around the edges.
They packed equipment with practiced efficiency—Drew coiling cables while Piper folded music stands, their movements choreographed by repetition and consideration for each other's preferences. When Drew kissed her temple while reaching for the guitar case, Piper straightened Drew's strap in return, small gestures that spoke of established partnership rather than new romance.
The kitchen table had become their unofficial business headquarters, Piper's budget spreadsheets competing for space with Drew's album artwork sketches. Over dinner leftovers, they slipped into their usual debate about song order, Piper's practical suggestions balancing Drew's creative vision in ways that strengthened both approaches.
"If we open with 'Riverside Mornings,' we need something more upbeat for track two," Drew said, pencil moving across paper as she reorganized the list. "But 'Coffee Shop Serenade' might be too similar in tempo."
"What about 'Pickle's Song'?" Piper suggested, pointing to a notation in the margin. "It's got the humor to offset the emotional opening, but it still flows thematically."
"See, this is why I need you." Drew looked up from her sketches. "You think about the listener's experience, not just individual songs."
"We think about different things. That's why it works."
The doorbell interrupted their planning. Brian bounded in with his usual energy, immediately gravitating toward the refrigerator while greeting Pickle like an old friend.
"Please tell me you have actual food and not just Piper's sad desk lunches," he said, poking through containers.
"Hey," Piper protested. "Those are balanced meals."
"Your sister makes excellent balanced meals," Drew said diplomatically. "I've been teaching her about seasoning."
"Finally!" Brian emerged with leftover pasta. "Someone needs to save her from bland chicken and steamed vegetables."
