Page 47 of Tour Wars
After another halfhour of chatting with Dusty, Emilia’s fatigue kicked in. She went back into the hotel, fully intending to go up to bed, but stopped when she reached the lobby. To the right of the check-in desk was a sleek lounge with a mid-century modern vibe, containing stylish armchairs in muted reds and yellows, retro light fixtures, and a baby grand piano. Clustered around it was a group of people singing along to Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.” Among them were the Mangolds and a few others from the Buon Viaggio group.
Earlier that day, she’d noticed a sign beside the piano advertising a lounge singer who made appearances on Fridays and Saturdays. This couldn’t be him, not on a Monday at midnight. One of the hotel guests must have gotten the urge to play. She crept closer, not wanting to interrupt, only to come to an abrupt stop. Seated at the piano was TJ.
What the hell? He’d never mentioned he played piano. Not only that, but he wasn’t using sheet music or reading from an app on his phone.
She stood there listening as the hotel guests sang along. Given that most of them were over sixty, she wasn’t surprised they knew the words to a song from the 1970s. But why was TJ so familiar with it? For that matter, why had he made her a playlist of his favorite Pink Floyd albums? For a twenty-eight-year-old, he had the musical tastes of someone twice his age.
After he was done, he launched into Elton John’s “Rocket Man.” Another ’70s classic. Everyone knew it, even her. She inched a little closer. Even if this music wasn’t her jam, TJ’s enthusiasm was hard to resist.
The moment he saw her, his expression changed, like a kid who’d been busted by a teacher. But he kept going until he finished the song. With a flourish, he stood and gave a sweeping bow, beaming when the hotel guests rewarded him with a hearty round of applause.
“That’s it for tonight, folks,” he said. “I’ve got an early wake-up call tomorrow, so I should get to bed. Buona notte!”
After a few good-natured grumbles, the group filtered out, leaving Emilia alone with TJ. He sat back down on the piano bench but turned so he was facing her.
She crossed her arms, irked that he’d hidden this talent from her. “You never told me you played piano.”
“You never asked.” He smirked. “I contain multitudes, Em.”
Normally, she would have teased him about his smug attitude, but she was too curious to revert to their usual banter. “When did you learn to play?”
“I started taking lessons when I was six. My dad was a huge music buff. Way back in college, he played keyboard in a band.”
“He was in a band? I thought he was an ancient history nerd, like you.”
TJ gave her a crooked smile. “He was, but he also loved music. The band wasn’t anything big—just a group of guys who played classic rock covers at parties and festivals. Because of him, I took piano for five years.” He patted the bench. “Come sit for a sec.”
If she was being smart, she’d go back upstairs. Even if she’d finally admitted to herself that she wanted him, she couldn’t give in to temptation until their tour ended. But now that she’d seen this side of TJ, she wanted to know more.
She sat beside him on the bench. “How’d you end up serenading the guests?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Had a lot on my mind, I guess.”
Like me?Not that she’d say it, but she wondered if he was plagued by the same feelings she was. A heavy dose of pining mixed with doubt, frustration, and straight-up lust.
“I remembered seeing the piano earlier, so I came down and asked the front desk clerk if I could play,” he said. “He told me to go for it. Some of our group were at the hotel bar and when they heard me, they came over, and it turned into a sing-along.”
TJ was just the type to draw in a crowd while playing hits from the 1970s. She tilted her head to the side. “You said you stopped when you were eleven?” She didn’t need to ask why. He was eleven when his dad died. “How is it you’re still so good?”
“When I was in college, I used to stress out over grades and assignments and…everything. Music helped me relax. I bought a used keyboard and played whenever I needed a study break.”
“Do you only know stuff from the ’70s? You’re like the world’s youngest boomer.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Don’t knock it. That music was my dad’s go-to, so it’s like my comfort food.” He gave her a gentle nudge. “Come on, I know you liked that Pink Floyd playlist.”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad.” She often listened to it late at night before drifting off to sleep. Whenever “Wish You Were Here” came up in the queue, she thought of TJ.
“After my dad died, I didn’t feel like taking piano anymore,” TJ said. “Then, when my mom remarried two years later, Al—that’s my stepdad—didn’t encourage it. Bad enough that he’d ended up with a stepson who’d never played a sport in his life.”
“No sports? Not even one?” Though she wouldn’t call herself sporty, she’d played soccer since the fifth grade. Her dad had always praised her as if she were the world’s best midfielder. Even with the demands of running his own landscaping business, he’d rarely missed a game.
“Nope. My real dad wasn’t into sports,” TJ said. “He was the type who’d rather visit a museum than go to a ball game. Then Al came along. He’s in sports management. My two stepbrothers—Randy and Jake—are super athletic. They both played football and baseball all through high school.”
Emilia’s heart ached for nerdy thirteen-year-old TJ, feeling out of place in a brand-new family whose passions were nothing like his. “That sounds rough. Did your stepbrothers live with you or with their mom?”
“Their mom died when they were little. Al metmymom at a support group for single parents. A year later, we turned into this big, blended, Brady Bunch–style family.”
She shuddered, trying to imagine how she would have reacted if she’d had to adjust to a stepmom and a couple of stepsisters. It could have been a full-on Cinderella story. “Were your stepbrothers mean to you?”
