Anna

It was dusk when I pulled up to Sean’s house. Parking in the circular driveway, I sat for a long moment, just staring out at the lake.

My phone lit up in the cupholder. A text from Peyton.

You did the right thing. But maybe for the wrong reasons.

When I heard the leaves rustling in the meadow, drawing my gaze to the willow tree, I felt at peace with my choice.

Grabbing my phone, I headed for the front door. As I entered the foyer, my footsteps echoing off the high ceilings, a twinge of unease slithered through me. The house was silent. Still.

I peered into the kitchen and found it dark. The living room was quiet as well, everything in its place like nobody had been here all day.

Calling to Sean, my heart raced when he didn’t answer. Up the stairs I went, my anxiety growing with every step. Standing in the guest room with Willow’s toys neatly piled in the basket Lola had purchased, I pulled out my phone and sent Sean a text.

Where are you?

Biting my lip, I stared at the screen, willing him to answer. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long.

Basement. Are you home?

Home . . .

Was I home?

Willow was here, and so was Sean, so, yes, I guess I was home.

Smiling, I descended the narrow staircase and headed for the basement. Expecting to find them in the theater room watching a movie, I was surprised to hear music coming from Sean’s studio.

I peeked my head in the door.

Sean was banging away on his drums, his long hair flying in every direction, and for a moment my breath caught.

He looked . . . beautiful. And so young. Just like the image tucked in my memory.

And then I saw Willow in front of Sean’s kit, palm pressed to the bass drum, smiling at her daddy.

Mesmerized, I took in the scene.

The music stopped as Sean’s arms fell to his side. He pointed at me, smiling, and Willow’s gaze followed his finger.

She squealed, and in a flash, she took off in my direction.

Sean nearly knocked over his drums in his haste to get to her, scooping her up with one arm to keep her from stumbling over the cords on the floor.

“Ma! Ma!”

Opening the door, I hovered at the threshold. They seemed so perfect at that moment, I hated to intrude.

Sean closed the gap in four strides. “Come in, baby.” Wrapping me in a hug with Willow between us, he kissed my forehead and murmured, “Missed your face.”

It was one of our old phrases, straight out of our past, and it warmed me in places where the sun hadn’t shone in a long time.

Breathless, I looked up into Sean’s azure eyes. “Hey.”

The silver threads flickered to life, and he bent to kiss me.

“Ma!” Willow squirmed, demanding my attention by snaking an arm around my neck.

Settling her onto my hip, I ventured farther into the room. There was stuff everywhere. Abandoned instruments. A portable kit like the one Sean carried with him on the road. Sheet music. “What’s going on in here?”

Sean was at my back, his chest so close that I could feel the heat through our two layers of clothing.

“Just messing around,” he said a little sheepishly.

“I see that.”

Willow shimmied down my body, and grabbing my hand, she led me to the portable percussion set and proudly announced, “Dums.” She looked up at me, her little chin high. “My dums.”

Sinking next to her on the floor, I said, “Your drums, huh?”

Sean took a seat behind us. We were like nesting dolls, the three of us.

Willow pressed a plastic drumstick into my hand. Indulging her, I hit one of the small pads, and to my amazement, a light flashed on the monitor in front of me.

“Did I do that?” When I repeated the motion with the same result, I twisted to look at Sean who was biting his lip and rubbing the hell out of the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I wanted to teach Willow how to play, so I, um, rigged up the pads to the computer.” He took the stick from my hand and then tapped out a sequence, and the screen danced with blue, green, and red lights.

Tears welled out of nowhere, stinging the back of my eyes. “You showed her the music,” I said to him quietly. “That’s brilliant.”

Sean laughed it off. “It wasn’t hard.” He handed the stick to Willow who began to pound out another sequence. “She’s a natural, baby.”

Relaxing against his chest, I watched our daughter. “How can you tell?”

“Intuition.” Sean linked our fingers. “It’s hard to explain. Remember how I used to tell you about hearing songs in the rain?”

I nodded.

“Well, it’s like that. She hears it.” He tapped his temple. “Up here.” And then he nuzzled my neck, his voice a whisper only for me. “Everything has a rhythm, Anna-baby.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “You have a rhythm.”

I snorted. “I don’t have any rhythm. You’ve seen me dance.”

Lifting my hand, Sean turned my palm one way and then the other, like he was performing an inspection. “Not your rhythm—the rhythm of you. The way you sound when you move. When you breathe.” As he brought our joined hands to my waist, his lips found the spot on my neck that drove me crazy. “The sound you make when you come.”

So caught up in Sean’s words, his breath fanning my skin, I didn’t notice when the room went silent.

“We have an audience,” he said with a chuckle, tipping his chin to Willow, who watched us with interest.

Fighting the blush heating my cheeks, I sat up. “Okay . . . well, you can show me more about that rhythm thing later.”

Sean nipped my earlobe, and I felt him smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Anna-baby. I plan on it.”