“How did you know?”

Everyone remained silent while we waited for Gabe to answer. Part of me had been expecting an immediate response of ‘know what?’ Instead Gabe just watched me, that restless thumb thrumming against his side. The silence stretched so long I began to think he wasn’t going to answer.

“G minor, F major, C major.”

The chords from the chorus of Don’t Stop Me Now. I brushed my hands against the silky material of my skirt because they suddenly felt damp. “What about them?”

“They were the first chords you learned.”

Faith read my serious expression and she stepped between us. “You been stalking her or something, Drumsticks?”

I put a hand on Faith’s shoulder, the ridiculous nickname relaxing me. “No. He must have watched an old YouTube video.” I couldn’t believe that video was still doing the rounds on the internet, but it seemed like the public enjoyed my innocent reputation as much as Hollywood did. I gave Faith a reassuring look. Gabe had hardly been stalking me. All you’d have to do was search ‘Chloe Kemp songs’ and the ancient video would come up. “And yes, they happen to be the first chords I learned to play. My father taught me.”

“Hang on. Your dad’s a writer, isn’t he?” Faith asked.

“Yes, but he’s musical too. It was always a hobby for him but he’s really very good.”

Gabe appeared entirely unperturbed by Faith and continued our conversation like she wasn’t even there. “Can you still play them?”

“What? Yes, of course. Those chords are hardly difficult.”

“What about the rest of the song?”

“Well, it’s been a while but that song is burned into my brain, so I guess I probably could.”

“And the lyrics?”

Faith cleared her throat. I’d never seen her so protective before. “What is this? An audition?”

Gabe tilted his head to one side and the light caught his eyes. It was like the sunlight casting a ray of sunshine across the clouds. “I don’t know. Is it?”

Before I could make sense of his response, he threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me away from the group.

“Hey Drumsticks, get back here!”

It was too late and he pulled me further backstage to where it was dark and the air felt stuffy. My eyes took a moment to adjust before I realized we were standing next to a grand piano.

Gabe dropped my hand and his palms came up to cup my elbows. “So can you?”

“Huh?” I couldn’t comprehend the situation. I was vaguely aware the rest of the group had followed us and were listening to our conversation, but I was too entranced. The light filtering through the gap in the curtains was continually changing the color of his eyes and I’d never considered the skin on my elbows sensitive before now . . .

“Can you play the song?”

“Oh. Yes, I think so.”

“From beginning to end?”

“What now?”

“Tonight.”

I blinked a few times because none of this seemed to be making sense. “You want me to play piano tonight. For everyone?”

“Only if you want to. Johnnie will sing and then we’ll wheel the piano onstage during the instrumental and that will be your big entrance. You can sing backing vocals too if you want.”

“I . . .” I glanced at the piano.

“Too much?”

“No, I’m just surprised.”

“A good surprise though, right?”

I sucked in my breath. It was the first time I’d seen him smile—in person, anyway. I’d seen all the publicity shots. OK, I may have studied a few of them quite closely. But this was completely different. In person, his smile was less manufactured, as it should be, but it was more than that. This smile was just for me.

I was more dumbstruck than I cared to admit so I slipped from his grasp and went to stand by the piano. I closed my eyes and hummed the melody softly to myself. My eyes flew open as a deeper voice floated then merged with mine, the way a feather might catch the breeze.

I’d never heard Gabe sing solo before. He regularly sang backing vocals and harmonies to support Johnnie, but right now I wanted nothing more than for him to sing for me. The need was so deep it was an ache.

Instead, I sat on the piano stool and softly played the chorus. One, two, three, four. Four chords. Don’t. Stop. Me. Now.

And I didn’t want to. I began playing from the beginning, slowly, so the tune sounded labored. It was both a warm up and an act of memory.

When I got to the chorus, I paused and looked up from the keys. “How did you know?” I asked for the second time.

He tapped out the rhythm of the chorus on the edge of the piano before responding. “It was the look in your eyes on that video when you played those chords. I recognized that look.”

I could still remember sitting next to my dad at his old beat-up upright piano like it was yesterday. The familiar smell of him sitting so close. That mixture of old spice and mint, which always reminded me of toothpaste, and the aroma of wood and leather from the piano. I remembered the way my fingers struggled to hit the right notes, but when they did the sense of achievement at it all coming together was heady. Had that old, poor quality YouTube video floating around the internet really captured all that?

“How did I look?” I didn’t hide the curiosity from my voice. I’d seen the video but it was hard to see yourself through the eyes of others.

“Same way I did when I picked up a pair of drumsticks. Like you’d discovered a whole new world.”