forty-four

Jude keeps hold of my hand as we head back the way we’d come. Then he opens a closed door to steps leading up. I follow him to the top and emerge in a room that belongs in a castle. A circular room set in the rear corner like a turret.

“The guy who built the house made this room for his wife,” Jude says. “She came from England, and she had a room like this at home. No one uses it much anymore. Just me, when I lived here. For…”

I follow his gaze and see a piano.

He turns to me, the moonlight from the window casting him into half shadows. “You wanted to hear me play.”

I shake my head. “No. I didn’t understand. I do now, and I won’t ever ask again. That’s your choice.”

“It is. And I choose to play for you. What I said down there…” His gaze slides toward the door. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I really do cry easily. I don’t know why. It’s embarrassing and—”

“You felt bad for me.”

Another shake of my head, vehement now. “Not like that.”

“I’m sorry I unloaded on you, Winter. I didn’t mean to go off.”

“You didn’t. You explained. I understand now. That’s what I wanted. To understand.”

He’s watching me and I can’t read his expression—it’s too lost in the shadows. But after a moment, he says, “I explained this wrong. I just want to say thank you. For listening. For…for caring.” He rubs his face. “That doesn’t sound right either. I just…You wanted to hear me play. I’d like to do that. For you.”

“You don’t have to,” I say.

His lips curve in something not quite a smile. “I know.”

He sits on the bench. This piano is smaller than the other one, and not nearly as fancy. There’s a layer of dust on the keys, which he wipes off with a brusque stroke. Then he hits a few experimentally and glances over, making a face and saying, “Needs tuning,” and I’m going to say again that he doesn’t need to play, but he’s already turned back to the piano. He flexes his hands. He gets into position. And then…he plays.

If anyone asked, I would say I couldn’t tell good piano playing from great. As long as the notes sound right, that’s all I know. It isn’t. I hear Jude play, and I cannot believe what I’m hearing comes from a single instrument, from a single pair of hands. It’s a quiet song, melodic but not slow, his fingers moving so fast that I can’t even begin to follow the notes. And I don’t try. I close my eyes, and I listen, and I feel tears trickling down my cheeks and that song is so beautiful, so incredibly perfect that I cry, even as I feel myself smiling.

And then…

And then it’s over, and it takes a moment to realize that, the notes still lingering, and I open my eyes and he’s standing in front of me. I start to wipe away the tears, to apologize again, but his arms go around me, his hands in my hair, and he lifts my face and he kisses me.

That kiss is as perfect as the song. As achingly beautiful, seemingly gentle and light, but not light at all. There’s more, just like the song. Passion and longing and something that touches me and all I can do is follow it, rise onto my tiptoes to get closer to him, my hands going around his neck to bring myself closer, lose myself in that kiss.

It seems like an eternity passes before he pulls back…and yet it seems like a heartbeat, too, not nearly long enough, and I chase after the kiss before stopping myself. I ease away, but he stays there, his face over mine, eyes half closed, breathing softly, catching his breath. Then he blinks. Another hard blink and his hands fall from my hair fast, and he shoves them into his pockets as he steps away.

“I’m sorry.” He pulls out his hands and runs them through his hair. “That was—I can’t believe I—” He turns away fast and walks to the piano. “I got offended by your dad suggesting I’d make a move on you, and then what do I do?”

He turns to face me. “I’m sorry, Winter. I’m confused. It won’t happen again.”

I steel myself and look up into his face and it takes every ounce of courage I have to say, “Not even if I’d like it to happen again?”

His mouth opens. Nothing comes.

“Okay, I get it,” I say. “There’s a lot going on, especially tonight. Like you said, you got confused. You didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, I…” He trails off as if searching for words. “I did mean it. That is, if you…”

I walk toward him. “So, not confused?”

He lets out a choked sound, not quite a laugh. “Um, yes, right now, very confused and making a huge mess of this—and possibly a huge fool of myself—but no, I wasn’t confused about…I wanted to…I definitely wanted to…”

He swallows, and I stop right in front of him. I look up. Then I rise on my tiptoes, bringing my face up to his, and I say, “May I?” and he nods, and I can see his pulse, beating fast, and I swear I can hear his heart thumping as I put my arms around his neck and he leans down, and I rise to meet him and—

And his hand tangles in my purse strap. He’s trying to put his arms around me and catches the strap, and he doesn’t notice right away, as his hands keep going around me, fingers hooked on the strap until he yanks it clear off my shoulder. That wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t only half shoved in the book, and now it topples out and everything inside follows, clacking and scattering across the floor.

We jump apart, startled at the noise, and then stare at the mess.

“Well, that was smooth,” Jude says, and he looks so chagrined that I burst out laughing.

“Yep,” he says as he crouches to gather my lost items. “At least now you’re warned that I’m not very good at this. I started strong—played you a song, followed it with a kiss. And then made a stammering idiot of myself and dumped your purse when you tried to kiss me.” He sighs. “If you want to reconsider, now’s the time—” He stops as he picks up a piece of cloth. It’s baby blue and bloodstained and filthy, and as soon as I see it, my throat goes dry.

“That’s…That’s from…It’s Mange’s,” I say.

“Mange.” A moment’s pause and his eyes widen. “The dog you—”

“Stabbed. The last time I saw him, he was alive, right before the others…”

My head jerks up, and I try to form words—to form thoughts—but I can’t. I dimly notice Jude is unknotting the kerchief. There’s something tied to it, and he’s tugging that off.

When Jude rises, he’s dropped the dog’s kerchief and he’s holding up a golden band. It’s a ring. A narrow ring with a tiny diamond, little more than a chip.

“Is this yours?” He sees my expression. “Winter?”

“It’s…it’s my mother’s promise ring,” I say. “From my father.”

“Does he keep it at home, in the trailer?”

I shake my head. “He gave it to Cadence on her sixteenth birthday. She was wearing it when she left Reeve’s End.”