The crisp, clean air is something that I rarely experience in Manhattan, but fall is different. The yellow and orange leaves riot with each other, fighting for attention while blending into the most beautiful wash of color. The scent of the dry leaves tickles my nose as it whirls through the pure air.

And the sounds. Leaves crunching, children’s voices squealing and laughing, the honks and shouts of the morning in the city. And the music skipping and dancing through the air, weaving its way across the park.

I close my eyes just for a moment, letting it wash through me. I picked this spot for my morning coffee. This specific spot because it comes with a private concert.

The buskers don’t come out until later in the day, but each of the last two mornings, I’ve sat here and listened to the acoustic versions of some of my favorite songs. Today though, there is something new, something raw and beautiful. It soothes me while torturing a part of my soul.

The moment is broken by my phone vibrating with a call from Lis. I slide my thumb across the screen and am greeted with the hushed voice of my best friend.

“Hey, are you in the park? Getting your own private concert again?”

“I am. Well, I was until you intruded on my moment. What are you doing awake? Didn’t you work all night?” I pull the phone away from my face to check the time.

“Yeah, I did. I’m just getting home, but I miss you. I wanted to check and see how things are going with your first solo client.” Lis yawns loudly in my ear, unable to suppress it.

“I’m doing well. Their records are a wreck, but it’s fine. Mr. Langston’s son needs to stop hitting on me though. I’m about over that.”

“Put him in his place, G. You know you don’t have to take his shit.”

She’s home, moving quietly through the townhouse that she and her fiancé, Aidan, share. My heart pangs a little when I hear their conversation on her end. I want what they have, the love, the support—all of it. I just don’t see it happening for me.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t know you were on the phone. Is that Gracyn?” Aidan’s brogue is rough with sleep. That man loves her with a fairy-tale kind of love. She met him days before my fated spring break mess, and though the fall was bumpy at times, they fell and fell hard.

I drift off, listening to the guy behind me singing. This song is so hauntingly familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Gracyn, is that … is that your guy? Is that him singing?” Lis pulls me out of my rumination.

“Yeah.”

“Girlfriend, you need to follow that voice. You need to find your balls and see if that’s the man of your dreams.”

I laugh off her ridiculousness. “Right. Anyway, go on and give Aidan a kiss for me. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Instead of pocketing my phone, I consider recording him. Just a little bit to listen to later in the day when I need an escape from the monotonous task of entering years’ worth of receipts into my laptop.

Lis doesn’t ask anymore, but she probably doesn’t need to. She knows all about the regrets I have with walking away from Gavin. But spring break is like Vegas; what happens on spring break stays on spring break.

I didn’t have a choice but to let things go, leaving him in Florida and running home. I finished out my accounting degree and then dealt with the CPA exam before getting acclimated to working with my dad and real clients. It’s been a year and a half, and I still feel like I hear his voice in every lyric. His husky growl in every song.

Lost in my thoughts, I grab my bag and stand, leaving what I’ve come to think of as my park bench. I debate on peeking around the shrubs and trees to where I imagine my own personal musician sits, hunched over the gleaming black guitar resting on his knee. The image in my mind is very specific. Broad but lean shoulders, strong forearms, and long, curled fingers wrapped around the neck of an instrument that has seen time in the sun but has been loved and cared for like you couldn’t imagine. And his golden curls streaked through with pale blond, almost white strands, from the summer sun. Because his is the image I will always see in my mind.

Reluctantly, I take the path out of the park and hustle back to the apartment my dad keeps in the city for business use. This is my first extended stay in the city for work, but my dad has spent more nights down here than I care to think about.

My client meeting is in an hour, and I have to haul ass to get changed and to their office on time. Knowing I’m on such a tight time crunch is really the only thing that keeps me from taking the walkway around my little concert venue and catching a glimpse of the man who goes with that voice. The one I will never get out of my head. It amazes me that my desire alone for the owner of that voice to be Gavin tricks my brain into hearing the rasp and groan that will only ever belong to him.

This day will never end.

I skipped lunch, lost in the hot mess of the books for Langston & Langston. The lethal combination of an old-school accountant and an elderly president of the company makes for hours upon hours of me sifting through sketchy records and building a ledger from bubble gum wrappers and cocktail napkins. How the company has avoided a full audit this long is beyond me.

The air in the conference room they assigned me shifts as the overwhelming scent of cologne fills the space. It’s probably expensive, and it most likely smells fine when not applied by the bucketload, but it takes everything I have not to wrinkle my nose at the intrusion.

“How’s it going?” Brooks Langston, grandson of the sweet old man who left this mess, leans over my shoulder and places a hand on either side of me. “You have a firm grasp on this, or is there something I can help you wrap your hands around?” He’s not subtle. Not at all.

I shift in my chair, accidentally ramming it into Brooks’ knee, causing him to straighten up and take a step back, granting me some much-needed space.

“Thanks, but I think this is just going to be a labor of love. I’ll get through it.” I mentally slap myself for the word choice and prepare for the innuendo I know is coming.

Instead, Brooks leans across me again to straighten a pencil on the table and hums low in the back of his throat. I’m sure he thinks it’s sexy as hell and perfectly welcome, but he couldn’t be more wrong.

At almost seven in the evening, I’m not sure my brain is capable of much more today. “I think I’ll finish this entry and then quit for the night, come back to it fresh tomorrow.”

“Perfect timing then. Father wanted me to let you know we have reservations at seven thirty.”

Damn it. I’m starving, but the last thing I want to do is spend more time with these people who really should have done a better job of tracking their finances. I smile as Mr. Langston joins us in the rapidly shrinking room.

“Are we about ready to go?” he asks.

He’s sweet though a little clueless, but his son … not so much.

I save the file and shut down my computer. “Absolutely. You’re certainly not responsible for entertaining me this evening though. I’m sure you’d rather head home and spend the evening with your lovely wife.”

I hope he takes the offer, but that hope is dashed when he slaps his son on the back and responds, “Nonsense. We wouldn’t dream of abandoning you in the city, would we, Brooks?”

Shit.

“Shall we?”

Dinner is pleasant enough and undeniably professional. The food is fantastic and so welcome. I almost forget that I didn’t want to go. The conversation with Mr. Langston is entertaining, and Brooks has kept his hands to himself, so all in all, the evening could have been a whole lot worse.

“Thank you so much for dinner.” I neatly fold my napkin and set it next to my coffee cup. “It’s late, so I think I’ll just see you in the morning then.”

Both men rise as I scoot my chair back, ready to bolt and wind down for the evening.

“How about a drink before Brooks sees you home?” He turns to his son and asks, “Didn’t you mention some live music or something? Gracyn, your father mentioned how much you enjoyed music.”

“Did he?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. I’d like nothing more than to strangle my father right now and throw him in the East River.

“He did. You kids have fun tonight. Gracyn, you’re in good hands with my boy here.” Sweet, sweet Mr. Langston. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Enjoy.” He handshakes his way out of the dining room and through the door to his waiting car, leaving me with his simpering son.

I sigh and paint my most professional expression across my face. “Brooks, I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m just going to call it a night.” I nod, wanting to give him the hint that, yes, this is a good thing. A good idea to part ways and move on.

“One drink, Gracyn. It’s just on the next block. I have inside information that the guy playing tonight is good.”

He’s crowding my space a little, and with the shift and flow of the bodies packing the sidewalk, I find myself moving along with him when I really want to be moving away from him.

As soon as we’re clear of the restaurant, I put some space between Brooks and me—as much space as I can manage on a crowded sidewalk. I have to play this carefully. These are new clients, and it’s a good account. I get that, but no way in hell am I letting this guy think he’s getting any extra services.

“One drink. That’s it,” I concede.

The smug smile that stretches across Brooks’ face should be all the warning I need. But, as we get closer to the bar, the music filters out to me. Wrapping itself around me. Calling to me. Distracting me and drawing me in.