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I swallow hard again and tear my eyes from him to will my fingers to keep playing. I glance quickly at Davey, who stands beaming with pride over by the kitchen island. He has pulled off the big surprise, but I think my addition to it might have been bigger.
My racing heart slows as we dive deeper into the music, and I recall why I turned to music as my escape. Because it was my escape as a kid. It was where I could get lost and dream and feel. Before I started drawing and long before alcohol took over, this was my safe space.
We finish our mini concert, and I stare at the piano keys, afraid to wake up from this dream. I’m certain if I look up that’s all it would turn out to have been.
But I do look up. It isn’t a dream. He is here. Standing right next to me. Clad in jeans and a t-shirt. A far cry from the pink suit he wore when Davey met him, but no less stunning. His dark caramel skin, those long blond-tipped dreadlocks and the infectious smile. The one visible even from the nose-bleed section of his concerts. The man is a legend. Orphaned in the Dominican Republic as an infant, adopted by a wealthy American family, raised in the States. They encouraged him to stay close to his roots, learn the language, never forget where he came from.
“Fernando Reyes, meet Carter Hughes,” Davey says.
I smile. Nandy sticks out a hand and I stand to greet him.
“Wow,” I say. How many times have I uttered that word since we left Denver? I’m losing count. Davis George you have shocked the hell out of me, I think and oh my am I going to have fun thanking you for this.
“Wow, yourself,” he says in his thick Spanish accent. “You play beautifully.”
“Uh, thanks.” Because what else do you say when one of the greatest musicians on the planet compliments you?
“I need to get to the concert hall,” Nandy says. “I will see you both tonight.” He leaves a parking pass for our car service and a pair of backstage passes on the counter as he makes his way to the door. Davey walks him out, and I sit on one of the bar stools with what must have been the stupidest grin ever on my face. When he returns, he grins right back, oh so proud of himself.
I finally scowl at him. “What favors did you promise him to get him to do that?”
“Hmmm….you really want to know?” Davey walks to me, yanks me off the bar stool and tugs my body flush with his.
“I’m not so sure,” I say.
“I got you, didn’t I?”
“Uh, yes.” I kiss him and hold him tight.
He pulls away. “What the hell? You can really play.”
I shrug. “Eh, a little.” But holy shit, I just played piano accompanied by Fernando Reyes, Jr. in a penthouse apartment on a Steinway baby grand with my boyfriend watching. How did this become my life?
--
“Why are you staring at the piano?” I ask.
“How do you figure they got it up here?” Davey turns to me as I pull a sweatshirt on, desperately seeking coffee. The concert had been amazing, and Nandy had been as gracious with his time afterward as he had been before. I really enjoyed talking with him. But it made for a very late night and this old man is not used to being up so late anymore.
“They do come apart. But they may have brought this one in from above since it’s the penthouse.”
“Huh,” Davey ponders.
“Is there coffee somewhere?”
He turns away from the piano but fails to answer my question. “If they got it up here, certainly they can get one up to my apartment.”
“What?”
“Do you want one?”
“One what?”
“A piano. I would love to listen to you play.”
“Coffee, D, I want coffee.”
He meets me in the kitchen and pours a cup of coffee but withholds it from my reach. “Room for a piano and Madison…can you do that with the house you are designing for us?”
