I laughed. “Just a little?”
She chuckled too.
The bell on the door downstairs jingled, followed by Stacy’s voice, “Hello!”
Feet pounded on the stairs, and two little bodies burst into the studio. A boy—a year or two older than Hannah, if I had to guess—who was a perfect, eclectic mix of his parents. Black hair, dark eyes with graceful curved edges surrounded in dark lashes, and skin the color of sand as the waves pulled away. He was holding the hand of a little girl who looked exactly like Stacy. A riot of curls spiraled gracefully around a fine-boned face with bright-pink lips and dark eyes that sparkled from the depths of skin brushed dark like the blending of trunks in a forest sheltered from the sun.
They both stopped at the top of the stairs. “We’re going to the farm,” the boy said.
Stacy emerged behind them.
“Hey—oh, I didn’t know you had company.”
Hannah emerged from the practice room at the sound of the voices.
“Han, guess what? Emerick posted videos of the chicks hatching!” the boy said, excitement pouring from him.
“They did? Can we go see them, Mommy?” Hannah looked over at us.
“Chicks at the farm. Now that brings back memories,” I said warmly.
“Are you trying to finish your piece?” Stacy asked Tristan. “I can take Hannah with us, and you can stay.”
Her eyes slid from Tristan to me and then back again as she tried to keep her lips straight. As if something was going on between Tristan and me. I wondered what Tristan had told her friend, if anything, about the heart-throbbing kiss we’d shared the night before. The scents and tastes had lingered with me, pouring out of me in anaccelerandoof notes when I’d finally gotten back to the apartment.
“Please, Mommy! I want to see the baby chicks.” Hannah was jumping up and down.
“Are you Brady O’Neil?” the little boy’s voice cut in. He’d been staring at me, trying to put it together.
I nodded, moving forward to stick my hand out. “Yep. One and the same. And you are?”
“Kiran,” he introduced himself. “My mom says you’re going to be the person to break Tristan’s slump.” Both women gasped. Humor, joy, and trepidation washed over me at his words. Cass was right. I couldn’t screw this up.
Stacy slid a hand over the boy’s mouth. “What have we said about conversations at home staying at home?”
“I can’t believe you said that!” Tristan growled.
“It wasn’t exactly put like that.” Stacy was laughing now. “I think there were the wordsI wishandhopein there somewhere.”
“I’s Jalissa,” the little girl beside Kiran announced.
I bent down, trying to ease the awkward moment amongst the grown-ups. “Hey, darlin’. Aren’t you just too cute for words? Are you going to see the baby chicks as well?”
“I want one. Mommy says no.”
“We absolutely cannot have chickens at the house. I draw the line,” Stacy said. “But I’m happy to take you out to the Romeros’ as much as you want to see them.”
The Romeros’ farm was one of the largest apple orchards in the county. It also was known for its barrage of farm animals. They hosted field trips and apple pickings and cider contests throughout the season. Lidia and Emerick Romero were running it now, while Emerick’s grandfather oversaw it. He’d come from Nicaragua and built the farm from scratch into the bustling enterprise it was today.
“I have to wait for this layer to dry anyway, so I’ll just come with you,” Tristan said.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, and I felt oddly disappointed, as if she were doing it to escape me.
“Do you want to come and see the chicks with us, Brady?” Hannah asked.
Even though they didn’t gasp this time, I felt the inhaled breath of both women again.
