Chapter 11 - Restoring the Soundboard
My fingers touched the keys.
Cool.
Smooth.
Familiar.
I pressed the first chord.
The rich, warm resonance of eighty-year-old wood filled the cavernous room.
A gentle, rolling melody flowed from my hands.
Simple.
Honest.
Full of light.
Luca watched my fingers move.
His shoulder rested lightly against mine.
When the song reached the middle register, he lifted his right hand and joined
in.
He played the upper harmony.
The simple melody his mother had taught him the week Isabella was born.
Our hands moved across the ivory together.
No missing notes.
No hesitation.
The piano sang with a voice that had been silenced for seventeen years.
When the final chord faded into the afternoon stillness, neither of us moved.
Our shoulders were touching.
Our breath mingled in the quiet air.
Luca turned toward me.
His slate eyes were filled with an intensity that made my heart race.
“My mother used to say that a piano remembers every person who touches it.”
He reached out, his thumb gently caressing my jawline.
“It sounds happier now than it ever did.”
May you like
“It’s happy to be home,” I whispered.
“So am I,” Luca replied softly.
