It was exactly what she needed: one of those moments when she forgot where she was or even who she was. It was what she had loved about the piano as a child, why she had kept with it even after deciding she would never try to become a professional. It let her mind leave her body, let her body speak for her.

Everything else in Joan’s life was thinking thinking thinking thinking. But when she picked up that pencil to draw or put her hands on the cool keys, the thinking stopped.

The knock at the door startled her. She yelped so high and so loud that she cringed to hear it.

Two possibilities flashed across her mind of who it might be, neither good: her neighbor, angry about the loud noise, or Griff.

“Jo?” she heard through the door, just before she could unlock it.

Vanessa.

“Hi,” Joan said as she opened the door.

“You screamed very loudly just now,” Vanessa said at the doorway. “It sounded so dainty and helpless. I worry you’ll set women back centuries if any man hears it.”

Joan frowned. “Thank you for your excellent notes on how I can be scared in a less vulnerable way.”

Vanessa smiled. “Can I come in?”

Joan opened the door farther, and Vanessa followed her into the room. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

Joan raised an eyebrow.

“I just dropped off Donna—she’s drunk as a skunk. I was going to ask you if you’d check on her in the morning.”

“Oh,” Joan said. “Of course I will.”

“I wasn’t even going to stop by. I assumed you’d be asleep, but then I could hear you playing when I passed your door.”

“Is it that loud?”

Vanessa shook her head. “You’d have to be walking by, hoping you were up, to notice.” And then she added, “You are very good, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you,” Joan said. “I just like to play to clear my mind. I’m not anything to write home about.”

“Are you doing that thing where you’re like, ‘Oh, I’m not that good’ and then I have to tell you that you’re great?”

“What? No. I don’t do that. I’m competent at a lot of things and am honest with myself about my talents. But I am an amateur classical pianist. I don’t practice enough to be superlative. I do it because I enjoy it.”

Vanessa hid that smile, the lopsided one.

“What’s so funny?” Joan asked.

“You have a very high standard,” Vanessa said. “That’s all.”

Joan pursed her lips, trying not to frown or smile.

“Anyway, listen—I had a secondary reason for coming over here,” Vanessa said.

“I’m listening.”

“I need…I need help with something. And you’re…sort of the only person that can help me. I guess I’m asking a favor.”