He sighs, hands faltering. “She’s a boutique fashion designer. She’s been opening up branches across the world, and her flagship is in Italy. Even though we talk all the time, I don’t get to see her much anymore, for obvious reasons.”

I lean my head against Ace’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“It’s not either of our faults,” he says. “When I asked her to take me with her, I wasn’t thinking straight. She travels too much for me to go with her while still attending school, and I wouldn’t want her to sacrifice her dreams to stay with me.”

A new fact about Ace. Instead of accusing his mother of abandoning him or whining about her being gone, he chooses to absolve her of blame. He chooses to be selfless.

I admire him more every day. “You’re so different from what I thought you’d be.”

“Not the bad boy you expected?” he teases.

“Not at all,” I say, but can’t help adding a quip. “Although, you should probably stop wearing a leather jacket.”

He laughs and gently shoves me. I pretend to flail but he wraps an arm around my waist before I can fall. “Sit still for a moment, okay? I really do have something to show you.”

I make a show of rolling my eyes. “O-kay.”

Ace ducks his head, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing the dimples pressing into his cheeks. “You already know I play the piano but, uh, I like to compose songs, too. I haven’t had a lot of inspiration lately, but...something changed these last few weeks.” He takes my hand and presses his lips against the inside of my wrist. “This song is called ‘Spark.’”

My breath catches. There’s no way Ace wrote a song for me.

I don’t know what to say. But maybe I don’t have to say anything, since Ace’s focus is on the piano now.

He starts with one hand, pressing down lightly on the keys. With each soft note, my heart begins to melt. As he repeats the keys over and over, he grows more confident and presses down with more enthusiasm. Soon after that, he adds his second hand.

The tempo strums on my heartstrings. I don’t know what to look at.

I have the option of watching Ace’s capable hands dance across the keys, his rings stark against the black and white. His wrists look incredibly delicate, and I’m all but held captive by the way his hands move.

But there’s something about Ace that’s even more arresting: his expression. A look of peace settles across the planes of his face, soft and open, as he presses key after key. He’s losing himself in the familiar motions, and it’s strange, because it looks so natural—like Ace was born to play the piano.