He smiles, lazily draping his hand over the steering wheel. “I think it’s more than a hobby. Why not see if something can come of it, huh? Besides, I like bragging about my girlfriend.”

I turn toward the window, hiding my enormously cheesy grin and blushing cheeks. “And just yesterday, you tried fixing me up with your brother.”

“Fuck, I’ll never live that down. Will I?”

“No, probably not.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugs, grip tightening on the wheel, revealing all those glorious veins in his forearms. Cool it, Marnie.

“So, where’s my boyfriend taking me now?”

“Dinner. Luke’s holding a table at Rebellion.”

“Nice, and since we have a little drive ahead, would it be a good time to tell me about the piano?” I say. “I haven’t forgotten.”

He flinches, bringing both hands to the wheel like he means to strangle it. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’ll be difficult for you to hear.”

I twist in my seatbelt, bringing my leg up between us and giving him my full attention. “Now, you know more about me than anyone. Let me know you.”

He takes a breath and launches into his story. “I met Emma in vet school. We were good for each other, very compatible. We became vets together, got married, and started a practice in Charlotte—that’s where she wanted to live. She adored the city, its nightlife, and her friends. It was busy, hectic. We were content with each other. I wouldn’t say happy, but certainly not unhappy.”

His hands wring the steering wheel again as he fixates on the road ahead. “She got pregnant. Our world switched from mediocre to incredible all at once. We were happy again, overjoyed, in love. We couldn’t wait.”

He hesitates. Unease grows in my stomach, making me almost queasy. I had no idea where his piano story would take us, but I wouldn’t have guessed this.

“Grandma taught me how to play the piano when I was a kid. Then, I took lessons all through high school. There are exceptionally dorky pics of me playing for the chorus in the yearbook.”

I smile. “I’ll definitely have to see those.”

“When I imagined being a dad, playing the piano together was what I pictured. Emma went on runs to baby stores. I bought the piano, and every night, as Emma’s belly grew, I’d play for them. It was the happiest we’d ever been.”

“We lost the baby at six months.” His voice cracks. “She stopped kicking. Stopped moving. Her heart stopped beating. No one could tell us why. She just stopped. We lost her and lost each other, too.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I don’t stop them. Some things need tears, like a salve on a wound.