Oscar still wasn’t using the bench, just composing upright with the same concentration level other people used to send a text. When I came in, he let the melody trickle away. He was fully dressed now, to my disappointed relief, wearing the same chinos as yesterday with a fuchsia polo shirt, its collar extra crisp against the deep brown of his skin.

“Hey,” he said.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Totally something you tell a guy you barely know.

He grinned slowly. “Okay.”

I turned away so he couldn’t see my slow self-immolation. “Where’s Dad? Um, my dad. Obviously he’s not your . . . yeah.”

“He’s out with your brother.”

I whipped back around. “Leo’s in town?”

“No, um, Winston? Win?”

Win was here? And they were having lunch together? I fumbled in my bag for my phone. No missed calls. “Oh.”

“I think it was a business lunch,” Oscar said quickly. “Something about the philharmonic.”

“Huh. Maybe they want him for a guest conductor spot.”

“Or more than guest.” At my blink, Oscar grinned. “They didn’t say anything to me! I’m just piecing it together. From bits of conversation.”

“Whoa there, detective.”

He tipped an invisible hat. “Inspector Bell.”

It wasn’t bad investigative work. Win was only twenty-nine, but he’d made a splash in Philly, and his contract was up in January. Music Director at the New York Philharmonic—that would be incredible. No wonder they hadn’t invited me to lunch. It made sense, it was fine.

“You’ll see him tonight,” Oscar said, sliding out from behind the piano. “He and Alice are coming for dinner.”

“How do you know all this?”

I felt a stab of guilt for my lack of filter. But he just shrugged, smiling bigger.

“I’m invited too.”

“Awesome!” I started up the steps with my bags, then poked my head over the railing. “So are you here practicing? Or hanging out, or . . . ?”

“I only have a keyboard in the apartment. Do you need your piano? I can—”

“No!” I coughed. “No.”

“Your dad said I should keep working.”

“Yeah, that’s great!”

Working. Not practicing, not writing, working. Like he’d already arrived, fully formed, planting flags on continents far out of—

“Do you need anything?” I shouted, tracing the curve of the banister. “Water, tea? Dad usually drinks coffee when he’s, um, working, but I could grab you a soda? An iced . . . something? Something with ice in it?”

Oscar looked amused. “I’m good for beverages. But thank you.”

“Okay.” I restarted my climb, backward. “Anything you need, just—”

“Hey actually,” Oscar called out. “Marty thought maybe you could show me around town? I’ve hit a mental lull, so . . .”

You and me both, buddy. I leaned against the wall. “I can do that. After—”

“After your shower.” He smirked. Shook his head.

I sprinted up the steps.