“No.” She shook her head. “I swear, it’s not because of him.” She sighed, and ran her hand through her hair, still messy from sex. “My parents liked classical music.”

Just like that, he felt like a heel. Jealousy, guilt, putting his foot in his mouth—they’d become too familiar to him. He’d like to rid them all from his repertoire of emotions, limited though that repertoire was.

“Ah. I’m sorry I suggested it was something else,” he said softly, brushing his fingertips gently across her cheek. “I didn’t mean to bring up something that might be hard for you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. We don’t know each other, so we’re just guessing at things. It’s better to ask. And it’s not that hard anymore. It was thirteen years ago.”

“Was ‘Ode to Joy’ special to them?”

“That was the song they got married to,” she said softly. But her voice wasn’t sad. Maybe wistful. Or perhaps it was the tone of someone who was simply used to missing. Used to longing.

“That’s beautiful. Was it their favorite song?” he asked, and he was enjoying getting to know her better, liking that she shared some things so easily. So many women he’d dated had played coy, had been flirty all the time. There was something refreshing about her frankness. Maybe it was refreshing too because he’d kept so much of the truth about his last relationship bottled up. Even Nate didn’t know the full truth. Sure, his friend knew he hadn’t been in love with Aubrey, and he and Nate had even talked about the possibility of calling off the wedding, but Nate was traveling for business a lot that fateful year, so he didn’t know the finer details of that weekend in Colorado beyond what everyone else knew.

Michelle nodded. “They used to play it a lot. My dad would turn up the CD player—back in the day—and pull her in close, and they’d dance. Funny, because it’s not typical dancing music, you know?” she said, her gaze hooking into his and he nodded. “But even so, they’d laugh and dance, and I always felt as if they were remembering their wedding. He’d twirl her around, and they were like some postcard, like a happy black-and-white postcard of two people still in love. And who were still happy about it years later.”

He smiled against the back of her neck. His parents weren’t like that at all. His memories were of snippy comments, bitter moments, barbs and cut-downs. No happy times. No dancing. He wasn’t envious though. How could he be? Hers were gone. His were simply miserable when he was younger, and happily divorced now. They’d filed for divorce two days after Casey graduated from high school. “And you love it now? The music?”

“I do,” she said, her lips curving up. “I think it’s beautiful. I could see why they’d get married to it. It is a joyful piece of music. It makes you want to celebrate.” She placed her phone on the coffee table and relaxed back into him. “What about you? Why is a Ravel sonata your ringtone?”