After the fire was going, she rose to wander to the piano. Had he worked here last night? she wondered.He’d been angry with her. Did he work off a mad here as well as dream?

His heart’s in his song. She frowned as she sifted through the pages scribbled with notes and words. If that were true, why did he leave his music all tossed about this way? Why didn’t he do something with it?

How could she care so much for a man who lacked basic drive? Surely it wasn’t enough for a man to have such a light inside him if he didn’t use it for something.

“These pearls I now lay at your feet,” she murmured, reading his work, “are only moon-shed tears. For every time my heart does beat, it weeps for you across the years. Night by night the spell holds fast, until the day love breaks the past.”

So he sings of legends, Brenna thought—and waits for what?

She set the sheet aside again when she heard his car.

He’d seen the smoke and knew it would be Brenna. What he would do about it, he was less certain. He had to hope, as he did with his music, that the next passage would just come to him.

He stepped into the house and turned as she walked to the parlor doorway.

“There’s a chill in the mornings yet. I lit your fire.”

He nodded. “Do you want some tea?”

“No.” She couldn’t read his face, and it worried her. “You were angry with me last night. Are you still?”

“Not as much.”

“Well . . .” The sense of awkwardness was something new, and not at all welcome. “I thought I should tell you I had some words with Mary Kate this morning. Private words.”

“Then it’s better between you.”

“It is, yes.”

“I’m glad of it. With a little time, I hope she’ll be comfortable with me again as well.”

“She’ll be embarrassed for a while, but as for the rest . . . after I pointed out all of your flaws, she thinks perhaps she’s not in love with you after all.”

He lifted his brows. “That was clever of you.”

“Shawn.” She laid a hand on his arm when he started into the room, so they stood, framed in the doorway. “I’m sorry for how we left things last night.”

“I’m sorry” were words that didn’t slide easily off her tongue, he knew. So they meant more. “Then so am I.”

“And I don’t mind your flaws—or most of them— very much.”

She smelled of Sunday, shampoo and soap, and her eyes were full of apologies. “Then it’s better between us as well?”

“I want it to be.”

He crossed over, sat in the single chair that wasn’t full of sheet music. “Why don’t you come sit with me awhile, Mary Brenna?”

Her eyes twinkled as relief sparkled through her. She thought she knew what he was about. She couldn’t think of a finer way to make up. After walking to him, she sat on his lap, angling herself so their faces were close. “Friends again?”