“Holy crap, I know that guy,” whispered Natalie, nudging Trevor’s arm.

He leaned over and put his lips close to her ear. “Yeah?”

She nodded, feeling the strangest leap of her heart. “He’s … his name is Peach. He’s working on repairs at the bookstore.”

“Small world.”

“It gets smaller. Remember our mutual friend, Dorothy?” she asked.

“My pen pal. Indeed I do.”

“That’s her dad.”

She had to adjust to seeing Peach in a wildly different context. His hands delicately teasing the strings of the guitar were the same hands that had been ripping plaster and lath from the walls of her building.

“This next one’s something new from my buddy Peach,” Suzzy said. It was a duet, and his voice was utterly surprising—perfectly on key, with a slightly gritty texture that somehow made the lyrics ring with sincerity. It was a romantic song, and he and Suzzy seemed connected as they traded lyrics back and forth.

What about your heart?

It’s the last thing on my list.

Natalie tried to figure out if Peach’s wife was in the room, watching and listening. Probably not. She was probably home with Dorothy.

The music fell like warm rain, and Natalie stopped speculating. For a few moments, she forgot entirely that she was sitting with Trevor Dashwood. She forgot that her grandfather was losing himself and the shop was failing and the building was falling down. Those several minutes took her somewhere else, and when the song ended, she was in a better place—just for a couple of seconds more.

Trevor nudged her shoulder during the applause. “See what I mean? They’re good.”

“They’re good,” she agreed.

“And your drink?”

“It’s … oops. I finished it.”

“I’ll get you another.” He left the table and went over to the bar. Natalie looked over at Peach, trying to readjust her thoughts. So many things were surprising about him, but his artistry on the guitar and his soulful voice were probably the biggest surprises of all.

Trevor set a fresh drink in front of her. “This one is con sifón—with a little carbonated water.”

“Thank you.” She smiled across the table at him. “It’s all so delicious. I’d better pace myself.”

After several more numbers, mellow and sincere like the first, the group took a break. Natalie said, “Let’s go say hi.”

Peach had set his guitar in a holder and was guzzling a glass of water.

“Hey,” she said.

He put down his glass, and his eyebrows shot up. “Hey, yourself.”

“You didn’t tell me you were Eddie Vedder.”

He checked out the dress with a sweep of his eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were Audrey Hepburn.”

She flushed, stepping aside and gesturing at Trevor. “This is Trevor Dashwood, Dorothy’s favorite writer.”

“Good to meet you.” Peach stuck out his hand. “Peach Gallagher. My kid is crazy about your books, man.”