She and Gran had argued about it. Gillian had insisted her grandmother return it. It was an extravagance. It had hurt to say it out loud when she wanted to reach out and touch it so badly. But no one else in her life had ever loved her like Gran had and there was no way she could have accepted such a gift.

Gran had told her she’d been saving to buy Gillian a proper piano since she’d first heard Gillian play.

Bach it had been that day.

Gillian breathed in and out and then touched the keys and lost herself in Bach.

As she had those years before when Gillian’s mother had come home to their shitty little council flat and announced their dad was in the nick for killing some teenaged girl he’d been banging.

They’d packed a few bags, not having much more than that anyway, and had ended up living with Gillian’s father’s mother. Gran, who had cut off contact with her son, but who had been trying to keep a relationship with her grandchildren.

Gran, who took them in, and it was then, in those first months she’d been in America, that she began to breathe deeply.

In her grandmother’s grand front room of her ranch-style house an hour or so outside San Francisco, she’d coveted the piano until her gran had asked her if she wanted to play it.

Her mother had smiled proudly. A small bit of affection from a woman who’d at best been a distracted adult who lived with them rather than a mother.

Candace Forrester had possessed many flaws, but she hadn’t been all bad. She’d scrimped and saved so that each daughter could take a lesson of some sort. Tina had received dance and voice lessons. Her sister’s voice had been beautiful. Their mother had decided piano lessons would be best for young Gillian. Pretty girls got tap and singing and Gillian would be good at something you didn’t need looks for.

“You gotta work what you got, Jilly,” her mother used to say. “Show some cle**age. You got yerself a nice pair of titties, girl. Use ’em.”

Tina and their mother had cast off their past and jumped into being American. Her mother wanted to be called Candy now and Tina, just barely eighteen and in possession of a fake ID, had already taken to bar hopping with their mother.

Gillian wasn’t a Jilly. But she was free of the knowing glances and suspicious stares when they entered a store. Free of having to see her father’s name in the papers.

For Gillian, America had been a new start too, but instead of going the way her mother and sister had, which in a sad parody was pretty much what they had back in England, Gillian had decided to make the most of this clean slate.

“G’wan, Jilly, play the piano for your granny.”

“What would you like to hear?” Gillian had asked, expecting to hear Beethoven or maybe Mozart.

“I should like to hear you play Bach.”

And she had.

Now as she played through her Gran’s favorite parts of the Goldberg Variations, she did it on a piano her grandmother had found at an estate sale. She did it on this piano because her gran had sold the one that had sat in her own parlor for thirty-five years to pay for Gillian’s tuition at Juilliard.

Even though Gran had passed several years ago, it felt to Gillian that they were together every time she touched a keyboard.

The doorbell sounded and she started. An hour and a half had passed and she hadn’t realized it. Lesson time.

Adrian couldn’t help but feel nervous as he made the last turn down his street. He wanted Miles to like the house. To like what was his too. Wanted Gillian to like it.

Gillian had tried to sit in the backseat, but he’d said no. Kids didn’t sit in the front, moms sat in the front. They’d taken a little bit of a public step that morning when he’d held her hand, just for a few moments, as they’d been loading into the car. It had felt right, to touch her and guide her, carrying her overnight bag.

Miles hadn’t cared either way where he sat. He’d been talking about manga and anime nonstop as Gillian smiled faintly, looking out the window at the passing scenery. Every once in a while she’d ask a follow-up question or help with a detail or two. He appreciated how much subtle help she sent his way. Knowing her, it was subconscious on her part, wanting to take care of Miles and Adrian both. It felt good to be taken care of that way.

His gate slid open and he wondered what all this looked like through their eyes. The cops had come by earlier to roust the three young women who’d been camping at the bottom of the drive. He knew this because Cope had made sure of it and texted him about it. The last thing he wanted was to freak his kid out, for god’s sake.

Despite the end-of-the-drive issues he constantly had, he did love the house. And he couldn’t deny he wanted them to love it too. Her house was so warm and open, he had to admit he was a little envious and wanted that here for them as well.

“Let’s get your bags in your rooms and get you settled that way.” Nervousness jumped inside him, skittering through his muscles.

Miles unfolded himself from the car and looked around, wide-eyed. “This place is awesome.”

Well, okay, that made him feel better.

He took Gillian’s hand without thinking and she stumbled a bit, but adjusted, keeping her hand in his.

“Glad you approve. Come on in.” He grinned at Miles, who didn’t see it because he was too busy gaping when Adrian pushed the front door open.

“This is beautiful,” Gillian murmured.

He squeezed her hand. “Bedrooms are this way.” He led them up a floor and went to Miles’s room first.