Made in Manhattan

Violet told herself she was relieved for the change in subject. “No. Not really. I’m sure I’d still remember how. There’s an out-of-tune piano at my place, but…”

No one to play with.

He must have heard what she didn’t say because he transitioned seamlessly from the jazz to something far more familiar. Violet smiled when she recognized it.

The bass, secondo part of “Heart and Soul.”

Cain didn’t say a word as he played the monotonous chords over and over, but nudged her lightly with his elbow.

Violet hesitated a moment, unable to put her finger on whatever she was feeling. She felt strangely on the cusp of something, though she didn’t know what.

Cain didn’t rush her or nudge her again. He simply played his part. Over and over. Waiting.

It’s just a song, Violet.

But it felt bigger than that.

She lifted her right hand and placed her fingers on the keys, waiting until the top of the measure to begin.

As the two parts came together in a bright, familiar melody, she smiled. There was something so cheerful and pure about the simple, slightly awkward part she was playing atop his steady, lower notes. Her fingers were a little bit stiff, out of practice from years of disuse, but they still knew what to do, a flood of childhood memories rushing back, sweet and poignant.

Violet played the last notes, regretting that it was over so soon, but again, Cain seemed to sense what she didn’t say. He kept right on playing his part, unwavering and grinning, Violet joined in again from the top. She played with confidence this time, her fingers a little looser, her smile a little wider.

The sound of a throat clearing in the doorway had her fingers missing a note, the pretty song screeching to a discordant halt. Cain played a few more notes before stopping too, albeit more gracefully, on his own terms.

Violet pivoted on the piano bench, embarrassed to see they had an audience. Alvin looked delighted. Edith looked pleased and a little bit glassy eyed.

Violet shifted her attention to Keith, looking prissy and irritated. He extended a hand to Violet. “Vi. Come on. Cheesecake for dessert. Your favorite.”

It wasn’t.

Nor had Keith even looked her way as he spoke, all of his attention on Cain, his speculative look taking on an edge.

Oblivious, or indifferent, to Keith’s scrutiny and the tension in the room, Cain stood abruptly. “Thanks for dinner, Edith.”

“You’re leaving?” his grandmother asked in surprise, her crestfallen expression tugging at Violet’s heart. “Keith’s right, we have cheesecake.”

“Save me a piece.” Cain’s voice was kinder than Violet would have expected, but he still didn’t hide his intention to leave.

“Where’s the fire?” Keith asked, stepping aside as Cain made to exit the room.

“No fire,” Cain said in a bored tone. “Just a date.”

“A date! That’s wonderful,” Edith said, clearly pleased at the prospect that Cain might be putting down roots long enough to enter the New York dating scene. “Someone I know? Violet, is this something you set up?”

No. No, it definitely was not.

Before she could identify the root cause of the sudden knot in her stomach, though, Cain was gone.

Eleven

A few days after the dinner party, Violet awoke to a typically curt text from Cain.

Duchess. My place, 11 a.m. Toto can come.

Because it was more command than invitation, Violet replied with a corresponding level of politeness:

Fine.

He surprised her by replying. Tiring of your duties already? Told you you wouldn’t last a week.

It’s been two weeks. Violet shot back. And if you need something, maybe you should ask your DATE.

Cain, perhaps wisely, didn’t respond to that one.

At ten fifty-nine, Violet knocked on Cain’s door, her spare key at the ready. She might have been amenable to helping him, but she wouldn’t wait for him if he was busy entertaining another overnight guest.

It was freezing outside, so she waited exactly ten seconds after her knock before inserting her key into the lock. In twenty degrees, her nylons didn’t do much to cut the wind chill.

Her wrist had just started to twist when the front door opened, and Cain gave her a knowing look. “Continuing your life of crime, I see.”

“Still struggling to master the basics of dressing, I see,” she retorted, and looked around him. “Any houseguests I should be prepared for?”

“Not yet, but the day is young.”

She waited impatiently for him step aside so she could enter, but he merely stood his ground, as though to say make me.

“Do you want me to come in or not?” Violet said.

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed his neck. “You look cranky.”

“I look cranky? Your name should be in the thesaurus under brooding.”

He braced his arm on the doorjamb and leaned toward her slightly. “Thought women liked brooding.”

“Obviously some of them must,” Violet said a little testily. “Based on your busy social life.”

Cain smirked and leaned a bit closer. “Ah, so that’s why you’re cranky. What, you can have a boyfriend, but I can’t go on a date?”