He should see to stocking some food in here if she was going to stay over more often. Which he hoped would happen. They could create music together, both in and out of bed. He’d been compelled to pick up the cello earlier, to play a few notes. Testing. To see if it irritated him. It had not, until he’d realized Lark was listening. Then the forces inside him, that angry phoenix, had protested and had wanted to smash the instrument, not allowing him to share that part of him with anyone. But she had been insistent and firm with him, and while he had relented the moment she’d walked into his life, only when she’d held his bow hand down, away from slashing out at her, had the noise inside him coalesced and taken pause. Someone who cares, he’d thought. All of him had come together in that moment and had only wanted to please her. By playing the composition he’d designed in his head for the first time, he’d cemented his need for music in his life once again.
