Summer Kisses (79 page)

“What about your parents? Are they still alive?”

Great, now what? He didn’t want to lie to her.

“Uhhh—yeah, but I’d like to find out who I was before I commit to filling my old shoes again.” He changed the subject to stave off any more questions. “Is there anything you’d like me to do inside today?”

“Inside?” Her forehead furrowed a moment. “Uhh, yes, the door on the master bathroom doesn’t close right. There should be a wood plane in my dad’s workroom downstairs.”

At the bottom of the basement steps, Matt found what Abby understated as the workroom. Her father had been into woodworking and owned every tool imaginable, from a lathe and router, right down to dozens of different chisels and tools for carving.

Matt found the plane and took it upstairs with a hammer and screwdriver to remove the door from its hinges. Abby held the door for him while he shaved its edge.

“Your dad had quite a collection of tools. Would you mind if I bought some lumber and fooled around with them?”

“No, be my guest.”

Once Matt finished the job, he paced the house while Abby made phone calls and lists for her wedding.

He ended up in the living room and sank down at the piano. As he brushed his fingers over the smooth keyboard, it shocked him how natural his hands felt on the ivory. He played through the scales a few times, and then closed his eyes while Leonard Bernstein’s
Tonight
from
West Side Story
rolled off his fingers.

Not only did he know how to play—he was actually pretty good. He moved right into Beethoven’s
Für Elise
, then to Brahms’
Waltz in A Major
and ended with Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
. Finally, his hands stilled on the keys.

Abby applauded behind him from the archway. “You play beautifully.”

“It’s a big surprise to me. I hadn’t really considered if I knew how until I sat down.” As her smile faded, Matt frowned. “Why do you look so sad?”

Her mouth drew into a taut line. “My husband played the piano for me a lot while we were dating. Those were some of my favorite evenings with him.”

“Abby, did you love Matt?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course, I loved him.”

The wounded look in her eyes said he’d simply upset her rather than finding out what he really wanted to know—whether she’d loved him before he’d gotten her pregnant. She might have convinced herself she cared after they were married.

After all, didn’t every widow claim to love her husband, no matter how big a creep he was when he was alive?

He glanced at his watch and then out the window. The rain was coming down as if a water main had broken in heaven. “The boys should be home soon. I’ll take your car to the corner and wait for them.”

“Mac, I meant what I said this morning. I want you to back off with Tommy. If you don’t, he’ll only be hurt when you leave.”

Closing his eyes, he sighed. Somehow he had to impress on Abby how important both boys were to him without scaring her and making her think he was some sort of wack-case. She couldn’t help being wary of him and confused by his sudden affection for the kids.

He pulled her down next to him on the bench and looked deep into her eyes. “Listen, neither of the boys will be hurt. At least, not if I have anything to say about it. I spent six and a half interminable years without anything or anyone to care for. When I came home and met those two little guys, they made me feel as—as if I’m worth something. I want to keep seeing them after I’m done working here. I’m crazy about them.”

“You’re worth plenty, Mac.”

“But I don’t feel like I am. Even you picked up on that. I have no job, no home, no memory, and my career is in the toilet. I have nothing.”

“A man’s real worth is in his character, not in what he has.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure I even have any of that. You have to realize I didn’t exist before six years ago. The only thing I’ve known is pain, hunger, and loneliness. Tommy and Royce are the first and only bright spot I’ve had in my entire life. Earlier you told me I never smile. But when I’m with them, I’m smiling all the time on the inside.”

Swallowing hard, he took her hand and squeezed it. “If I pull away from Tommy, all it’ll accomplish is to hurt him—and me. I need them, Abby, and if you want to be honest, you’ll admit they need me, too.”

In the end, Matt picked up the boys. When they got off the bus, they bubbled over with stories from school. He ate cookies with them while they told him what they’d done that day. Once they ran off to play with Tommy’s collection of Matchbox cars in his bedroom, Matt returned to the piano and found some sheet music inside the bench.

After pounding out a few upbeat contemporary pieces, Tommy suddenly appeared at his side. “My grandma used to play the piano, too. But she got sick, and God took her to heaven to live with my daddy.”

Matt’s throat tightened, hearing his son talk about him.

“Can I play with you?” Tommy pointed at the keyboard.

“Sure.” Matt lifted him onto his lap, fully expecting his son to bang out a few notes and lose interest. But not only didn’t Tommy randomly strike the keys—he seemed to have some sense that the keyboard had an order.

Matt placed Tommy’s thumb on a key. “This is middle C. See how the black keys are in sets of either two or three? C is always the white key to the left of the two black ones.”

He showed him how the keyboard was broken into different octaves and notes and then demonstrated the fingering of the scales. While Tommy recited the notes, Matt played them. The child soaked it all up like a roll of paper towels and shocked Matt when he mastered playing the scales after only a few attempts.

An hour later, his son still hadn’t run out of questions. The last thing Matt wanted was to overload the kid and have him completely lose interest. He suggested Tommy go play with Royce for a while.

Watching him run off to his bedroom, dread weighed heavy on Matt’s chest. How could he stand to give up living with his little boy if things didn’t work out with Abby? Hell, if it were only his heart in question, he could fall in love with her just for giving him his wonderful, pea-hating, piano-playing, math-whiz son.

Matt joined Abby in the kitchen to help with dinner, and a few moments later, the tinkling of the scales began again. He poked his head into the living room and watched Tommy trying to teach Royce what he’d learned. Matt wandered back into the kitchen, shaking his head in awe.

Abby’s forehead creased. “Is Tommy at the piano, again?”

“Yup.” He spread his hands in amazement. “Apparently, he didn’t get enough. I can’t believe he picked it up so quickly.”

Five minutes later, Royce lost interest and wandered into the kitchen, asking about dinner. While Tommy continued to play the scales, Matt put Royce to work, helping him set the table. His son stopped playing for a moment and then began picking out combinations of notes.

The child still hadn’t quit twenty minutes later when Abby called into the living room, “Tommy, dinner’s ready. Please go wash your hands.”

“No, wait,” he whined. “I don’t wanna wash ‘em, yet. I almost got it.”

“I know. Do it anyway.”

Tommy ignored her and played another series of notes.

“
Now
! You can do that after dinner.”

He stomped into the bathroom, then a few minutes later, tramped into the kitchen and flopped into his seat, wearing a pout.

Matt ruffled his hair. “It’s your turn to say grace, Bud.”

“I don’t wanna.” Tommy stuck his lip out even further.

“Okay. How about it, Royce, would you like an extra turn?”

Royce grinned at the opportunity to say the blessing two nights in a row. Once Abby filled the boys’ plates, Tommy sat with his arms crossed in a petulant snit.

She blew out a huff. “Matthew Thomas, eat your dinner and stop sulking. Beef stroganoff is your favorite.”

“I wanna play the piano.”

Her lips thinned into a grim line. “Look—”

“Abby.” Matt held up his hand. “Why don’t you let me talk to him?” He turned to Tommy to reason with him. “Buddy, I know you enjoy playing. But it’s time for dinner. Eat at least half of what’s on your plate, and I’ll teach you some more after I help your mom clean up.”

Tommy began shoveling stroganoff into his mouth faster than he could chew.

Abby’s mouth dropped open. “This is getting way out of hand.” She scowled at Matt. “You are not his father.”

A millisecond before Matt opened his mouth to tell Abby exactly who he was, their son let her have it in his stead.

“Well, I
want
Mac to be my daddy. Not yucky old Uncle Robert!” Tommy hollered. “He doesn’t play the piano with me!”

Matt bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from cheering.

Abby held Tommy’s chin, her eyes blazing. “I don’t like your behavior one bit, young man. You either change your attitude, or you’ll be going to bed right after dinner.”

“Then I’m not gonna play you the song I was makin’ you.”

“Tommy,” Matt snapped. “You owe your mother an apology. You’re not being nice.”

The child stared down at his plate and muttered, “Sorry.”

Abby turned to Matt, ice chips glittering in her gaze. “You and I are going to talk later.”

Shit. What the hell was he doing? She had good reason to be annoyed by his interference. If he didn’t back off, she might kick him right out on his ass.

As soon as they finished dinner, Tommy dashed back into the living room. Royce stood next to the piano, nagging his friend, “Come on, you’ve been doin’ that all day. Let’s go play.”

“No. I wanna to do this. I almost got it.”

Abby slammed the cabinet doors and ignored Matt while she banged the pots and scraped food from the plates. He snickered inwardly. What a happy little family they made. Maybe Robert was actually getting the short end of the deal.

As Matt wiped off the table, he froze at a familiar combination of notes. He had trouble identifying the tune at first, but after Tommy went through it a few times at the proper tempo, Matt realized he was playing
In My Life
.

Abby grabbed his arm, her eyes wide. “Do you hear that? Did you show him how to play it?”

Matt stared at her in shock while the image of him sitting in a movie theater, attempting to seduce a younger Abby, flashed through his head. He tried to capture the fleeting memory, but it vanished as fast as it came.

What had he felt toward her? If he had to guess, roughly the same as he felt about her now. Amused, fascinated—and incredibly horny.

“Mac, are you listening? You’re spacing out on me again.”

“Huh? What’d you say?”

“Did you teach him that?”

“No. He’s playing it by ear. It’s a fairly simple tune. But still, he’s only six.” They wandered into the living room, and he patted his son’s back. “Hey, Buddy, that’s great.”

Tommy grinned up at him. “It’s my daddy’s song.”

He drew his eyebrows together and turned to Abby. “What’s he mean it’s his daddy’s song?”

“Matt and I heard it in the theater on our first date.”

“
The Beatles haven’t recorded much I don’t like
,” he murmured under his breath. He remembered saying it, only he couldn’t recall the incident.

“What’d you say?”

He dragged his attention back to Abby. “Huh? Oh, nothing. I want to try something.” He slid onto the piano bench next to his son. “Tom, I’ve got a game you’ll like. Turn around with your back to the keyboard. I’ll hit a key, and you tell me which note it is. Okay?”

“Okay.” His son smiled. “I can do that.”

Matt sucked in his cheeks, amused. “I bet you can.”

He played a G and Tommy called it correctly. Matt went randomly through the scale several times while his son identified nearly every note. When he threw in a few flats and sharps, which he hadn’t exposed Tommy to, the child couldn’t identify them, but he knew which notes they fell between.

Matt stared up at Abby, his mouth dropping open. “He has perfect pitch. I’ll call one of the better music schools on Monday to get a recommendation for a teacher. And since his ear is so sensitive, we should get the piano tuned right away.”

“Now wait just a doggone minute. Don’t try to tell me how to raise my child.”

Matt cringed, mentally kicking himself. His enthusiasm has caused his mouth to run away with itself again. He tugged her into the kitchen away from the kids. “Abby, don’t you realize your son has a gift? You can’t be thinking of not cultivating it. Now that Tommy’s had some exposure to music, he’s not going to let up.”

“From what I’ve seen this evening, I’m not sure I want him playing the piano.”

“You thought he was temperamental at dinner?” Matt rolled eyes. “If you stifle him, you’ll have a brat living with you in no time. Don’t you see? Denying a gifted person the chance to explore his creativity is like starving an average person of food or air.”

“Isn’t that just hunky-dory. Exactly where do you suggest I find the money for this? Piano lessons will be expensive, particularly if I hire some prominent Beethoven to teach him.”

He hadn’t given much thought to the cost. For the quality of instruction Tommy would require, the fees would be high. And he’d probably need lessons more than once a week. Matt didn’t care. He’d find the money somehow. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay for it.”

“
You
? She snorted. “You don’t even have a job.”

Sure—why didn’t she just rub it in a little more? He gritted his teeth. “I’m working on that. As soon as I have one, I’ll see to it the child has lessons.”

“You will do no such thing. If anyone provides lessons for my child, it’ll be Rob. Now I want you to stop acting like you’re Tommy’s dad. It’s not good for him.”

Couldn’t she see that Robert considered Tommy as part of a package deal? To Rob, Abby and her son were like a day at the county fair. She was the games, the rides, and the cotton candy. Whereas, Tommy was the sunburn, empty pockets, and bellyache that inevitably accompanied the experience.

“Great.” Matt curled his lip. “Keep him from having a good relationship with me so he can have
no
relationship with that pompous jackass you’re marrying.”