His happiness.
Sara woke up slowly and languorously, feeling like she never wanted to move from Gabriel’s bed. Ever. The sheet had slipped at some point during the night but she wasn’t cold, and her nakedness actually pleased her. She knew Gabriel wasn’t in bed with her because he was what had woken her from a sound sleep. The best sleep she’d had in a year or more. It was clearly morning, given the sun streaming in the bedroom window, and while she hadn’t been aware of Gabriel climbing out of bed, she knew he was in the other room because she could hear the piano.
He was playing his piano.
It was a soft song, delicate, lovely, beautiful. The sound drifted over her like the light touch of a feather, like the gentle shift of Gabriel’s fingers through her hair, like the kisses he dropped on the corners of her mouth.
Sara lay still and listened, letting it wrap around her, knowing what it must mean to him to have music back in his life, his soul. When she couldn’t stay away any longer, when the need to see him, touch him, surpassed her desire to give him privacy, she climbed out of bed and got one of his T-shirts out of the drawer and pulled it on. Her panties were still in the living room, left behind when Gabriel had dragged her to bed for round two.
Knowing she was smiling, knowing she was embarrassingly in love, she walked into the living room. And was devastated by him all over again. He was gorgeous. Unbelievably so. Gabriel was sitting at the piano shirtless, his jeans low on his hips, his feet bare. His hair slid over his shoulders and his eyes were closed as he played. She shifted so she could see his fingers, watch them trail over the keys, long and powerful and talented, confident in their movements.
It was mesmerizing, the way he coaxed such a beauty of sound from the piano, and she knew she could watch him for a lifetime.
But he sensed her presence and opened his eyes. Gabriel smiled at her, his hair falling forward as he kept playing. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. The song is beautiful.”
“It’s your song.”
“My song?” She didn’t recognize it, but then she wasn’t at all familiar with classical music. Whatever it was, she liked it.
“Yep. I wrote it for you.”
Sara stared at him as he kept playing, his mastery effortless, his focus on her instead of his fingers. “What? What do you mean?” Surely he wasn’t saying what she thought he was saying.
“I mean I wrote it. It’s your song. It’s how I hear you.”
Oh, God. Sara sucked in a shaky breath, overwhelmed with love, with joy, with gratitude. “It’s lovely,” she whispered.
“Like you.”
Sara buried her eyes behind her hand, feeling the tears demanding release. Sniffling, she let them trail down each cheek. “I’m glad to see that losing your immortality didn’t take away your talent. It’s incomparable.”
His smile was satisfied. “It’s a gift. As are you.”
Sara went over to him, needing to touch him, wanting to feel his mouth on hers. She leaned over and kissed him, a lingering embrace that had her sighing. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, sliding his hand under the T-shirt to cup her bare backside. “Now let’s go get some coffee.”
Sara laughed. He was as random as always. “Okay. Let me put pants on.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Five minutes later, Gabriel pushed open the courtyard gate and stepped out onto the sidewalk, Sara holding on to the crook of his elbow. The bag of Anne’s ashes was in his other hand.
“It’s just beautiful out,” Sara said, pausing to breathe in deeply. “It’s not too hot.”
“What should we do today?” he asked her, unable to stop himself from kissing the top of her head. Twice. And a third time for good measure.
“I want to look for a job. It’s time for me to go back to work in a lab.”
She spoke with an easy conviction and Gabriel was pleased to hear it.
“And arrange to ship my stuff here.”
He looked at her in amusement as they started to head down toward Chartres Street. “Are we going to need a bigger apartment?”
“No. I like this apartment.”
“We’ll have more room if I sell my absinthe spoon collection.” Not that it took up any space really, but it was the segue he’d been looking for, a way to reassure her his addictions were a thing of the past.
She glanced up at him. “Only if you want to.”
He nodded. “It’s time.” That was the past, and he wanted to embrace the power and beauty of living in the now.
They walked in the warmth, Sara’s sandals shuffling on the sidewalk, her sky blue skirt billowing around her legs, crossing through Jackson Square. He could leave New Orleans now, but he wouldn’t. It was home.
As they climbed up the hill to cross the tracks and reach the river, an old man approached them with a smile.
He held out a vibrant pink flower to Sara. “Have a wonderful day, precious,” he said, with a nod of his head and a hand flourish.
“Thank you,” she said and accepted the offering with a bright, warm smile.
Gabriel tried to tip the man, but he waved him off. When Gabriel turned to say something to Sara, tears were in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a hot pink carnation,” she said. “My mother’s favorite flower.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say, but she shook her head.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s good. It’s a sign. She’s telling me she’s okay.”
Sara stopped in front of the river, not on the observation steps that were crowded with tourists, but fifty feet away. They were above the river, not in direct contact with the water, but the privacy worth the distance.
Removing the tie to the bag, Gabriel tipped it over and watched as Anne’s remains drifted down through the air. Sara tossed the carnation after, and its weight pulled it faster so that it caught up with the ashes and intermingled among them, until they collectively descended into the water.
Fallen.
Gabriel took Sara’s hand into his and walked away from the river.