Cressida wondered if things would be different for them, now that they'd kissed. She knew better than to expect a relationship, or even dating. He'd been very clear; but surely there'd be something? Some gesture, some look, to acknowledge that they were different people to each other now?

She hurried up the street to grab the subway for her early class, musing all the way. She could still remember how his mouth had tasted, how soft his lips were when they'd come together. Cressida smiled to herself.

"Hey beautiful, that smile for me? What else you got for me?"

Cressida looked up to find a man in a suit and tie leering at her. She turned away.

Men could be so gross.

She got off the train and dashed up the steps, exiting onto Astor Place, just a couple blocks from where she had her class.

"Hey, girlie!" Her friend Andrea called to her as she entered. She handed Cressida a coffee and a croissant. Andrea lived next to a baker, so this was a ritual.

"Thanks." Cressida took a deep drink of the life giving coffee, and tore into the croissant, post-haste.

"Anything interesting happen?" Andrea asked. This was her typical opening.

"Actually, yes. Remember the piano player?"

"Big old good-looking grumpy guy? Lives downstairs from you?"

Cressida nodded. "He kissed me yesterday."

Andrea, who was doodling in her digital notebook, turned to her immediately.

"Ooh, deets, please!"

"There really aren't any, we just spent the day together, and it was nice, and at the end we kissed."

"Oh my god," Andrea wailed softly, grabbing Cressida by the arm. "Do you know what this means? I mean, what does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything, he doesn't date or anything, it's all piano and preparing for this competition."

"But how did it happen? I thought he was really mean? That you guys hated each other?"

"He's—mellowed, I guess is the word," Cressida responded. "Gotten a little more friendly."
"I'll say."

The teacher entered, and the rest of their conversation had to be put on hold. When class was over, Cressida assured Andrea that she'd text her if anything else happened, and headed for home. She usually walked home from this class, since she wasn't in a hurry like in the mornings, just to save the fare. On her way, she passed a street vendor who had a display of necklaces laid out on black velvet. All of them seemed to be religious, so she almost kept walking, but the man running the stand called to her.

"Need a necklace of a saint? Any saint, only ten dollars."

Cressida slowed down. They were silver and looked nice.

"Is there a saint for piano players?" she asked curiously.

The old man immediately reached for a necklace, plucking it from the middle of the display with sure fingers.

"Not for just piano, for all musicians, okay?" He held it up for her to see. "Saint Cecilia, patron saint of musicians." It was pretty, just her playing a piano.

Now the question was did she have ten dollars to spare?

The man, reading her thoughts, spoke up. "For you, eight dollars. The chain is real silver, see?" He pointed out the 925, stamped in tiny numerals on the tag.

"Okay, I'll take it, and thanks."

"No, thank you, young lady," the man replied, handing her the necklace.

Cressida slipped it into her pocket and continued home.

She could hear the piano from up the street, and smiled. He was obviously giving a lesson, even she could tell that the person playing was a novice.

She went upstairs and put the necklace on the table, wondering when she'd see him next. She wasn't left wondering for very long. She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs after his pupil left, and then a knock on her door.

"Hi," she said casually when she opened the door. 

"Hello, Cress." He stepped in, looking so good she wanted to throw her arms around him. She restrained herself and merely gave him a smile.

"I have something for you," she began, turning toward the table.

"Oh no."

"Oh no?" Cressida turned back, hurt. "You haven't even seen it yet."

"No, I just meant that we can't do that, you can't do that, start buying me things, okay?"

"Well, this isn't 'things,' it's just one thing, and why not?"

He looked at her earnestly. "You don't have the money, for starters. You can't be spending what little you do have getting me stuff."

"But it's not a big deal, I just saw it and thought of you—"

"And that's the other thing, you shouldn't be thinking of me at all, you understand? We're not in that place, I'm not in that place."

Cressida sighed. "It's not about being in a place, I'm not in any place, it's not a big deal, honestly. You really don't know how to accept gifts, do you?"

"I just want to be clear, that's all."

"Yes, you've been crystal clear, never mind, then."

"Look, I just learned through painful experience not to depend on anyone, not to count on anyone but myself."

Cressida looked at him. "So this has nothing to do with your competition and not having time for anyone, then. You've been hurt, and now you're gun shy? Is this to do with that girl in the park? Katherine?"

Cressida hadn't mentioned her name since that day, remembering how Graham had snapped at her, how cruel he'd been.

Graham rolled his eyes, and Cressida could see the little tic working in his jaw. "No. Yes. I don't know. Both, I suppose. It just seemed simpler to say I'm too busy because of the competition and leave it at that. Can we just leave it at that? I don't want to talk about the other."

"Fine." Cressida went to the sink and stood looking out the small window above it, not trusting herself to face him without falling apart.

What had she been thinking to buy him something? And something so sentimental, too.

She felt him behind her, the warmth of his body against her back, though they weren't touching.

"God, Cress, I'm sorry, I'm a brute, I'm an asshole."

"Yes." She didn't turn around.

"Please, can I have it? The thing you got for me?"

"Really? I don't want you to feel under any compunction or anything." She turned to face him, though she kept her glance low, so she was looking at his chest, his gorgeous chest.

He tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes, and wanted to die at the pain he saw there, pain he'd caused. "You do bring out the worst in me, don't you?"

She nodded.

When she was this close, the urge to kiss her was overwhelming, so Graham stepped back, creating space between them.

"So? Do I still get the present? Or have you changed your mind?"

She took a quavering breath and walked over to the table, where she scooped up the necklace. She reached for his hand and dropped it into his palm. "It's Saint Cecilia. She's the patron saint of music."

"I know who she is." Graham's voice was gentle. "I've prayed to her many times."

"You don't—already have one?" Cressida's voice was soft, but worried. "I thought it would bring you luck for your competition."

Graham shook his head, his hair moving against his neck. "It's beautiful, thank you." He handed it back to her. "Would you put it on me, please? I can never get the clasp."

He bent far forward so she could reach, and Cressida fastened it. He straightened up, presenting himself for her perusal. "How does it look?"

It hung perfectly, just between his collar bones, so it would just show when he wore a polo or v-neck.

"It looks perfect," she whispered, touching it where it lay. She felt the warmth of his chest through her fingertips and pulled back.

"Thank you, Cress, very much." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, her hair tickling his nose. "I'll never take it off," he promised.

"You don't think it's too girly or anything?"

"Not at all. Besides, I don't believe in all that 'this is only for boys' crap."

"Okay." She looked at him, not wanting their interaction to end. "You want to hang out?"

"I can't, I'm sorry, I have another lesson in a few minutes, then I have to practice."

She couldn't hide her disappointment, and Graham felt bad, seeing it. "You could come down and listen again, like before, if you like?"

"Yes, please!" Cressida clapped her hands.

He smiled at her joy. "You're weird, Ms. Parker. So completely adorable, but no one wants to sit around and watch me practice. Come on, then. You'll have to sit through Sasha Markinson first, though."

"I don't care."

He followed her out the door, touching his necklace, watching the back of her, his expression tender.