The Piano Tuner – Part 2: Tuned

He came back the next day, and the next.

The first day, she played a single note. The second, a chord. On the third, a scrap of melody, wobbling, tentative, that broke off in the middle. Elias sat in the corner on a stool with his tool roll in his lap and said nothing. He simply listened, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

By the second week, she was playing for twenty minutes at a time. By the third, she had remembered a whole nocturne. On the last afternoon of his contract, the sun slanted gold through the studio window, and the upright glowed like a tame animal.

"I want to play you something," said Camille.

"Please."

She sat, breathed out, lifted her hands, and played. It was a slow, shimmering piece she had written years ago, full of silences and small bright runs. The hammers sounded warm and clean. Every note was in tune. She played it right through, her eyes closed, her shoulders loose, tears running down her cheeks.

When the last chord faded, the room was very still.

"That was..." Elias couldn't finish. His own eyes were wet. "That was the best thing I've ever heard."

"It's the piano."

"It's the pianist."

She laughed, wiping her face. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Is it the end of your contract?"

"It is. Unless there's another piano."

"There's always another piano," said Camille. "In my flat. It's a wreck."

"Is that an invitation?"

"May I kiss you?" she said, in a rush.

"Yes," said Elias. "And if you say stop, you must play me one piece every night for a year."

"I'd do that anyway."

She kissed him, softly, her fingers still warm from the keys. He kissed her back with reverent tenderness, one hand cupping her cheek, the taste of coffee and rosin between them. The sun fell across the piano, and the last note hummed on in the wood.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Camille. "Very green."

The flat piano took him two weeks to tune. He found a reason to stay longer.

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