The clock on the wall had barely ticked past noon when the rehearsal room door opened with a familiar creak.
Mio, bent over the piano, didn't even have to look up. She knew that creak.
"Don't tell me—" she muttered under her breath.
Sure enough, the tall frame of Claude Lockheart filled the doorway, a paper bag in one hand and two drinks balanced precariously in the other. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled, and he wore that boyish smile that made secretaries swoon and made Mio want to throw her sheet music at his head.
"Lunch time," he announced, as if it were an official meeting. "Your favorite pasta. And, since I'm a thoughtful husband, extra cheese breadsticks."
Mio shot him a look over her shoulder. "You know you have an office, right? With actual work waiting?"
Claude stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with his hip. "Work can wait. My wife can't. You're rehearsing so hard, you'd forget to eat if I didn't come."
