A Much Younger Man - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,1

in surprise, then delight, when he realized they were playing a duet. He followed Cooper’s lead, handling all the musical transitions Cooper threw at him with happy laughter.

People gasped and several phones flashed up to capture the moment they shared.

I looked around to see if anyone else saw what I saw—joy, entirely unrestrained. Skill and passion. Creation in its purest, most breathtaking form.

Pure youth on the verge of magnificence.

The sight of that young guitarist felt like a wound, like a scar. Talent like his was rare. I also felt breath stealing sorrow, not desire or envy but a kind of despair, as if I’d lost something I’d never realized I’d had until it was gone.

Of course he conjured those emotions—it was nothing more than nostalgia for my own youth, a desire to be part of his, and the merciless inadequacy that is the human condition.

He held me in thrall, which was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Normally when faced with attraction to someone completely unsuitable, I forced myself to step back, congratulate God on a job well done, and walk away.

Normally.

But this Orpheus, this god-kissed boy with such rare talent, caught and held my attention like no other. How old was he? Twenty, maybe. I felt vivid personal shame just watching him.

Thank God that in the next second my attention was drawn to the chocolate Lab sitting patiently beside him. She, too, was a beauty. Healthy, yes, but on the thin side. Her coat was a little dusty, but her eyes looked clear.

Given the state of the musician’s clothes and battered backpack, the two of them were living rough. He didn’t have the built-up grime or leather skin you saw in people who’d been in the elements for long periods of time, but his clothes were tattered in places and didn’t look very clean.

Frowning, I turned to Cooper, but his eyes were closed. He was in his happy place where all that existed for him was music—the intersection of his art and someone else’s. My compulsion to check out the dog rivaled my reaction to her owner. A gorgeous animal with rich brown fur, she had doe’s eyes that radiated calm despite the number of people crowding around her seated human.

I’d wait and maybe ask a few questions after they finished playing—give him a few bucks along with my business card. Maybe I could get him to come to the clinic so I could make sure she was up to date on her vaccinations and free of parasites.

Cooper and his musical friend played until the song finished, their fingers finding the notes by some alchemy of instinct and motor memory. The boardwalk’s electric lights came on, and the spell was broken.

After the last notes died, the boy held his instrument like a lover, and those in the crowd who were inclined to give him money dropped bills into his guitar case.

A sandy, shaggy-haired man climbed over the wall from the beach carrying a battery-operated lantern and a soft-serve ice cream cone. He sat cross-legged next to the musician on the boardwalk and offered him a lick with a grin. The guitarist leaned toward the newcomer and opened his mouth in invitation. As the man fed him, his eyes fluttered closed. Vanilla cream melted over his tongue and ran down his chin.

BOOM. Like a depth charge, heat and desire burst inside me.

My belly caught fire, and desire tightened my groin, making my blood rush south.

I wanted to be the one holding that cone, feeding that gorgeous young man, nourishing and nurturing him. Who was this other guy to him? They both looked young to me, but the grinning newcomer had a hard face. His skin was ruddy, and unlike the guitarist’s, his nails looked none too clean. I couldn’t help but notice that when he got too close, the guitarist’s dog backed up to lean heavily against his human’s side.

I exchanged a glance with Cooper. It was time to brush off my unexpected attraction or, at the very least, take a goddamn breath before my life turned into some Hallmark movie.

Cooper asked, “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“My dad taught me some when I was little.” His voice was deeper than I’d expected. Richer. “Later on, I picked up most of what I know from YouTube. I practice a lot.”

“Beck’s a genius.” The friend threw the bottom of his cone toward the dog who snapped it out of the air.

“Beck?” Cooper asked.

“Last name’s Beckett.” Beck shrugged. “It’s a nickname.”

“Looks like you had a