The morning light slipped through lace curtains, pooling across the wooden kitchen table where Nora Mae Whitmore poured tea like she always did—strong, warm, and with more wisdom than the leaves could possibly hold.

Evie sat across from her, cheeks flushed not from the weather, but from something much gentler. Something still dancing behind her eyes.

Nora Mae narrowed her gaze with a knowing smile. "Well then," she said, sliding the sugar bowl across the table. "Are you going to sit there grinning into your cup all morning, or are you finally going to tell me what happened?"

Evie laughed softly, tracing the rim of her teacup with one finger. "It was... magical, Gran."

"A walk by the river again?"

Evie shook her head. "No. He invited me to The Blue Note. After closing. Just us."

Nora raised a brow. "Closed lounge? Candles? That boy didn't just play piano, did he?"

"Gran!" Evie sputtered.

Nora chuckled. "Oh hush, child. I was young once. We had candlelight too—though mine was mostly due to the power going out."

Evie hid her face in her hands, laughing. Then she exhaled, soft and full.

"He wrote something for me," she said quietly. "A song. Just for me."

Nora's hands stilled around her teacup. "He wrote for you?"

"Yes. And then we danced. No music. Just... us."

"And?"

"And I kissed him," Evie whispered.

There was a long pause, heavy with sweetness.

Then Nora Mae leaned forward, cupping her granddaughter's face gently. "Oh, Sunbeam. That kind of love—the kind that tiptoes in and grows in the quiet—it lasts. Don't be afraid of it."

"I'm not," Evie said. "Not anymore."

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic-blue door of a Brooklyn flat turned music den, Louis Mancini leaned back in a squeaky chair, trumpet across his lap, polishing cloth in one hand and suspicion in his squint.

"So," he said, dragging out the word like a note he wasn't sure he liked the sound of, "you gonna tell me why you showed up this morning humming like you just kissed a melody?"

Teddy threw himself onto the nearby couch, arms behind his head, grin absolutely criminal.

"I kissed a person, Lou. Not a melody."

Louis blinked.

"Oh," he said.

There was a pause.

Then he whooped so loudly the neighbors probably knocked their walls in protest.

"You finally kissed her?"

"She kissed me back."

"Buddy," Louis said, pointing dramatically with his trumpet, "that librarian is the best thing that ever happened to you. Better than your C7 chord, better than that time Ella Fitzgerald complimented your timing, better than—"

"Okay, okay," Teddy laughed. "I get it."

Louis sat forward, all teasing set aside. "Tell me about it. Tell me everything."

Teddy's voice dropped to something slower. Calmer.

"There were candles. She looked like a line of poetry. I played the song I've been working on since the first time she laughed in front of me. We danced. She leaned in. And suddenly, I wasn't scared."

Louis raised his eyebrows. "You? Not scared?"

"I felt like... I finally caught my breath."

Louis nodded slowly, then said, "Don't mess it up."

"I'm not going to."

"No, I mean really don't mess it up. This isn't a lounge girl. This is Evie Whitmore."

"I know," Teddy said, his voice suddenly soft again. "That's why it's different. It's real."

Back in Lancashire, Nora Mae finished her tea and said, "You know he'll leave someday. Music doesn't stand still."

"I know," Evie whispered.

"And if he does, you won't break?"

Evie looked up, a quiet steadiness in her eyes.

"No," she said. "Because he didn't arrive to complete me. He just helped me hear my own melody again."