(no subject)

[themidnightson]

Edward walked in casually, and toward the bar not too unconventionally for habit. At the bar, he simply cleared his throat, removing something from where it had rested inside the front breast pocket of his long grey, and black accented, pea coat.

He laid it on the bar, with only "I'm certain you know what to do with this."

There is a relatively slim volume, wrapped in brown pack paper and tied in beige cord, with a folded paper beneath two, sideways, bearing the simple inscription Mrs. Reynolds.

I don't believe that you are missing this,
but I do think, perhaps, you might enjoy it.
Consider it something borne of both our pasts
being given a possible future.

Edward

That done, he left the bar and in walking across the room was sidetracked by the piano. When had he last played that was not at Bella's behest since Volterra and James?

Edward reached out and ran a finger in a small scale on the end closest to him.

Comments

[themidnightson]

Edward half rolled his eyes, gaze never shooting much further up than the shadowy under-bronze of his far too long bangs. Ending it with a glance toward her that was something smug and teasing.

"At least you've started well."

[realmrsreynolds]

"Never too late for an old dog. Or some such poetry."

On that note.

"Thank you again. For the book. You didn't have to."

[themidnightson]

Edward nodded, while looking back to the piano.

There really wasn't much more to say about that one.

So he reached out his hands flat again and start to play.