“Ok sweetie, hey can I ask you something? I just got to know.” He smiled again. I smiled back and said “Shoot.” He laughed “That’s not...something you want to say to an armed officer princess.” I just rolled my eyes and whispered “Whatever.” “Where are you from?” “Sinaloa” “I knew it, damn! Where from? What part?” “Near Culiacan” “No, shit? I’ma call you Culichi then” He got out of the truck and went to open the door for me, unhooked my seat belt and helped me out. He reached. At first I’d thought Nate was upstairs listening to a recording of the music but I realized with a jolt that he was playing it. I pictured him at the piano, still rumpled from the night before, in a pair of flannel pyjamas, his lean body swaying to the tempo as his fingers danced across the keys. I wondered if he always played the piano in the mornings. Perhaps it was part of his routine, a way to wake up like a shower and a cup of coffee was for me. Or maybe there was more to it. I sat back. More

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