Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Linda set his tea on a doily on the coffee table. “Oh dear. Will that be very expensive?”
Probably. Who knew? Of course, Jason would. And he’d probably have colleagues he knew who might do it for a deal. He certainly wouldn’t leave Linda hanging like this. “Let me call in a favour.”
He plugged in a number for a piano technician he’d found that morning, and hit call. He’d simply hire someone, pay out of his own pocket, and pretend—
No one was picking up!
Linda was looking at him like he was her saviour!
What was plan B?
The ringing had long ended, but he held the phone to his ear, smiling and nodding and murmuring, “Won’t be long, Linda. We’ll sort this out. Absolutely in time for your granddaughter.”
Inside, he was one very long groan. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
The doorbell chimed through the bones of the house, and Linda blessedly left the living room to answer. Carl sagged to the piano stool. Maybe he should call his brother. Tell him he was getting in all kinds of trouble, and could he somehow actually call in a favour?
He had his thumb hovering over the call button when Linda returned. Carl glanced over with an automatic wave, then whipped his head back and stared.
Grayson slung a bag off his shoulder and crossed over to him. “You promised you’d help me perfect the art of tuning, remember?” He raised both his eyebrows with a pointed ‘play along’.
“Ah, so I did,” Carl said slowly. “Unfortunately, my thingy is malfunctioning.”
Grayson patted his bag. “Mine works.”
Yours? You tune pianos as well as . . . everything else?
Carl was a series of rapid blinks.
“Shall we start?” Grayson asked. “May I take the lead and you give me tips where you see need for improvement?”
More blinking.
Grayson set Carl’s bag aside and perched next to him on the piano stool, the lengths of their arms mashed together. Under his tongue, for Carl’s ears only, he murmured, “You’re drooling.”
Carl slapped a hand over his mouth and then scowled. He was not.
Grayson smirked.
There was that mischievous, vain side of Grayson again—the side that loved the idea Carl was his newest groupie. Carl dug an elbow into his side and spoke in Grayson’s ear. “Tune this and I might drool for real.” He turned his head to Linda and grinned. “It’s important no one else is around while we do this as any background noises can affect the quality of tuning.”
Linda breezed out of the living room with a dreamy smile, telling them to take their time.
Grayson pressed the C key and side-eyed Carl. “You bullshit convincingly.”
“Get this done, and then you can chastise me all you want.”
Grayson busied himself with tuning the piano. He removed cabinet doors; dusted strings; checked for damaged or muted strings, and gently tuned the flat keys. By the end of it, the piano sounded crisp, and Carl couldn’t lie. He was impressed. “I’m impressed.” He eyed those dextrous, handy fingers, and briefly remembered their gentleness guiding him out of a crouch. “How do you know how to do this? Don’t say you’re an accomplished pianist.”
Grayson shook his head. “Sam played the piano. That’s why I learned the skill.”
“Sam?”
Grayson stared down at the ivory keys. “My ex.”
There was heartbreak here. Carl could hear it—no, feel it. A familiar heavy throb in the air around them. He found himself nodding.
And leaning in. “Sam—Samuel? Or Sam—Samantha?”
Grayson glanced at him out the corner of his eye, and shook his head. He wrapped an arm around Carl’s neck and patted his shoulder. “Just Sam.”
The playfully patronising pat had Carl grumbling and tossing off Grayson’s hand. “That wasn’t fishing for useful information.”
“No-no, of course not.”
“I mean it. It was curiosity.”
“Sure.”
God, this man was infuriating! Also, super amazingly helpful in today’s predicament. But really annoying! “I come from a tiny town. Being nosy is a requirement. It’s in my blood to pry into people’s business.”
Grayson looked at him, head cocked, a small smirk at his lips. “That begins to explain things. This town, is it in Oz?”
The conversation was bound to turn in this direction. From the moment Grayson entered Linda’s living room, Carl knew an explanation was on the horizon. He flattened his lips and took a few calming breaths, then swivelled on the stool, knocking their knees. “Tassie. I run a convenience store there. I’m actually Carl Birch; Jason Lyall is my twin. We’ve . . . swapped lives. Temporarily.”
“Sounds like the plot of an old movie.”
“That might’ve been where I got the ingenious idea.”
“Ingenious?” Grayson looked sceptical.
Carl sort of understood since, well, look at the trouble he’d got himself into. However, this was still better—infinitely better—than helping his ex prepare to marry another bloke. “Anyway, the point is I’m not an accomplished pianist, and I’m grateful for your help today. You think you can keep this identity swap thing to yourself? I’m only here another week or two, and when the real Jason returns, he’ll carry on the charade. No one will get hurt, you’ll see.”