Who accidentally has a one-night stand with her alumni band director? Yep. Me. I know what you’re thinking. Whoops! I slipped on some valve oil and accidentally landed on his baton during a rousing chorus of Stars and Stripes Forever. That’s not quite how it went. But the alumni band director is really, really skilled with that baton, if you know what I mean. So what am I supposed to do now, as I walk into the morning’s rehearsal — three feet from the podium because of course I play piccolo — and find the guy I ghosted on this morning … right there, smiling at me like he remembers exactly what tempo I prefer? He’s perfect. Too perfect. He's a widowed dad of two adorable little kids that — oh, by the way — he forgot to mention. But I also haven’t mentioned the seventeen-year-old I live with, either. He’s not my boyfriend. I’m his guardian. He’s autistic and non-speaking, and he’s been my whole world since I was nineteen. I want Mr. Band Director. He wants me. Nothing — not the secrecy, not the awkwardness, not the 500 miles between his life and mine — will make this chemistry stop. Except for three pesky little things: the secrets we're hiding from each other. Three very human secrets. I’ve never felt so seen before. He gets me. I get him. But we’re buried in responsibilities and loyalties that get in the way. When I’m with him, I can play. Really play. And not just music. He can't quit his job and move his kids to be close to me. I can't uproot a fragile teen who needs round-the-clock care and is still mourning his parents. The odds are stacked against us. But who ever let that get in the way of love?
