(This is the end of this story, but there's a sequel in the works and I hope to post it sooner rather than later. Thank you to all the reviewers. Your comments are the best sort of paycheck, and gratefully received. -Brig)

Beth put the last dish in the rack and hung the tea towel on its hook, picked up her cup of coffee and settled at the kitchen table with her laptop and lesson schedule. The coming holidays had disrupted everything as usual, but she had several students who needed help with recitals and church or school performances; it meant a little extra income for her, always welcome. She booted up her laptop and got to work, though it was hard to concentrate. Greg had promised to call her with news of his arrival date, but she'd heard nothing. She fought the temptation to call him first. Even if he was on his way he probably wouldn't answer, and she'd just worry more.

They'd talked a week ago. "I'm almost done with everything here," he'd said, and she'd heard relief coupled with intense annoyance in his voice. "I'll get home as soon as I can." She'd treasured his use of the word 'home', knowing he'd done it deliberately. On what had happened to him over the last six months, he'd said little to nothing. She would find out more when he returned, of that she was certain.

He'll make me work for it. She smiled at the thought. Both of them relied on the old game of exchange; it offered safety, and a chance to say things neither of them would have offered outside its structure. His trust in her had grown slowly but surely, and hers in him as well.

The afternoon moved by at a crawl. She made a fresh coffee, answered a few emails, studied the view from the window for a while. The house felt lonely—hell, she felt lonely. She wanted the sound of Greg at her piano in the small hours, the comfort of his lean body next to hers . . . Get back to work, she scolded herself.

She was almost done with her final revisions on the schedule when she heard a knock at the front door. Frowning, she checked her dates. She didn't have anyone due to come over today . . . The knock sounded again. Beth got to her feet and went into the living room as quietly as possible. Lately there'd been a plague of missionaries pestering the neighborhood, and she really didn't feel like kicking them off her porch again. She hesitated but heard nothing. With a sigh she unlocked the door and opened it a bit. "What do you want—" she began, then fell silent.

Greg wore a new jacket over his usual tee shirt and jeans and the cane he held was new too, but the same old battered backpack was slung over one shoulder, and a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I want you." He raised a brow. "You look surprised." The sound of his voice made her heart leap. She came forward to wrap her arms around him and bring him close. The backpack hit the porch floor with a thud, along with the cane; then he kissed her, and nothing else mattered for some time.

Eventually she led him into the house, guided him to the couch, went back out to gather his things. As she turned to go inside she caught sight of her neighbor across the street, grinning at her from the little balcony above his own porch. He gave her a thumbs-up and chuckled. She shook her head but offered a smile before she shut the door behind her.

Greg was sprawled on the couch, his jacket dumped over the arm. He looked worn out and he'd lost weight, but his expression was relaxed, almost peaceful. Beth took the spot next to him. He opened one eye and peered at her. "Nice."

She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Welcome home." It was impossible to keep the tremor out of her voice, but she didn't bother to try.

"Hey, don't start leaking salt water all over me." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "I missed breakfast and lunch, by the way."

He told her some of the basics over two helpings of eggs, sausage and grits. "All the new charges were dismissed. Stacy got me a shark of a lawyer who reduced my probation time to two months. It took a big chunk of my money, but it was worth it." He paused. "Hope you don't expect me to pay rent."

"Nope, I don't. But you could earn a few bucks sitting in on a pickup session or two if you want." She couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm not teaching kids." The defiance in his tone amused her.

"Okay," she said mildly. He gave her a hard stare.

"You won't change my mind."

"I know that." She rose, took his cup and hers to get fresh coffee for them both. When she returned to the table, she saw he was almost asleep. Without another word she eased him to his feet, put his arm around her shoulders and took him to the bedroom. The fact that he made no protest told her how exhausted he was. She helped him undress, settled him in bed and brought up the covers. He was out cold before she left the room.

She went to bed early, delighted to curl up next to him. The sound of his soft snores was the best music she'd heard in months. Eventually she drifted off, only to be wakened somewhere in the neighborhood of two a.m. by the sound of the piano. On a yawn she climbed out of bed, felt around for her robe, and shuffled down the hall to the living room. When she came in Greg sent her a quick glance but continued to play. She came over and perched on the edge of the bench.

"You've been practicing."

He nodded but said nothing. She surmised from his silence that the topic had something to do with whatever had happened while he was away; she could either let it go, or take a chance. "Found a good teacher from the sound of things."

He didn't answer right away. "Exchange."

"Okay. You first." She chuckled at his groan. "Come on, you have a lot more to tell than I do."

"Be specific."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Who worked on your technique?"

He played a rolling riff. "Some old guy in the courthouse detention center."

"You had access to a piano?" That surprised her.

"Nope. Air all the way." He finished the riff. "Your turn. What did you do while I was away?"

Beth resisted the urge to hand him a sarcastic reply. She sensed anxiety behind that innocuous question. Instead she put her hands on the keys and began a melody, supported it with simple chords. "I thought about you. A lot."

Greg tilted his head a bit, listening. "And that's all you did." She gave him a smile. He grimaced. "Come on, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. And I stand by my answer." She ended the tune, put her hand on his back, rubbed gently. "I was lonely for you."

Greg said nothing, but she felt him relax a bit. "Okay," he said after a time. "Go ahead."

"What happened when you arrived in New Jersey?"

"I thought you'd ask about the verdict first."

She kept her tone neutral. "We'll get there."

He sighed softly. "Stacy was waiting with the cops. At least they didn't haul me off to jail. She'd convinced some judge to let me stay at her place under house arrest." He offered a slight smirk. "See what I did there? Your turn." Beth nodded. "You're okay with me coming back. To stay, I mean."

The unspoken apprehension in that statement caught at her. She reached out, put her hand over his, felt him tremble. "Oh yes," she said softly, and leaned in to kiss him.

"Well that's settled," he said after the kiss ended. He sounded almost smug. Beth hid a smile.

"Yes. And I'm going back to bed." She started to rise, only to be gently pulled down once more.

"I owe you a question."

"It can wait." She hesitated. "I have a gig at Buffa's later today as rehearsal pianist for the opening act. You could come with me. I usually get comped a couple of beers, and I'll buy you dinner."

He didn't answer right away. "'kay."

She knew any attempt at reassurance would backfire, so she stood, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and went back to bed.

It was deliciously pleasant to be roused from sleep with a kiss, even if the other person involved had a bit of dragon breath and a bristly chin.

"You awake?" His lips brushed her ear.

"Mmmm . . . mm-hm."

There in the soft darkness they became re-acquainted, touching, exploring curves and planes. When he settled her atop him his hands rested on her hips, firm and steady. She put her hands over his and felt him shiver.

"What is it?" she asked later, when they lay together once more. "Do you not want me to touch you like that when we make love?"

He was silent for a while. "It's not . . . you didn't do anything wrong." He sighed softly. "Just glad to be home."

She stroked his arm and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad too."

[H]

Later that evening Bramble took him to the gig, a place on Esplanade that showcased local talent. Greg watched as she settled in at the piano amid jokes and friendly catcalls from the other musicians. It was clear she was well-known and liked. He received some speculative glances, but no one disturbed him.

For an hour he nursed a beer and watched Bramble take the band through their set. It was impressed upon him yet again that her choice to teach rather than perform was a sound one; she presided over the process with unassuming authority, her quick wit put to good use. By the time they reached the sound check the band was looser, more relaxed and ready to groove.

"Nice job, Teach," he offered as she took a seat next to him. Bramble smiled and flexed her fingers, stole his beer and took a sip.

"Thanks. Ready for some dinner?"

Over fresh beers, blackened burgers, gator balls and a pile of onion rings she asked him "What do you want to do now?"

Greg munched a gator ball. "These things are weird. But good." He washed it down with some beer. "Don't know yet. No medical gigs though. I'm done with that."

"You still have your license?"

He nodded. "If I get hard up for money I can do consults."

"But that's not what you want." She took an onion ring. "So what is it?"

He didn't answer her right away. "Quantum physics. Dark matter."

Bramble's face lit up with interest. "Cool." She leaned forward a bit. "Tell me more."

"I'd have to go back to school. There's so much . . . so much to learn." He finished off his beer. "I'm too old."

"Bullshit you are. Why not get your PhD and go for it?"

He snorted. "It kinda costs money to do that sort of thing."

"So set up some consults and save your pennies. I'd bet anything you can get advanced placement for most of it and end up just writing a thesis."

"'Just'." He eyed her, amused. "So you're okay with a student boarding at your place."

Bramble leaned in and kissed him. "As long as you don't drive a car through my living room, because then I'd have to kick your ass down the street before I call the cops. I'd much rather keep that nice ass and the rest of you safe and happy in our place, if it's all the same to you."

He raised a brow, picked up a gator ball and offered it to her. She took a bite, made a face but ate it. He gave her a sip of his beer to wash it down, then leaned in and kissed her again. "Done."

'Romeo's Tune,' Steve Forbert