You’re visiting your grandparents. While they’re asleep you decide to take a walk to the library of their assisted living facility. At the grand piano across the hall sits a man with tousled gray hair, deep eyes and scruff, glasses perched on the edge of his nose while his fingers dance over the keys.

His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and the first four buttons are undone. You push down the feeling of embarrassment looking down at your bunny slippers and step quietly into the room.