The first time Teddy met Nora Mae Whitmore, it was raining—of course.

A soft drizzle painted the hedgerows silver and turned the garden path into a mosaic of puddles. Evie had insisted on bringing him home for tea, and though her voice was calm, her eyes darted—hopeful, nervous, alive with something unnamed.

"She's particular about strangers," Evie warned as they reached the ivy-wrapped gate. "But if she offers you her lavender biscuits, you're safe."

Teddy smiled. "If I survive your tea, I can survive anything."

Inside the little stone cottage, Nora Mae waited by the fire like a queen in knit slippers, wrapped in a shawl the color of faded violets. Her sharp blue eyes missed nothing—not Teddy's scuffed shoes, not his Brooklyn vowels, and certainly not the way he looked at her granddaughter like she was the most unexpected lyric in a familiar song.

"You're the piano man," she said, offering no handshake, just a raised brow and a teacup already poured.

Teddy took it. "That's me, ma'am. Teddy Holloway. It's a pleasure."

She gave him a long, measured look before speaking again.

"You're taller than I expected. You write nice letters."

Evie nearly choked on her tea. "Gran!"

"What? I'm old, not blind." Then, turning back to Teddy: "Tell me. Can you make a proper Yorkshire pudding?"

"No, ma'am," he grinned. "But I can fix a piano blindfolded and whistle Gershwin backwards."

"Well," she huffed, sipping her tea, "we can work with that."

That evening, he stayed for supper—root vegetable stew, homemade bread, and the promised lavender biscuits. Nora Mae warmed to him in that quiet, steely way Evie did: slowly, but completely.

And when he left, she pressed a small parcel into his hands.

"For the road," she said, eyes softening. "And for the girl who still blushes when she reads your name."

The next week, in return, Teddy took Evie to The Blue Note, a tucked-away music lounge in the middle of a soot-streaked street in Manchester. It wasn't elegant—more smoke than chandeliers, more laughter than linen—but it was warm, and it mattered.

There, behind the bar polishing glasses and humming along to the jazz trio on stage, stood a broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and a crooked nose.

"Evie, meet Louis Manchini," Teddy said, throwing an arm around the man's shoulder. "Best saxophone player east of the Atlantic. Also the only guy who's ever seen me cry over a broken tuning fork."

Louis laughed and pulled her into a quick, firm hug. "So this is the Sunbeam, huh?"

Evie's cheeks went pink. Teddy just beamed.

They sat near the back, in a booth carved with initials and forgotten dates. Over clinking glasses and the sound of clarinets, Evie learned that Louis was more than a musician. He was Teddy's oldest friend, the one who'd taught him how to play poker with bottle caps and once chased off a street tough with a trumpet case.

"He's a good one," Louis whispered to her later, when Teddy stepped outside to make a call. "Keeps more pain in his chest than he lets on. You see it too, don't you?"

Evie nodded. "But he plays through it."

"Yeah," Louis said. "He plays like he's trying to put the world back together one note at a time."

That night, they walked the long way home.

Not hand in hand—but close. Close enough that their shadows touched beneath the streetlamps.

Teddy glanced at her sideways. "You and Nora Mae... you're a lot alike."

Evie laughed. "Stubborn and bookish?"

"No," he said gently. "Sharp. Loyal. Brave in quiet ways. You see people. Even when they're trying not to be seen."

She paused. "Is that what you were doing? Not being seen?"

"Maybe," he said. "Till I walked into that café and heard someone writing hope into a letter like it mattered."

A pause.

Then: "Thank you for seeing me, Evie."

She smiled. "You're easier to read than you think."

He raised a brow. "Oh? What chapter am I on?"

She tilted her head. "Somewhere between the part where the character realizes they're home... and the part where they admit why they stayed."

And Teddy—piano man, dreamer, letter-writer—said nothing.

Just smiled. And stayed.