23

“Thank you.” Felicia turned, smiling softly and extending her hands toward him. Scott enfolded hers in his, squeezing them. “But no, I want to spend some time with her before I grade papers. Although she always loves to hear you play. It's been a while since you did that, Scott. Maybe you could bring your guitar with you sometime this week.”

“I’ll do that,” he agreed. His mother had been responsible for him first picking up the instrument. She’d found a battered acoustic Fender at a garage sale, and from the second he’d held it, he’d been enamored. Though extra money had been almost nonexistent during his childhood, she’d still found a way to pay for lessons. No one outside the family had ever heard him play, because it was for him. His peace.

His way to lose himself and get away from the stresses of running a multimillion dollar company.

His mother cupped his cheek, giving it an affectionate pat before lowering her arm. “Now, not that I don’t enjoy you dropping by, but is everything