MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND

MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND

ANNA & DANIEL

ANNA'S POV

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn as I stepped out of my car, smoothing down my navy silk dress. My father's familiar Mercedes was already parked in the circular driveway of the impressive Mediterranean villa. I could hear the gentle hum of conversation and soft Jazz music drifting from the backyard.

"Anna! There you are, sweetheart." Dad emerged from around the corner, his warm smile instantly putting me at ease. Even at 50, he carried himself with the same confidence i remembered from my childhood.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," I said, accepting his quick hug. "Traffic on the 405 was terrible."

"No worries at all. Come one, there's someone I want you to meet." He guided me through the house, his hand light on my shoulder. The interior was a study in understated elegance, cream walls adorned with black and white photographs, tall windows letting in streams of golden light.

We stepped onto the back patio where small group of well dressed guests mingled around infinity pool. That's when I saw him, Daniel Reynolds, my father's beat friend and out host, standing by the outdoor bar in deep conversation with someone. I'd heard stories about him for years but had never met him in person since I'd been away at college on the East Coast.

He turned as we approached, and I felt my breath catch slightly. The stories hadn't mentioned how his grey-green eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, or the way his salt and pepper hair was artfully tousled. His tailored navy blazer highlighted broad shoulders, and his rolled up sleeves revealed tanned forearms.

"Danny," My father called out, "I'd like you to finally meet my daughter, Anna."

Daniel's smile widened as he extended his hand. "The famous Anna! Your father hasn't stopped talking about you since you got your PhD." His voice was rich and warm, with a hint of playfulness.

I felt a slight flush rise to my cheeks as I shook his hand. "All good things, I hope?"

"Nothing but pride from this one," Daniel chuckled, clapping my father on the shoulder. "Though he failed to mention what an accomplished young woman you've become. Psychology, right?"

"Clinical psychology," I nodded, surprised he knew. "I just started my practice in Santa Monica."

"You'll have to tell me more about it," he said, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "Would you like a drink? The bartender makes an excellent gin and tonic."

"That sounds perfect, thank you." I watched as he moved to the bar, exchanging easy banter with the bartender.

My father squeezed my shoulder. "I need to say hello to some colleagues. You'll be okay?"

"Of course, Dad." I smiled, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach as Daniel returned with two drinks.

"Shall we?" He gestured to a quiet corner of tye patio, where comfortable chairs overlooked the canyon below. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, and a warm breeze carried the scent of jasmine from the garden.

I found myself studying his profile as he spoke about his work in international law, the way his eyes lit up when describing a particularly challenging case. His passion was magnetic, and I couldn't help but lean in closer, drawn to his storytelling.

"I'm probably boring you with all this legal talk," he said apologetically, running a hand through his hair.

"Not at all," I assured him, surprised to find I meant it. "It's fascinating. Though I have to admit, I'm curious about all the stories you must have about my dad from your college days."

Daniel's laugh was rich and genuine. "Oh, I have plenty of those. Though I'm not sure how many I should share.... I value our friendship very much."

"Even just one?" I asked, giving him my best pleading look.

He leaned back, regarding me with an amused consideration. "You have your father's persuasive abilities, you know that?" His voice had dropped slightly lower, and I felt a shiver run down my spine despite the warm evening air.

As we walked back inside, my attention was drawn to a long hallway lined with framed photographs. The black and white images captured moments throughout the years — Daniel at charity galas, legal conferences, and several with my father. One particular photo made me pause.

"Is that you playing piano?" I asked, stepping closer to the image. Daniel was seated at a grand piano, his expression lost in concentration, fingers gracefully positioned over the keys.

He moved beside me, close enough that I could catch the subtle notes of his cologne. "Ah, yes. That was from a benefit conference about five years ago."

"You never mentioned you were a musician." I said, turning to face him. His proximity sent a small thrill through me.

Daniel smiled modestly, running a hand through his silver streaked hair. "I wouldn't call myself a musician. I learned as a child and kept it up through the years, though I rarely play nawadays.

"Would you play something?" The words left my lips before I could stop them. "Please?"

He hesitated, those striking gray-green eyes meeting mine. "I'm quite out of practice..."

"All the more reason to get back to it," I encouraged, feeling bold. "Unless you're afraid of disappointing you audience of one?"

A low chuckle escaped him. "You're persistent, aren't you?" He glanced down the hallway, then back to me. "The piano's in the music room. But I warn you, it might not be the performance you're hoping for."

He led me to a room at the end of the hall, where a beautiful grand piano sat draped in a protective cloth. The space was intimate, lit softly by the last rays of sunset streaming through tall windows. Daniel pulled the cover off with careful movements, revealing gleaming black lacquer beneath.

He settled onto the bench, his fingers hovering over the keys for a moment before patting the space beside him. "Join me?"

My heart skipped as I sat down, acutely aware of how our shoulders brushed. The warmth of him radiated through the blazer.

Without preamble, his hands began to move across the keys. The opening notes of Debussy's Clair de Lune filled the room, soft and hesitant at first, then growing more confident. I watched his hands, mesmerized by their fluid grace. His eyes were half closed, lost in the melody.

The piece wrapped around us like silk, creating a bubble where nothing existed except the music and our shared breaths. I found myself leaning slightly closer, drawn in by the intensity of his concentration, the subtle movements of his shoulders as he played.

As the last notes faded, he turned to me with a self depreciating smile. "Like I said, I'm rusty."

"That was beautiful," I said, but my voice came out as a whisper, probably not wanting to break the spell of the moment. "Would you teach me a little?"

"Of course." His voice had grown softer too. He positioned his hands over the keys again. "Try this simple melody."

I attempted to mimic his movements, but my fingers stumbled over the notes, and a discordant sound made me wince.

"Here," he murmured, his hand covering mine. "Like this." His touch was warm as he guided my fingers to the correct keys. "Gentle pressure, just like that."