Free The Night We Met by Tara Taylor Quinn

late at night. It seemed odd, keeping a baby up so late, but anything that might help heal the rift between us was worth a try.
    On the fourth night, he was playing the piano as I fed the baby and put him to bed. This was already becoming a routine. One that I loved. I'd moved my rocking chair from the living room to the dining room and sat beside the piano while Keith nursed and fel asleep—listening to his father play.
    I smiled as I came downstairs after putting Keith in his crib—to Nate's rowdy rendition of "Great Balls of Fire." He always played that when he was feeling aroused. On a whim, I unbuttoned my shirt as I walked, and unclipped my bra. Leaving a trail of clothing behind me, I entered the dining room topless
    —something I wouldn't be able to get away with these days if the baby hadn't just nursed.
    Something I'd never even thought of doing before.
    Glancing up as I sauntered in, Nate missed a key. I grinned. And went for the button on my jeans.
    Seeing that I had my husband's complete attention I shimmied to get out of them and left them in a pile on the shiny wood floor. Dressed only in a pair of panties Nate had bought me, I climbed up onto the piano bench and hitched myself up to sit on the scarred wood of the instrument Nate was stil attempting to play, my feet dangling above the keys.
    "You're asking for trouble, woman," he growled playfully.
    "I'm looking for trouble, sir."
    Nate didn't let me down. I'd never made love on a piano bench before. Never done it sitting on a man's lap, either.
    That night I did both.
    And loved every second of it.
    Chapter 7
    Our second son, Jimmy, named after my father, who still wouldn't acknowledge me, was born just thirteen months after Keith. With two boys in diapers, one of them walking and refusing most naps, I was busy from morning until night, but I'd grown a lot more comfortable with motherhood—and had mastered the fine art of juggling many roles at once. I could clean up vomit, vacuum and cook almost simultaneously. And still smel good and have a smile on my face when my husband got home.
    The smile wasn't hard. After more than two years of marriage, I adored my husband as much as ever. Every night, no matter how tired he might be, Nate played with his sons, bathed them and then serenaded them to sleep.
    I stil felt pangs when I drove by the Catholic church on the next block. I'd pulled into the parking lot a few rimes during mass, just to sit there and feel...close. But even then, I didn't regret marrying Nate.
    And life went on.

    Singer Elton John made his first United States appearance when Jimmy was two weeks old, and Nate, who had a hankering for his songs, celebrated by taking us out for a night on the town. We took the boys— Keith, real y, as Jimmy was breast-feeding—to Denver for his first fast-food hamburger.
    He didn't want anything to do with the mustard- smeared offering, but he loved French fries and begged to have them with every meal after that.
    My mother came to stay with us the fall after Jimmy was born. She was a great help to me as I adjusted to dealing with an overactive toddler and a newborn. And it took very little time for her and Nate to solidify the bond they'd tentatively formed during my mother's brief visit after Keith's birth.
    One night at the piano and she was hooked.
    Mom stayed for nearly a month and it soon became clear that we were going to need a bigger house.
    Three bedrooms wasn't enough anymore. Mom and I looked for three days until we found the perfect place. A log home close to the mountains.
    Nate loved it on sight and within six weeks, we'd moved in.
    William, June, Alice and Bonnie took turns visiting that year, as well. June had moved back to California, and my sisters came together, without their families. I missed my nieces and nephews and Nate promised that next summer we'd make it home for a visit of our own.
    William still wasn't married. At my instigation, Nate tried his best to hook him up, but Wil iam