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a block of Parmesan. “So you go to Berklee.” She glanced at his T-shirt.
    “Yup,” he replied. He could tell she was intimidated. Berklee was a prestigious music school, one of the best in the country. The place was highly competitive and admitted only the best students from all over the world.
    “What’s your major?” she asked.
    “BA in composition and a dual master’s in professional music and contemporary performance.”
    “Wow.” She looked impressed. “Your parents must be really proud of you.”
    Quinn grimaced. “Not so much. How about you? Are you studying?”
    “I’m not in school.”
    “Do you plan to be?” Quinn asked and Shan shook her head. “Have you had any formal training?” he persisted, his mind turning to business. He was big on education, especially when it came to guitar players. So many of them had no formal background at all. “Can you sight-read?”
    “Yes,” she said, with a sideways glance at him. “I took piano for years.”
    He cocked his head to the side and grinned, his light hair falling across one eye. “Me, too.”
    “I can tell. I’ve heard your demo. Great chops.”
    “Glad you like it,” he said, pleased. “What made you switch to guitar?”
    “It’s tough to bring a piano to a gig, don’t you think?” she asked him.
    “Not if it’s electric. Mine’s pretty transportable.”
    “I’m guessing it’s a Kurzweil?”
    “How’d you know?” he laughed.
    “If you can afford Berklee, you can probably afford the best.”
    Quinn shrugged. “I suppose. What’s that axe you had in there?”
    “Well, Joanie’s a Takamine—”
    He tilted his head quizzically. “Joanie?”
    “My guitar, I mean,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I have a Peavey electric, too, and a Fullerton twelve-string. Nothing fancy. Someday, I’ll get a Martin acoustic and a Gibson ES. Those are my dream machines.” She was perspiring, suddenly, and Quinn saw her hands tremble as she took out a metal strainer. She looked flushed, too.
    “You okay?”
    “Oh, yes,” she said. “It’s just hot in here.”
    It wasn’t, really, but Quinn took the strainer from her. “Here, let me get that.”
    “Would you excuse me? I just want to splash some water on my face.”
    “Sure,” he said, and Shan disappeared into the living room.
    Obviously he made her nervous. Well, a lot of girls became flustered around him. Still, he’d expect more poise from someone used to an audience. He was frowning as he strained the linguine, but a few minutes later she reappeared looking cool and composed. “Everything’s ready,” she pronounced. “Can you put it on that on the table while I call the others?”
    “Sure.” Quinn picked up the bowl of pasta, looking around. “Where’s the table, exactly?”
    Shan pointed at a doorway behind him. Approaching to investigate, he discovered another room, furnished with a rectangular table set with six places. “This place is huge,” he marveled.
    “I know. I’m so lucky. Oda just happened to mention that she and Denise were looking for another roommate. It’s rent controlled, so I could actually afford it.”
    “Choice location, too.”
    She nodded. “And it’s a great place to practice,” she added. “Good acoustics.”
    He shot her a keen look as she turned back toward the kitchen. “Can I do anything else for you?” he asked, with a little smile.
    Shan paused. “Sure. You can open the wine.” She disappeared. Quinn gazed after her for a moment, still wearing the inscrutable smile.
     
    Ty pushed his plate away. “Shan, that was great. The only time I get a home-cooked meal is when I go home to Detroit for Christmas.”
    Shan topped off his wine. “Don’t you like to cook?”
    Ty chuckled. “No way. I’d starve if it wasn’t for the microwave. Quinn’s a pretty fair chef when he gets the urge. Unfortunately that’s not too often.”
    Denise gaped at Quinn. “I’d expect you to think cooking was beneath you. Women’s work