My apartment building has a rooftop basketball court that nobody uses except me — at midnight, when my brain won’t stop running numbers for the family business I gave up my own dreams to save.
Then the penthouse guy shows up in bare feet to tell me I’m shooting wrong.
On a cold October night in Boston, a man sits in a brick courtyard with a guitar across his knees. He plays three chords — the only three he ever learned — and watches the third-floor window for any sign that the woman inside remembers them.
As an Amazon Affiliate, I earn from qualifying purchases. This is at no additional cost to you. All prices are verified before the deals are posted but may change at any time. Deals may not be available in all markets. Please be sure to confirm the price before downloading a book.
