The next day is still fettered with rain, so we replaced our plan to have a picnic by the river by playing the piano instead. Calais sits next to me as I sample the keys. I can hear the tone and pitch. When I was in my previous body, these were all unfamiliar to me.
"You have perfect pitch," he praises. "Seriously, another thing to admire you for," he adds.
I lightly tap his cheeks. "Calais, I am just fine and mediocre with the piano. I can hear, but I don't have a perfect pitch."
"For me, you do," he responds and places a quick kiss on the corner of my eyebrows.
