Carys had to admit; she was more than a little jealous at how effortlessly Chase manuevered her boxes of books. That was...startlingly impressive, considering his physique didn't scream 'body builder'. The boxes were packed to the brim with endless books of sheet music, journals, and far too many hardcover tomes for reason. She'd been barely able to carry one at a time down her four flights of stairs when she'd set out from New York. That felt like a lifetime ago here, sunlight streaming through a massive bow window, the air clean, the streets still and quiet.

He'd wandered to the cellos, and Carys barely managed not to cry out when he trailed his fingers along the mahogany of her favorite. He pulled his hand back quickly, as if burned. She took a deep breath; it was natural to be curious, and they were especially lovely. As he turned his question on her, Carys smiled, the expression a little drawn.

"Since I was five," she explained, footfalls carrying her closer to her treasures. Her thumb smoothed affectionately along the scroll of the cello he had touched. "I went to Julliard and played in the Philharmonic before--before I moved here." She seemed to compose herself suddenly, looking up at Chase with a bright grin. "Know of anyone in need of lessons? I find myself unemployed, and I should probably get a job. Otherwise I'll just end up in my pajamas until three in the afternoon, and that's just too sad, even for me."