Eighteen years earlier

Sitting in the bar, Mark was doing his best not to let tiredness wash over him. He had agreed to a night out with his fellow officers, but he wasn't sure if his heart was in it. He had changed out of his blue uniform at the precinct, slipping into jeans and a blue shirt with a dark jacket over it. He was young, having just joined the Metropolitan Police Department a year earlier. His sister had been the only one there when he had been sworn in considering he had no other family. He didn't mind too much. He tried not to dwell on what he'd never had.

He had never known what it had been like to have a loving family. Their parents had died when they had been six. He didn't even remember them, despite having their picture in his wallet. Him and his sister had been raised by his aunt who wasn't exactly a maternal figure. As soon as he'd been old enough, he'd left and joined the force, earning his own money. He didn't make a fortune. He was an officer, but he intended on working his way to the top. He wanted to be a detective one day. He knew that he could be, but he knew that it was going to take time.

Sitting in the bar in downtown Manhattan, he wondered when he could leave. He kept checking his watch on his wrist. It had only just gone ten. He picked up his lukewarm beer and took another sip.

"You counting down until you can go home, Hoffman?"

Mark looked up as Alison Kerry smirked at him, holding her own glass of vodka soda. He chuckled and looked down to his lap before peering back to her, brow arched on his forehead.

"That obvious, huh?" he asked from her.

She rolled her eyes and tossed a hand through her curly hair. Shrugging her shoulders, she took a sip of her drink as Eric spoke up.

"I'm amazed we even got him out tonight," he commented.

"You know me, Matthews, always a social guy," he declared. Mark had to confess that he was bored of the conversation. He would prefer to go home and maybe call his sister.

"You never come out to these things," Tapp added on, sitting down opposite them with a fresh drink in his hand after spending ten minutes queuing at the bar. "But it's good to see you out."

Mark was about to make another quick quip before he glanced across the bar and his gaze fell on her. He spent his days meeting different people and interacting with people. He didn't know what it was about her, but suddenly he couldn't look away. Matthews followed his gaze, as did Tapp and Kerry. The three of them exchanged glances and Matthews smirked, rolling his eyes.

"Don't go there, buddy," Matthews urged from him.

Eric was only slightly order than Hoffman, having joined the force a year before him. Hoffman and Kerry were at about the same stage of their career whereas Tapp was older than all of them. He often seemed jaded by the job and Mark had promised himself that he would never become like that. He wanted to do good. He wanted to deliver justice.

"What?" Mark asked, looking away from the woman on the other side of the bar and back to his colleagues. "I was distracted."

"We can tell," Kerry said, a cheeky edge to her tone.

"Hey, I get it," Matthews said. "But a girl who looks like that will do nothing but break your heart, believe me."

"You can tell the type of girl she is just from looking at her," Kerry added on.

Mark arched his brow. "And what is that?"

"Hoity toity," Kerry said. "You can tell by the way all of them have been shrieking loudly all night…plus there's the designer clothes and bags…definitely not from around these parts. I'd say mommy and daddy's trust fund money is funding a lot of those lifestyles."

Mark rolled his eyes, his lip curling upwards slightly. "Sounding a bit judgmental there, Kerry."

"It's the type of girls we get in the precinct occasionally. They always have good lawyers and their parents are always well connected…you know…socialites…businessmen…the type of girls who wouldn't look twice at a cop."

"Ah, don't be too harsh on Hoffman. I'm sure he could get her number if he wanted," Matthews said and Tapp just sat back, observing them with interest and a sly smile.

"I bet you ten dollars he can't," Kerry said.

Mark took another gulp of his beer, not because he was thirsty, but he because he suspected he needed some more alcohol to get him through what he was about to do. He didn't need to do it. He knew that he didn't need to do it, but he liked a challenge and he wasn't one to shy away from that.

"Ten dollars?" Mark checked the wager.

"Hey, thirty if you end up marrying her," Kerry raised the stakes and they all laughed as Mark placed his glass down and moved to his feet.

He said nothing further to the group and walked over towards where the gaggle of girls were. He looked at the one sat in the corner. She was hardly paying attention to what was going on and no one was talking to her. Maybe she caught his eye because she looked exactly how he felt.

Her brunette hair hung in soft waves down her back and she was dressed in a some kind of sequinned mini dress that she kept on tugging at, pulling it down her thighs. She had silver heels on her feet and a clutch bag was on the high table in front of her. She had a drink there too, her fingers twirling the straw in the liquid. The girls she was with were also dressed in sequined clothes, ranging from mini dresses to flared bottoms and crop tops. Some of them had moved to the dance floor, hollering and shouting over the music as they went.

Mark slipped by three of them and wondered just what he was doing. He didn't come to nightclubs or bars to pick girls up. This wasn't who he was. He was about to turn around and walk away, admit that it had all been a ridiculous mistake. But he didn't. He heard her speak. Her voice was soft and he could tell she was well educated just from her tone.

"How much did they bet you to come over here?" she questioned.

Mark looked to her and their eyes finally met. She tilted her head, brow arching on her forehead as she waited for him to answer her. He chuckled darkly and stood next to her as she remained seated on the stool.

"Ten bucks," he said.

"I feel undervalued," she replied.

"They offered me thirty if I ended up marrying you," he said.

"I think a marriage licence would cost more than that," she said. "And I have to say that's the worst proposal I've received."

"Had many, have you?" he asked from her.

"Oh, I have suitors lining up out the door."

"I don't see any here," Mark said, turning his head over his shoulders and looking around.

"They don't frequent places like this," she said and Mark leaned against the table, hoping that he at least managed to look cool. He liked her. He decided in that instant that he liked her. He could smell her perfume, the sweet scent hitting his nostrils and almost making him light headed. She was stunning, he wasn't going to deny that. Her green eyes lit up slightly, but he wasn't sure if she was just humouring him.

"And do you frequent places like this often?"

"Nightclubs aren't really my scene," she informed him.

"Don't tell me, you're more of an art gallery girl?"

"What gives you that impression?"

"Well, you're well spoken…you look very uncomfortable in that dress that you keep desperately trying to pull down your legs…and you haven't sung along to any of the music all night. I'd say you're sophisticated so this isn't your scene."

"Interesting take…apart from the fact I hate art," she said. "I don't understand it and I've never wanted to understand it. This dress is indeed uncomfortable and isn't mine. It's my friend's, Janet's, who I am with tonight as it's her hen do…and can anyone actually sing along to any of this music?"

"Granted, this is just noise…hardly a great symphony."

"And do you know much about symphonies…officer?" she guessed and Mark smirked at her, his eyes glimmering even more. He cocked his head to the side and she took a sip of her drink through the straw, lips pursed around it and he almost thought he saw her throw him a teasing glance.

"How did you guess?"

"Please, it's pretty obvious from all of you sat over there," she replied. "And your badge is poking out your jacket pocket."

Mark chuckled and checked that was the case. He pushed his badge further into his pocket to make sure it didn't fall out from his jacket. "Good observation skills," he admitted to her. "And if I have to confess, I'd much rather listen to Bruckner than whatever this is."

Her eyes lit up even more. "Which one?"

"Probably symphony no. 8," Mark said and he knew that he'd impressed her. His smirk continued to grow. "Expected me to go for Mozart or Beethoven, did you?"

"More that I'm amazed to meet a guy here who knows Bruckner," she replied. "Although, I'm more of a Brahms fan myself."

"Which is amazing considering the pressure he had to compose his first symphony after Beethoven," Mark chimed in. "So…you're a classical music girl. How did that happen?"

"I play piano."

"Piano, huh? And are you any good?"

"I guess that depends who you ask," she replied and he wondered if she was being modest with him. He didn't get a chance to push it as she kept talking then, her interest in him seemingly having piqued. "And you? Who introduced you to classical music?"

"That would be my aunt. I hated it when I was a kid, but ended up loving it as an adult…there's something about watching an orchestra…hearing the crescendo…it's pretty spectacular," he said. "Why? Didn't think that a cop could be a lover of classical music?"

"I try not to judge a book by its cover," she replied. "Unlike you who seems to think you have me all figured out…what am I? A well-educated, art gallery girl?"

"Well, we've established you don't like art so I'll admit to getting that wrong," he said to her and she rolled her eyes good naturedly. "But I still maintain that you're well-educated."

"I suppose I have my parents to thank for that," she said. "Paid for the best education…put me through college…and somehow I'm still a disappointment to them because I'm not married to one of their rich friend's sons."

Mark sensed a tone of bitterness then. She tried to hide it behind venom and harsh words, but there was hurt then. He saw her glance down the table for a moment and he figured it was hard for her. She didn't have her parent's approval and he figured that could probably mess someone up if they let it. She didn't dwell on that though, she looked up and met his gaze again, her eyes flickering around his face and drinking in his features.

"Do you do what you love?" Mark asked from her.

"Yes."

"Then I think that's the most important thing there is, no matter what anyone else says," he said to her and for a moment he worried that things had gotten too deep. He had only gone over to her to get her number, but there was something there. There was something about her that made him want to stay longer and get to know her.

"And you?" she asked. "Have you always wanted to be a cop?"

"It's where I've ended up," he settled on saying. "Trying to help people…in a broken system…it isn't always the easiest thing."

"I can imagine," she said, tone genuine. "It's not a job I'd be able to do."

"Well, I can't play piano so you're one ahead of me there," Mark said. "Where do you play?"

She shrugged, acting nonchalant. "Wherever I can. I'm freelance…concerts…tutoring…anything that helps pay the bills really."

"When did you start playing?"

"When I was five," she said and he whistled lowly. She shrugged again. "My parents wanted me to be good at everything. They made me play sport…try to paint…but the only thing I enjoyed was the piano."

"Verity Daniels! What are you doing talking to this man on our girl's night out?"

Mark looked to the side where a voice had just shrieked in his ear. The woman was teetering in platform boots with flared bottoms and a silver sequined crop top. She had a sash over her, declaring that she was the bride-to-be and was holding a glass of champagne in her fingertips. Mark looked to the woman he had just spent ten minutes conversing with. Verity Daniels. He hadn't even asked her for her name.

"In all fairness, he came over to talk to me," Verity said and looked from her friend and back to him. "And I haven't even gotten his name."

"Mark Hoffman," he provided for her.

"Mark," she said, almost like she was testing his name on her lips.

"Well, Mr Hoffman," her friend said. "You are interrupting my hen do and I have specifically given orders that there are no men allowed."

"Then I must apologise," Mark said, holding his hands up defensively. "And you must be Janet."

"Guilty as charged," she answered, her own blonde hair tumbling into her face as she staggered back and forth, clearly drunk. "And I have to ask what your intention here is with my best friend because you should know that I'm very protective over this one."

Janet flung her arm around Verity's shoulders and Mark instantly saw the dynamic between them. They were close, he could tell. Janet was the outgoing one while Verity was the quiet one, but they were both protective of each other. He could tell that much. He watched Verity try to keep her friend upright as Mark glanced between them.

"Well, I was going to ask if Verity here might be kind enough to give me her number," Mark said.

"Are you asking her out?" Janet asked and Verity rolled her eyes at her friend's not so subtle attitude.

"I'd like to."

"And I was just about to say that's really sweet, but I'm not sure I'm looking to date right now," Verity said and Mark felt his heart sink. Janet rolled her eyes at her friend.

"V, come on, he's cute!"

"And you're drunk," Verity declared and she moved to her feet, dress riding up her thighs as Mark tried to keep his eyes higher up. The sleeves to her dress came down to her wrists and her cheeks had tinged red as she pulled at the cuffs. "You stay here and I am going to get you a water," Verity said. "It was really nice to meet you, Mark."

She scurried away before he could say anything back to her. Mark was about to excuse himself, prepared to lose his ten bucks, but Janet stopped him from going anywhere. She moved her hands to his shoulders, almost using him as an anchor to steady herself.

"She's shy," Janet said. "And ever since James, she's closed herself off…hasn't dated anyone since him…and he ruined her…used her…stole music she wrote while she was Julliard."

Mark's eyes widened. "She went to Julliard?"

Janet scoffed. "Downplayed it, did she?" she checked. "She's like a prodigy…a genius, really…until James ruined any shred of confidence that she had. He told her she wasn't good enough and then stole all her ideas. She wasn't herself for months. Swore I'd kill him if I ever saw him," she continued. "I just want her to be herself, you know? I want her to be the Verity I grew up with…and she deserves to be happy too."

"She seems like a nice girl, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

"That's the thing," Janet said, swaying slightly and Mark wondered if he should hold her waist to steady her, but he kept his hands to himself. "I haven't seen her talk to a stranger and smile in a long time. She likes you. I know she does. She's just too scared to admit it…and do you like her?"

"I hardly know her…but she…she seems nice," Mark settled on saying.

"Listen, if I tell you she's playing in a concert tomorrow night at Bentham Hall…seven p.m…do you think you might be able to attend?"

"Would she want me to?"

"Could just be coincidental you're there."

Mark smirked. "Not sure that would wash."

"I think this would be good for her, so yeah, turn up," Janet said and pointed in his face. "And don't disappoint me."

She let go of him and Mark watched her stagger over to the bar where Verity helped to hold her up. Turning her head over her shoulder, Verity met Mark's gaze once more and she managed a soft wave in his direction before she turned her attention to Janet and forced a glass of water into her hands to drink. Mark watched the back of her for a minute before heading to his own table, well aware that he owed them ten bucks. But he didn't mind. In fact, he felt no disappointment at all, just a sense of hope.

Mark wasn't sure what he should wear to a concert. He knew it was a classical music concert and he suspected that he should dress smart. He didn't have a ticket either, but he hoped that didn't matter. He had spent half an hour checking his tie was the right length and his shirt not creased. He shrugged into his suit jacket and set off for the Upper West Side, riding the subway and trying to dodge the droplets of rain that he begun to fall.

Finally, he arrived at the concert Hall. It felt fancier than what he'd been to before. There were people in suits and long evening gowns lining the steps up to the building, all chatting with each other and getting excited over the evening ahead. Mark found the box office and managed to buy a ticket for the concert. He read the title that said New York Orchestra and he wondered just how Verity would fit in considering pianos were rarely found in orchestras, except for some symphonies.

He made his way into the building, hand raking through his dark hair and he wondered if this was crossing a line. Would this freak her out? Him turning up? He didn't know, but he hoped not. He moved slowly into the concert hall and saw the instruments and chairs set up at the front. He took his seat in the middle at the end of a row, hoping he looked like he belonged. He took the programme from the chair and read the list of names of each member of the orchestra and there she was: Verity Daniels.

He waited patiently as the room filled up and the noise built. It was only as the main lights dimmed and the lights on the stage brightened did a hush descend around the room. Mark watched as the musicians took their seats, dressed in finery and inclining their heads to the conductor once they were ready. But Mark was looking at only one person. She was sat towards the back at the grand, black piano. She wore a long, navy blue dress that was off the shoulder. Her hair was tied into a bun at the nape of her neck and her eyes settled on the sheets of music resting in front of her.

The orchestra struck up, but Verity didn't play just yet. She sat there patiently, flicking through the sheets and staring at them intently. Mark waited and then, when a hush descended from the other instruments, the only noise that befell the room was the sound of the piano. He watched as her fingers fluttered over the keys, her feet pressing against the pedal. The sound was like a soothing melody, all eyes on her. But she was so focused, shoulders moving up and down, a strand of hair falling from her bun and into her face.

Mark was besotted by her, unable to tear his eyes from her even as the other instruments began to strike up once more and she stopped her playing. He didn't know how long the symphonies went on for, but there was a rapturous applause at the end, everyone standing up and clapping loudly. The orchestra stood too, turning in the direction of the crowd and bowing.

Mark watched as the curtain closed and he wondered how he could talk to her. He imagined there had to be a stage door somewhere and so he asked one of the ushers on his way out who confirmed it for him. He moved outside, thankful that the rain had stopped as he made his way around to the stage door. He stood there awkwardly, not sure if this was creepy or sweet. He watched as people left, carrying cases with them, coats on their shoulders and bags slung over their bodies. Mark was doing his best not to feel too apprehensive, but then he saw someone carrying out dozens of red roses and he acted quickly.

"Hi," he said and the woman startled for a moment before looking at him. "I'm waiting for Verity Daniels."

"Oh, she'll be out in a minute," she said.

"Thanks," Mark said. "You wouldn't mind if I…" he motioned to the flowers and the woman laughed softly, shaking her head. She pulled one of the roses out and handed it to him.

"Not at all," she said. "It's nice that someone's here for Verity. Usually it's Janet who comes to watch her."

"Well, I think she sent me tonight," Mark said and the woman nodded.

"Have fun," she said and then just walked off, carrying her roses with her and leaving Mark alone.

There were four more people who came out before it was Verity. She was wrapped up in a long black coat, buttons done up from her thighs to her chin, collar turned up. She had a black satchel on her shoulder and her hair was still in its bun. She looked around and then her eyes finally lanced on Mark, his own coat draped open, revealing his crisp white shirt and dark blue tie.

"Hi," he settled on saying and Verity moved slowly towards him, her heels clicking on the concrete.

"Hi," she replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend Janet told me you were playing here tonight," Mark said. "I think she wanted me to come."

"And you wanted to come?" Verity wondered.

"Well…I debated it," he confessed to her. "Wasn't sure if this was creepy or cute."

"You're borderline."

"Would a rose sway it in a favourable direction?" he asked from her, handing it towards her.

She took hold of it and her lips arched slightly. "Jury's still out there," she said, but her stomach did flip and her heart began to race slightly. "And what did you think?" she asked, twirling the rose stem in her fingertips.

"You were amazing," he said and there wasn't even a hint of condescension to his voice. He watched her as she began to blush from his compliment, but he found that quite endearing. "And the other night, we ended things quite abruptly…but Janet…she seemed to think that maybe you would give me a chance. I think that's why she told me you were playing here tonight and I…I know I met you for only a few minutes, but sometimes you've got to take a chance, right?"

Verity smiled and looked to the sky. "This is nuts."

"Sometimes the best things come from being a little bit nuts," Mark mused. "And you can tell me to get lost and I'll get lost. I'll leave and you'll never see me again…but I guess I just wanted to be sure that's what you want…no drunk friend interrupting or trying to change minds."

Verity watched him intently and she couldn't tell if she should thank Janet or curse her. But in the end she nodded her head and nervously tucked the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear.

"Walk me home?" she asked from him.

"My pleasure," Mark said and he offered her his arm which she took.

She didn't want to tell him that she lived an hour and a half from the venue.

...

A/N: So I'm going to go from the origin here and move along slowly...so it won't all be sweet and light! Thanks so much to everyone who read the first chapter and I would love to know what you think of this one!