I pressed the button to begin another take, then lifted my fingers from the strings when I heard a faint knock at the studio door.

Marcus turned toward the sound.

I left the recording armed and waiting and called out, “We’re open.”

A woman stood in the doorway holding a small silver case.

She asked if I was Daniel Miller.

I said yes.

She glanced past me at the mixing desk and said someone had told her I might be able to record a piano.

She had a deposit, but she needed to know if I could finish it by Friday.