Lia Louis
At a glance
A heartwarming novel about hope after loss as a young widow receives mysterious messages of love from the “must-buy author” (Jodi Picoult) of Eight Perfect Hours.
Sparkly and charming Natalie Fincher has it all—a handsome new husband, a fixer-upper cottage of her dreams, and the opportunity to tour with the musical she’s spent years writing. But when her husband suddenly dies, all her hopes and dreams instantly disappear.
Two and a half years later, Natalie is still lost. She works, sleeps (well, as much as the sexually frustrated village foxes will allow), and sees friends just often enough to allay their worries, but her life is empty. And she can only bring herself to play music at a London train station’s public piano where she can be anonymous. She’s lost motivation, faith in love, in happiness…in everything.
But when someone begins to mysteriously leave the sheet music for her husband’s favorite songs at the station’s piano, Natalie begins to feel a sense of hope and excitement for the first time. As she investigates just who could be doing this, Natalie finds herself on an unexpected journey toward newfound love for herself, for life, and maybe, for a special someone.
"The Key to My Heart is a simply beautiful book. A Lia Louis novel always leaves me feeling warm and uplifted, and this is her best one yet."
- Beth O’Leary, internationally bestselling author of The No-Show
"The sweetest, most romantic book. It was a pure delight to read."
- Marian Keyes, internationally bestselling author of Again, Rachel
"This is a stunner of a book. Such a beautiful story that filled my heart up to the brim. Loved, loved, loved The Key to My Heart."
- Jessica Ryn, author of The Imperfect Art of Caring
I know exactly who Lucy’s going to choose. I’ve known for the last half hour actually—could smell it a bloody mile away. Even before the third round of drinks had been brought wobblily back to the table, and even before Roxanne started waffling, as she always does around two cocktails and an appetizer in, about the different ways she’d assassinate her boss if it were only legal. Because my friends always choose me the same types. Dark haired, because all three of my exes were dark haired. Tall, because almost every crush I’ve ever had since the age of fourteen has been tall and with the height and shoulder combo that promises a decent house-fire rescue should you ever need it— Adam Driver, Vince Vaughn, that massive built-like-a-brick-shithouse bloke who dressed as Lurch at Roxanne’s Halloween party in 2007. “Not facially,” I remember slurring to his blank, prosthetic face, “but your frame, sir. C’est parfait. You’re sturdy. You know. Like a ship. Like a . . . a Megabus.” And very much alive. That’s the clincher actually. The man they choose must be alive, and with plans to be for many, many years to come (if possible).
“See that guy, Natalie,” Lucy shouts over the music, setting a round, sticky tray down onto the table. Four cocktails on its surface...
2/5 behind closed doors.
