Connor paced the front of the conference center auditorium, silently practicing his words as he often did with his sermons.
He’d texted Natalie and asked her to meet with him forty-five minutes before the pageant choir practice to work out a way to choose the soloists for “O Holy Night.” Before her surgery, Natalie’s mother, Terry, had found an arrangement that had male and female solo parts. Today, Terry had emailed him the names of potential soloists she and the choir directors of the other participating churches had put together.
He’d wondered why she was sending him the list instead of giving it to Natalie. Then he’d seen Natalie’s name at the top of the list. Even before he read Terry’s note, Connor knew that as the pageant’s music director, Natalie would never put herself out in the competition for the women’s solo.
But choosing soloists wasn’t what had him pacing, even though he expected some rivalry among the participants from the various congregations. It was his guilty conscience for hiding out upstairs on Sunday and leaving Natalie to face the church women alone. Alone, except for her devious nieces. He’d thought about calling her yesterday, but hadn’t.
“Hi.”
Natalie’s greeting stopped his pacing. He watched her walk down the aisle toward him. “Hey, how are you doing?”
“Okay.” She placed her folder of music on the piano bench.
“I mean. You know. Sunday.” Not exactly the compassionate inquiry he’d practiced.
She placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve got Aimee, Amelia and Andie mad at me. But I guess that’s to be expected.”
He leaned his hip against the side of the piano, as casually as he could with his nerves playing racquetball against each other.
“Andie grounded the girls, so they can’t go to their friend’s sleepover birthday party this weekend. And Andie...” Natalie shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He’d been worried about the church women talking. He hadn’t thought about her family giving her grief. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Unless you put the twins up to it.”
“No.” His voice echoed in the empty auditorium.
“Paul suggested it.” The corner of her mouth twitched before her mouth spread into a wide grin. “Just thought I’d check.”
He relaxed. This was the Natalie he used to know.
“Paul thought it was hysterical.”
“It is kind of funny when you think about it,” Connor said. Although amused wasn’t the way he’d felt when he was holding Natalie, or when the trapdoor dropped open.
“Yeah, funny when you’re not living it.”
He straightened. “You are okay? No one’s said anything to you?”
“I haven’t been anywhere, except here, since Sunday.” Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin. “Has someone said something to you? I’m the one who should apologize for causing you trouble. Aimee and Amelia were with me.”
Way to go, Donnelly. Just when she was lightening up. “No one’s said anything to me.”
Natalie glanced back at the clock over the auditorium doors. “We’d better get started. People will be arriving soon.”
“Right.”
“How did you want to do this?” she asked.
Connor shrugged. “Have people audition and you can pick the best two.”
Natalie rubbed the toe of her boot against the leg of the piano bench. “I’m not comfortable having the final say. I thought it might be fun to do it like one of the talent reality shows. I hate to admit it, but they’ve become one of my weaknesses.”
The only reality show he’d ever seen was The Amazing Race. “Sure, why not.”
“Good.” A slow smile spread across her face. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree. So, anyone who wants to can try out, and when the last person finishes, the choir can vote.”
“Your mother sent me a list of people recommended by the choir directors at the participating churches.”
“She gave me the list, too.”
Not likely the same one she’d given him with Natalie’s name front and center.
“I’d like to open it up to anyone who’s interested, unless you have some reason we shouldn’t,” Natalie said.
“Time’s the only reason I can think of. We can’t afford to have the entire practice used up with tryouts.”
Natalie pushed her hair behind her ears. She’d worn it down tonight, softly curling on her shoulders, rather than having it pulled back or pinned up as she had the other times he’d seen her lately. It was a little shorter than she’d worn it in college, but still as soft. Or so it had seemed when a stray stand had brushed against his cheek when she’d rested her head on his shoulder Sunday in the attic.
“From what Mom told me, that shouldn’t be a problem. She said she often has to prod people into taking solo or duet parts. Hence the list. She also suggested that you and I sing the parts for the choir so those trying out for solos have a feel for the arrangement.”
“Everyone should know ‘O Holy Night.’ Wouldn’t the song sheets and your playing it be enough?”
“Maybe not. Mom pointed out that she’s known some wonderful singers who don’t read music well. They sing by ear.”
“Excuse me.” One of the choir members from another church approached Natalie.
Connor had been so focused on Natalie, enjoying her enthusiasm for her reality show tryouts idea, that he hadn’t heard the woman come in. “Hi, we haven’t met. I’m Connor Donnelly, pastor at Hazardtown Community Church.”
The woman introduced herself to Connor and Natalie and addressed Natalie. “At the last practice you said if we weren’t sure of our voice range, we could see you before this one.”
“Sure.” Natalie favored her with a warm smile that lit Natalie’s eyes with a well-remembered glow he hadn’t seen since she’d returned. “Let me give Connor this music sheet, and we’ll do a quick test.”
“I sang soprano in my high school chorus, but that was a while ago.” The woman glanced from Natalie to Connor.
“I’ll just take this—” he lifted the sheet music he’d rolled into a tube “—and study it in the back.” He waved the cylinder toward the door. The woman seemed as anxious to sing in front of him as he was to sing in front of the choir. Not that his singing would clear the room. But Jared was the one who’d inherited a singing voice from their mother. He walked up the aisle and took a seat in the last row by the door.
“Hey.” Jared stepped through the door ahead of several other choir members. “I see you’re taking my advice.”
“How’s that?”
Jared waited until the others passed. “Keeping your distance from Natalie. But this may be a little extreme.” With a laugh, he motioned between Connor and Natalie.
“Lay off. I’m giving them some privacy.”
Natalie ran through the music scale with the woman singing “Do, re, mi...” and then starting over an octave higher. Jared slid into the seat ahead of him.
“I’m supposed to be reviewing this music.” Connor tapped his knee with the paper tube. “Natalie wants us to sing the solo parts for everyone before we start tryouts.”
He waited to see if Jared would volunteer. He was big on trying to come to his brothers’ rescue. When he didn’t, Connor considered asking him. He unrolled the music. No. He had to man up and face singing with Natalie publicly, as he’d done with her countless times in private. Learn to face that challenge and work more closely with her without wanting to turn back the hands of time.
* * *
When Natalie finished running through the scales with the choir member, she glanced past the people walking toward her to the back of the auditorium, where Connor sat talking with his brother. Connor scowled at Jared. Why had she agreed with her mother that she and Connor singing “O Holy Night” together for the choir would be a good idea? Because she’d thought it would be fun. She hadn’t even given him the opportunity to agree. Or, more likely, to disagree, given his expression and the contrast between the casual way Jared leaned over his seat and the rigid way Connor held himself.
A hand appeared in front of her face, breaking her line of vision.
“They do make a gawk-worthy sight, don’t they?” her friend Autumn asked.
“What? I was thinking.”
Autumn smiled. “Let me guess about what.”
“Music, actually.”
Autumn put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side.
“We need to have tryouts for the two pageant solos tonight. Mom suggested Connor and I sing the parts so everyone can hear the arrangement. It didn’t occur to me he wouldn’t want to.” She looked back at the guys again.
“I’m saying this as a friend. The time’s past when Connor will do something he doesn’t want to do just to please you, or anyone else, unless it’s for the good of his congregation or he believes God wants him to take that action.”
Natalie bit her lip. Her admiration for Connor grew. She could remember too many times when she’d wheedled Connor into doing things he hadn’t wanted to do.
Autumn didn’t wait for her to respond. “Also, as a friend, I was wondering if you want to stop by my house on your way home tonight to catch up. As I was leaving, Jon got called into the birthing center. I have a plate of Christmas cookies Gram dropped off last night when I was out at a home birth.”
“The snickerdoodle ones I loved when we were kids?” Natalie asked.
“The very ones.”
“I’ll be there.”
As with Connor’s seemingly easy acceptance of her, Natalie couldn’t express how much Autumn’s simple invitation meant after the way she’d let their friendship drop. Nor was this the time or place to. Add one more item on her “make things right with family and friends” list.
“Let’s get this practice going.” Natalie raised her hand to Connor, who was now standing in the back of the auditorium greeting the last couple of choir members straggling in.
He acknowledged her signal with a broad smile that made her question whether she’d imagined his resistance to singing with her. She watched him close the doors and stride down to the stage area.
“I’d better go take my place in the choir,” Autumn said.
“Right.” Natalie had forgotten that Autumn was still standing next to her. She steeled herself. She couldn’t let the nostalgia of earlier times color reality. She and Connor were different people than they’d been five years ago.
“Listen up,” Connor said, stepping into the spot where Autumn had been. “Did everyone get my email saying we’re holding tryouts for the solo parts tonight?”
A murmur of agreement flowed across the stage.
“Okay. Natalie will explain the process.”
“I thought it would be fun to handle the tryouts something like a reality show.” Natalie ignored the groans from a couple of the choir members. “Connor and I will sing the parts so you can hear the arrangement. Then everyone who wants to try out will have a practice sing and a final sing. If you’re happy with your first pass, you can forego the second one. Once all the contestants have finished their tryouts, you all will choose our soloists. Any ques—”
“Sorry.”
Natalie spun around to see Andie rushing down the aisle. What was she doing here? Andie had told their mother she was too busy to sing in the pageant this year. Natalie thought it was more because she was the choir director.
“I was sure Natalie said practice was at seven.” Leave it to her sister to lay the blame on her.
“No matter,” Connor said. “Everyone’s welcome, on time or not. Take your place on the stage. There’s a spot next to Karen. Natalie just finished explaining how we’re going to choose the soloists for ‘O Holy Night.’ You’ll see once we start.”
Natalie waited until Andie was in place on the stage. Some things never changed. As unsisterly as it was, she couldn’t shake the thought that Andie had joined the choir purposely to undermine her. “Ready?” she asked Connor. He nodded, and she played the song through once before beginning the first verse.
He joined her on “O night divine” and went into the second verse. She closed her eyes and gave in to the music, his voice taking her back to her junior year of college, before Connor had come to Syracuse for seminary. Warm remembrances filled her. He’d driven from Houghton College for the weekend, and she’d talked him in to coming with her college Christian group to sing at a local nursing home. Afterward, he’d talked with several of the home’s residents and led them in a prayer for a joyous Christmas. They’d walked hand-in-hand under a canopy of stars in the crisp night air to her dorm. Suddenly conscious of him standing only inches away, Natalie could almost feel the soft good-night kiss they’d shared before he’d headed over to another building to stay with one of her friends from the group.
Natalie fumbled a note and almost missed joining Connor in the last three lines of his verse, leading into her solo of the last verse. She put all her concentration into finishing the hymn and breathed a sigh of relief when she played the last note, anxious for him to take his place with the choir to put the distance between them.
Someone clapped, sending the choir into a round of applause.
“Thanks,” Connor said when it quieted. “So, who’s game? Remember, I have this list.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and waved it at the choir.
A couple of women raised their hands. Natalie’s heart sunk when she saw Andie was one of them. No, it might be good if Andie got the part. Working together could help them mend their relationship.
“Come on, guys,” Connor prompted when none of the men volunteered. “Do I have to exercise executive privilege? Jared, you’re on the list.”
“Sorry, bro, the part’s for a tenor. I’m a baritone.”
“You heard Natalie. She said she can adjust the arrangement.”
Natalie smiled at their banter. She should reach out to Andie. Maybe she and Andie and Claire could go Christmas shopping together or something.
“Ken?” Connor addressed a choir member from his church.
“Sorry, I can’t make the commitment. You wouldn’t want to be left high and dry if I was a no-show the night of the pageant because I got an emergency call to make a fuel oil delivery or go fix someone’s furnace. But I have a suggestion.”
Connor relaxed his stance. Or at least it looked that way to Natalie.
“I think you should do the solo,” Ken said.
Natalie shot Connor a sympathetic look as the men of the choir in particular drowned out his protest. He couldn’t be any more anxious to work closer together than she was.
“We’ll see. Maybe one of you guys will muster enough guts after you hear the women try out. Go ahead, Natalie.”
She ran through the tryouts, not feeling the least bit guilty for possibly putting slightly more into Andie’s accompaniment. Not that she needed it. Her sister clearly outsang the other two women. When Andie finished her second round, Natalie gave her a thumbs-up behind the piano, where the others couldn’t see it. Andie nodded.
Natalie glanced over at Connor and caught him gazing at her raised thumb. Heat flooded her face. She shouldn’t be displaying favoritism, but Connor and Andie would be perfect vocalists for the hymn.
“Thank you, ladies,” he said as Andie returned to the choir. “That was beautiful. Men, do I have a volunteer or two now?”
“No, let’s go ahead and vote,” a male voice called from the back.
Connor turned to Natalie as if not sure how to proceed.
Natalie pushed back from the piano and stood. “I have papers and pens, if I could have a couple people help pass them out and collect the votes. Write your vote for the female part from the three women we just heard and, I guess, anyone you want for the male part.”
Connor’s expression plainly said “Thanks a lot.”
She shrugged. What else could she do if they were to get any practice time in tonight?
The ballots were quickly distributed and collected. Natalie split them between Connor and her to count. A noose formed around her stomach after the first few ballots and pulled tighter with each additional one. She finished hers first to catch Connor’s mouth draw to a grim line. “Mine are almost all for you and me,” she said for Connor’s ears only.
“The same here.” Connor called down two people from other churches and explained what had happened. A buzz of conversation filled the room as the others recounted the ballots.
“Congratulations,” one of the recounters said when they’d finished. “Want me to make the announcement?”
“Please,” Natalie squeaked out ahead of Connor.
“After an impartial recount,” the man said, “the winners are Natalie and Pastor Connor.”
During the brief pause before the choir exploded in applause, Natalie sought out Andie, hoping to wordlessly convey her feelings about the vote. Andie’s face was a study in neutrality. The knot strangling her stomach pulled an inch tighter.
Natalie finished the practice as if on autopilot, avoiding eye contact with everyone. She mechanically accepted the congratulations of the choir members, keeping a watch for her sister. Somehow Andie slipped by. As the room emptied to Connor and her, she quickly gathered her things. Too quickly. The sheet music slipped from her grasp. Watching the pages fall to the floor, Natalie silently implored, Lord, I know You’re trying to teach me something, but could You give me a little clue what? She sensed Connor moving to help her. And how I’m supposed to harness my old feelings and work together with Connor as if they don’t exist. You know I couldn’t bear to fail him again.
Connor’s hand brushed hers as they gathered the pages. She disguised her sharp intake of breath with a little cough that seemed to resound in the empty auditorium.
He tapped the short edge of the papers he’d picked up on the floor to straighten the stack. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She added them to hers and placed them in the folder.
Connor rose, offering her a hand up.
She swallowed. She couldn’t ignore his offer. Nor could she ignore the spark his simply brushing her hand had caused. Natalie took his hand, letting go as quickly as she could without being obvious. A light flickered in his eyes. So much for not showing her feelings.
“Interesting night,” he said.
“You’ve got that right,” she agreed.
He tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “We couldn’t have handled it any other way, not after giving the choir members the final vote.”
Was that a dig? The choir voting on the “contestants” had been her idea. Natalie turned and closed the piano. “I guess not. Sorry I talked you into singing with me. You’ve got enough to do without being a soloist besides.”
Connor smiled. “Who’s to say they wouldn’t have voted me in anyway, figuring I couldn’t say no.”
Natalie faced him. “People do that?”
“Yes, people have expectations.”
“And you don’t feel taken advantage of?” Natalie couldn’t say she wouldn’t.
“Not really. It works the other way when I need church volunteers. If I run out of different people to ask, I know I have some members who won’t say no.” The faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Besides, in this case, being volunteered may be fun, give us a chance to get to know each other again.”
Connor’s casual words woke a yearning in Natalie she couldn’t define, only that she couldn’t have whatever it was. She reached for her coat on the chair next to the piano, avoiding his gaze so he couldn’t see how his friendly words had affected her.
Connor beat her to it, holding the garment so she could slide her arms in. “We’re going to need to get together to practice a couple of times,” he said. “I’d rather not use the little time the choir has to practice.”
Even though her head knew Connor was speaking as the pageant director, that his words didn’t mean he wanted to spend time with her, Natalie’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. “I’m sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind us practicing at their house.” Where we wouldn’t be alone. “In fact, Mom might enjoy it.”
“Okay, why don’t we head over to the general store and catch a cup of coffee...or hot chocolate and see what dates work. I have my calendar on my phone.”
Was Connor as anxious not to be alone with her as she was with him? She tamped down the feeling of giddiness that thought invoked. If he was, it couldn’t be for the same reason she was.
“Sorry, I can’t. I told Autumn I’d stop by on my way home. She said her grandmother had dropped off some Christmas cookies she needed help with.”
“I’ve had Mrs. Hazard’s cookies. No contest.”
“Why don’t you come, too?” she blurted. “It would be like old times. I’m sure Autumn won’t mind.” She and Connor had often done things with Autumn and her high school boyfriend, Jack. But they weren’t in high school anymore, and she hadn’t really been a friend to either Autumn or Connor in years.
“No, you and Autumn don’t need me butting in. But you could smuggle out a few of Mrs. Hazard’s cookies for me.”
Natalie bit her tongue to suppress her jumbled emotions so she didn’t say what she was feeling. I miss you. I’m sorry. I wish we could go back. “I’ll see what I can do.”