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SHE COULD GET USED to life in apple country if all her evenings were like this. After their impromptu splurge at The Creamery, she and Greg walked along the dry Orchard Grove riverbed and then came home for a few rounds of chess. Katrina hadn’t played before she met Greg, but she was already able to beat him one game out of every four or five. Not too bad.
“Want to watch a movie before bed?” Greg asked. They had both come home from their walk chilled and had changed their clothes. Katrina was in her pajamas. He was in flannel pants and a sweatshirt, and it wasn’t even eight yet.
She couldn’t remember when they last watched TV together. Sometime before the pregnancy probably. She wasn’t even sure what kind of movies he liked. How could they be married but know so little about each other?
Her cell phone erupted into Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. She and half the violin section in Long Beach had spent one evening at IHOP after rehearsal picking out various orchestral ringtones. She glanced at the phone and grimaced. No. Anyone but that.
Greg was staring at her. “Who is it?”
“Mrs. Porter. Probably something about the ...”
Greg grabbed her cell from her before she could react. “Hello, Pastor Greg speaking.”
Katrina ignored the sinking disappointment in her stomach. Reminded herself what a good evening it had been. She studied Greg’s features, trying to figure out from his expression if the conversation was going to turn hostile or not. For a moment, she imagined him explaining how she couldn’t possibly be expected to direct a Christmas pageant, especially on such short notice. Maybe he’d step up and volunteer to do it himself. As if he didn’t have enough obligations as it was.
“Yes, that’s fabulous news.” He cracked a smile and winked. A year ago, that simple gesture would have sent a flush zinging up to Katrina’s cheeks. Now, she just felt tired.
“No, thank you. She’ll be so excited to hear that.” With as much as Greg was gushing, Katrina allowed her hopes to rise. Was the pageant cancelled? Had Mrs. Porter found somebody else to direct it? Somebody who could sing, who was comfortable with kids, and who didn’t have an innate fear of public speaking? “That’s so generous of you. Tell Miles we appreciate his willingness.”
Katrina thought through all the men at Orchard Grove Bible Church. Who in the world was Miles?
After making several more declarations of eternal gratitude and heaping praise upon Mrs. Porter’s generosity, Greg hung up the phone, a smile still lighting up his face. “Good news, Mouse.”
She tried to keep her expression serious. Reminded herself that with Mrs. Porter, you never knew if a gift was really a gift or some sort of poisonous barb. And Greg was such a people pleaser, she couldn’t count on him to tell the difference.
“What is it?” she asked tentatively. Something wasn’t right. If Mrs. Porter had cancelled the pageant, Greg would have responded differently, with plenty of Are you sures? and It’s really no problem for Katrina to take care of it.
She’d allowed herself too much optimism. Now, as she watched her husband’s crooked grin, she was sure of it.
“Guess.” Was that honest excitement in his voice, or was he trying too hard? Was this all for some sort of show?
Whatever it was, Katrina was in no mood for twenty questions. “What?”
He patted the couch cushion, beckoning her to scoot closer to him. “So you know how it’s been hard for you doing anything with the music since you’re not a singer?”
She had no idea where this conversation was going, but she could already tell she wouldn’t like its final destination. “Yeah?”
Now she was convinced his smile was exaggerated. After agreeing so enthusiastically with whatever Mrs. Porter was offering, he was having second thoughts now. He cleared his throat. “Well, Mrs. Porter’s nephew Miles is the junior high and high school music teacher.”
“So?”
He ran his palms over the knees of his flannel pants. “So, Miles has a little extra time with Christmas break coming up, and he’s agreed to offer you singing lessons. Totally free. You start tomorrow.”