Page 23 of His Christmas Love Song

He starts to the play, the melody coming easily, like an old friend. The lyrics are stickier. He hums the first verse, still warming up, then launches in.

I wanna be more than friends.

My heart’s on the line.

I could be yours, and you could be mine.

My love’s not a gift.

Not a spell or a curse.

It’s just how I feel, for better or worse.

You’re everything to me.

But that’s all it has to be.

Could I be everything to you?

Could it be that you want me, too?

I wanna be more than friends.

My heart’s waiting to hear back.

Could I be in love with someone who loves me back?

Ryan stops and lets the last notes die away. Hank’s been looking at him the whole time, quiet and watchful, his toe tapping along to the rhythm.

“That last couplet needs some work,” Ryan says before Hank can say anything. “I need a stronger rhyming word. Using back twice is lazy.”

“You’ll figure that out. It’s a beautiful song, Ryan.”

“Yeah?” Ryan smiles. “It’s shaping up pretty nicely. Let me try that last verse again.”

“Go for it,” Hank says, his gaze darting behind Ryan, then back again.

Ryan focuses, not wanting to let the words slip away. He starts with the last verse, letting his voice ring out strong and clear.

I wanna be more than friends

My heart’s beating despite its cracks.

Am I in love with someone who loves me back?

Ryan stops singing, frowns down at his fingers. Is that the right lyric? He’s about to jot the variation down just in case, when he notices Hank looking behind him again.

“Hey, Jesse,” Hank says.

Ryan whirls around in the chair. Jesse is, indeed, standing there, looking like he’s just come in from the cold with a beanie over his hair and a cherry red nose. His mouth is shaped into what’s probably supposed to look like a smile.

“Hank,” Jesse says unenthusiastically. “Hey. How was your brunch?”

“It was made better by the wonderful company,” Hank says, shooting a smile Ryan’s way before standing up. “Well, I’d be happy to listen to you all day, Ryan, but I have to go run those errands.”

Ryan stands up, too, bringing the guitar with him. He’s an inch away from begging Hank not to leave, because then he’d be forced to follow through on that talking to Jesse thing. His stomach jumps—he’s as nervy as if he’s about to perform in front of thousands of people.

Hank must sense his panic, because he claps a strong, reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezes, then pulls him in for a brief hug. Before he lets go, he whispers, “Talk to him. Trust me.”