Page 33 of The Christmas Yes List

“She has some pipes. I was always afraid it was only a matter of time before she’d run away for the big leagues, but . . .” His smile broadens as he delivers the following words. “I guess it wasn’t New York City I shoulda been worried about.”

The all-too-unwanted reminder of his old fears, old worries, and old hold over my life is like a snake slithering up my skin, slinking around in slow, revolting movements but never biting.

At this point James’s gaze shoots to mine. He’s alert for this second interaction with Dom. And something in the tightening of his jaw warns me.

He scoots his chair a little closer.

Dom, however, doesn’t notice. His gaze is fixed on me alone. His big, friendly smile is bigger and brighter and whiter than ever. I realize, a little startlingly, that he has let go of Sarah and has extended a hand. A pale, soft-as-a-baby’s-bottom hand that lotions itself up every evening before getting under the covers his wife bought. His gold wedding ring winks at me beneath the spotlight.

“How about a song, Chlo?” he says, voice soft as he tries to rake me in. “For old times’ sake?”

I grimace. At least internally.

The innocence in his voice, the winsomeness, is a reminder of the good old days, of which there were many, which only made our dynamic so much harder and more confusing over the years. Like the time he caught my arm and saved me from what would have been a devastating step on a wasp nest. The picnic blanket we set up to watch a meteor shower. The way he pointedly drew me out of the crowd for a dance when he was crowned (and decrowned himself while somehow still retaining all the glory) prom king, lessening the sting of the way he’d yelled at me until I cried in the limo an hour prior.

There were hard times. And good ones.

And then hard times again.

But he wasn’t asking me to remember the bad times just now—just to give justice to the good ones. To come back to town and keep the peace. Start a fresh page.

And what sort of message would it send, really, if I went and ruined everyone’s happy mood after I’ve been here only an hour? He’s asking for one song.

One smile.

One hand.

Do you want to make waves? Nobody else here understands the complexity of the situation. Don’t walk into this town and be a problem when you could just suck it up for a three-minute song.

Two things happen at once while I sit there, motionless.

First, Sarah’s eyes go wide at Dom’s drifted attention and she exclaims, “Are you kidding me, Dom? I just left the girls because you said, and I quote, ‘I only poach the best.’ You said I was the best singer of the group and that the cheese ball was ours.” She casts her gaze back furiously to the other table, then redirects it around the room, where she spots a trio of girls writing down their names on the clipboard. “It’s too late!” she cries, throwing out a hand. “They’ve already replaced me! Honestly, Dom. This is low.”

But her words barely make a dent over the girl singing onstage. And then, more importantly, James grabs everyone’s attention by standing.

Despite being a couple of inches shorter in stature, James’s silent, invisible confidence somehow dwarfs the man standing beside him. James doesn’t spare Dom a moment of his attention but instead looks at me.

He pauses.

The world, it feels, waits.

And then, with a hand extended, he dips his head toward the stage. “I didn’t realize there was the potential for a cheese ball in this game.”

My mouth drops open at this unspoken invitation. “Um,” I say, trying to gather my thoughts. “Are you saying you want to sing with me, James?”

I almost say, Again? Haven’t we embarrassed ourselves enough already today?

Men rarely sing at these karaoke things, which is precisely why Dom always has. He realized years ago that girls loved it, he was halfway decent at it, and it was yet another way to be the focal point of the party. Singing karaoke meant having a literal spotlight on you. People clapped for you. Girls found you to be romantic and charming and winsome. And especially at fourteen, you were considered mature by folks young and old alike for casting off fear in the name of fun.

But James?

He doesn’t really fit the type.

In fact, he acted like he pretty much hated it when we sang together this afternoon.

“I can sing a tune when the stakes are right.”

His vague statement leaves me to debate whether he’s referring to the cheese ball or . . . the fact I was about to take Dom’s hand.