Page 34

Either way, he saved me.

“Well,” I say, exhaling with a smile, “that’s perfect. Sarah, you two enjoy your song. James, I guess we’ll . . . go pick a song then.”

“Not ‘Santa Baby,’” Sarah jumps in.

“Not ‘Santa Baby,’” I say. My gaze flickers over to James, who is obviously bemused at just how seriously she’s taking this whole karaoke-in-a-coffeehouse situation. I fight my own smile and put out a hand. “Unless, James, you feel . . .”

Sarah’s worried face swivels toward James.

“You are free to keep ‘Santa Baby,’” James announces grandiosely. “It’s all yours.”

And before I can blink, Sarah’s got Dom by the arm and is dragging them to the clipboard. She casts one last suspicious glance at us through her bleached-blonde plaits as she goes, as if we might turn on her and make a run for it at the last second.

James, however, is focused on me.

I hesitate for a long moment, shuffle through the options here, then pick up my coat.

“Okay then,” I say cheerily. “All set?”

His eyes narrow. “Why are you picking up your coat?”

“We’re heading out.”

“We’re not heading out.”

I shake my head. “I know what you were doing. And thank you. But we don’t have to go through with this.”

“We are absolutely going through with this. Didn’t you hear?” He gestures to the table. “There is, evidently, a rather massive cheese ball up for grabs.” He pauses. “I could use a cheese ball.”

I laugh. “For what?”

“For a hostess gift. Or for a midnight snack. Obviously.”

I grin. I can feel the jacket starting to weigh in my arms.

“Besides,” James adds, “I have just learned you have a set of lungs that could take down the music industry, and no offense, but that wasn’t your best work this afternoon. I can’t help myself now. I’m curious.”

At this, I laugh. “Well, let me resolve your curiosity on that one right now. My graduating class size was one hundred and six. It wasn’t hard to stand out. And what you heard this afternoon wasn’t too far from the real thing. What about you, though? You weren’t exactly lighting it up this afternoon either.”

“There wasn’t a cheese ball involved.”

We both quietly size the other up, and I get the feeling he, too, is playing down just how well he can sing a tune.

“Hmm,” I say.

“Time to pick something,” he returns.

“Isn’t your sister expecting you?” I ask, giving him one last out.

“Isn’t your mom expecting you?” he replies.

And then it’s decided.

We work ourselves up to the clipboard, stand in line behind an older couple weighing their options between “Blue Christmas” and “Tennessee Christmas,” and watch with slight trepidation as folks move up to the stage.

Apparently, everybody wants the giant cheese ball.

Twenty minutes of waiting in and my nerves begin to fray. I find myself bouncing up and down on my toes to shake off the physical anxiety. Truth be told, I haven’t sung in front of other people in years.