by Ali M. Cross
It was past time for church to start, so Nix kindly let Katie know she could return to her family while he took her place on the bench in front of the organ and began to play. He thought he heard a collective sigh of relief go up from the congregation. He’d picked up the organ easily enough when he came to River Mile and Miss Rita deigned to teach him. He’d always found it easy to pick up new instruments and the organ was fun and challenging what with its many pedals and buttons. At least he was glad he’d worn the good suit socks—the ones without any holes in them.
While he played the prelude music, he worried that all his hard work over the past year would be for nothing. He’d built a choir from scratch—one that even regularly produced pleasing music. For the first time in over twelve years, according to Pastor Allan, Summit United would have a choir. Searching through music, researching church choir programs; all had worked its way into Nix’s plan for atonement. If he could help this little congregation enjoy music, not as a path to fame but purely for the love of God, he would feel 100% satisfied with his efforts.
But with Miss Rita out of the picture, he had little hope of redeeming anything. The choir, while decent, couldn’t perform a cappella. It just wouldn’t be the same. Maybe he could get recordings of the particular arrangements they were using, but he wasn’t a fan of recorded accompaniment with live voices. However it worked out, it wasn’t going to happen the way he’d envisioned.
When he was approaching the last lines of his second hymn, Marc approached the pulpit. Nix took that as his cue to wind it up, so he let the last delicious notes of the hymn hang in the air a moment before releasing the pedals.
“Thank you, Katie and Nix, for filling in for Miss Rita this morning.” Marc took a deep breath and when he spoke again, it was in sweet, reassuring tones. “Brothers and Sisters, I’m very sad to have to tell you that Miss Rita was injured in a fall this morning.” Cries of dismay spread through the congregation and the pastor gave his people a few minutes to get used to the idea. “Jack MacDonald attended her and says she’s in good spirits, but she did break her hip, and it’ll be a few months at least before she’ll be able to return to worshipping and making music with us.
“As you know, Brother Nix is our choir director and with the holidays coming we need him to continue helping us sing like the angels so we can bless the members of our community. That means we’ll need a new pianist. You don’t have to play the organ, but you do need to play the piano. You don’t have to be excellent at it, but you do need to have faith that you can do it.
“You don’t have to be a believer,” he added more deliberately. “You just have to be willing to help.”
“My sister will help!” a voice cried out.
Nix searched the crowd for the enthusiastic volunteer and discovered it to be Lindsay. Beside her, Fiona wore a shocked and bewildered expression. “Fiona MacDonald!” Lindsay pushed Fiona to her feet, and every face in the congregation swiveled in their direction, applause rising through the room.
Nix grinned cheerfully as Fiona stood a little straighter and smiled coolly. Sleek and elegant in a knitted golden dress and knee-high suede boots, she made her way out of the pew and toward the front of the church. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she could possibly accompany them. Relief washed over him. Maybe this would give him a chance to get to know her better. Maybe, participating in the creation of music solely for worship, would be as good for her soul as it had been for his.
Marc grinned down at her. When Fiona reached him on the stage, he motioned for Nix to join them as well.
“Miss Fiona MacDonald, this is Nix Elliott. Our choir director.”
Nix offered his hand, smiling at being “introduced” to her in this way, but Fiona hesitated. Does she hate the idea of working with me that much? Sure, she didn’t know about his history with music, but come on. Was it so hard to imagine that he could lead a church choir? “I’m something of a master musician, myself,” he said, hoping to reassure her that he knew his way around music. She narrowed her eyes.
“Can you accompany the choir, Miss Fiona? It’s Christmas pageant season coming up,” Marc said. Fiona nodded, but she still hadn’t clasped Nix’s hand. “And can you help out with the organ during services? It’s okay if you can’t play it—not everybody can pick it up as easily as Nix did.”
“Oh, I can play.” She spoke forcefully, looking directly at Nix, as if throwing down a challenge. He had no idea what had set her off, but he wasn’t afraid of a little competition.
“Awesome,” Marc said. He clasped Nix’s hand and clapped him hard on the back while he smiled broadly at Fiona.
Nix met Fiona’s eyes and he glimpsed hurt and pain in their turbulent depths, but he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to make her so angry. Because whatever it was, she clearly blamed him. When the pastor released them, Fiona bolted for the organ and Nix for a chair as far from her as possible.
Maybe accompanying wasn’t her forte, Nix wondered. Some soloists even looked down on accompanists. He didn’t judge her for it—he’d been the front man of a band for nine years; he was very familiar with the pride that kind of position created in a person.
“Well,” said Marc to the congregation, “I didn’t have any reason to doubt our Father in Heaven, but even I’m surprised by this turn of events.” The congregation laughed, but Nix, from his slim vantage to the side of the piano, noticed Fiona didn’t even crack a smile.
He’d try to ease her discomfort. He’d help her in any way he could, even if that meant incurring her wrath for a little while. He was sure she’d come around. Eventually.
Marc opened his hymnbook, and looked toward Fiona on her bench. “Thank you, Miss Fiona for walking the path God chose for you—the path that brought you home to us in our hour of need. Hymn number 122, if you please.” He faced the congregation. “Now let us sing!”
FIONA PROVED TO BE A MORE THAN COMPETENT organist and a decent accompanist for the choir. She followed Nix’s every direction, didn’t showboat and didn’t hesitate, as he’d expected. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she went to school for piano, not vocal performance. She was a dream, and he found himself forgetting the cold glare she’d leveled at him at the beginning of church, and looking forward to a stellar holiday season. With Fiona at the keys, the choir would be even more impressive than he had hoped.
When church ended and the congregation gathered in the basement for refreshments, he eagerly watched for her. He couldn’t wait to thank her for being there for the church—and for him. He’d tell her how grateful he was, and how talented and beautiful at the keys she was. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and swing her around—even if he risked her wrath for attacking her again. He was just so, so grateful.
Nix got in line at the potluck table and began adding a generous helping of Mrs. Lewis’s casserole to his plate when Jenn Fairmont sidled up next to him. Jenn was his best alto in the choir, blessed with a lovely, full-bodied voice that was just as enjoyable behind the mic at Variety as in front of the congregation on Sunday. She was also single, attractive, and set on getting Nix to ask her out. She’d started on him the day he opened his club and hadn’t quit since. There had already been too many women in Nix’s life and he was determined to make things right with God before he got involved with anyone.
Besides, he only wanted real relationships in his life from now on. He wanted connections. That whole ties that bind thing—he wanted that. He wanted to be so tied up with someone that there was no getting out. Ever. When he did fall in love, he wanted it to be forever. So far, he didn’t think the love of his life was standing next to him, dressed in a curve-hugging deep green dress, but he’d never say never.
“Hey, Nix,” Jenn said in her honey-warm voice. “That Fiona did a fine job with us today. Where’d she come from?” Jenn was also a transplant to the area. She’d taken a job with a resort in Granby running their public relations department—though from what she’d told him in the past, she was also
their marketing department and their customer service department.
“Oh, she’s a MacDonald sister. The youngest, I think. Left home some years ago, just got back last week.” Nix took two rolls and dropped a big dollop of butter onto his plate. Jenn passed on the rolls and turned with him to survey the tables for a place to sit.
“You know an awful lot,” she said with a sly glance in his direction. She seemed playful enough, but Nix knew she was fishing for information. Specifically, whether she’d already lost some ground to the newcomer and whether Jenn would have to step up her game. Nix shook his head and chastised himself for being so full of himself that he’d assume Jenn still wanted him and that she’d care to fight over him at all. He wasn’t the only eligible bachelor in the area, after all.
They found a table with empty chairs all around it, but Jenn took the one next to him, scooting it uncomfortably close. He had to angle his body and keep his elbow tucked to his side in order to eat his food without jabbing her in the chest.
“So tell me,” she prompted with a knowing look. “How’d you get to know so much about our new pianist?”
Nix took a bite of cheesy chicken casserole to buy himself some time to think. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, the day she came into town, I thought she was choking so I tried to give her the Heimlich maneuver.”
“What?” Jenn exclaimed in almost full operatic mode. Several people turned in their chairs to look at them. Nix smiled and took another bite, hoping they’d turn back around and tune out their very uncomfortable conversation. “How in the world did that happen?”
Frustrated, Nix tore off a chunk of bread and swiped it in the butter on his plate. This is why it was just better to keep his mouth shut. He did a fine job of singing, he could talk to his customers some, but talking to women always got him into trouble. He scanned the room for Fiona again but still didn’t see her. Talking had gotten him into trouble with her as well and he didn’t even know what he’d said.
“She . . . It was just a misunderstanding. I hadn’t met her, she just parked in my lot last week and I thought I was helping her but . . .” He took another huge bite of casserole and chewed for a long time, hoping Jenn would forget the question.
“You tried to save her and she didn’t appreciate it?” Jenn pushed her plate away and leaned on the table. She drew her thick, caramel hair over her shoulder and began to wrap some strands of it around her finger. Nix stared, fixated, but he found he wasn’t thinking of Jenn, but of Fiona. Her hair was a different shade of blonde and it had felt silky smooth beneath his fingers when he’d briefly touched it. He cleared his throat and leaned away from Jenn.
“Nix, that’s terrible. Did she press charges? I saw that glare she threw at you when Marc introduced you at the lecturn—now I get why.”
Nix glanced up from his plate and was caught full force by Jenn’s green, green gaze. “No, I—she was looking at me like she was mad at me?”
“Like she hates your guts. I thought maybe you guys had a history, but I never suspected she couldn’t appreciate what you were willing to do for her. And now you have to practice with her and work with her and the choir. That’s going to be really hard.” She laid a hand on Nix’s forearm, and he resisted pulling away. He didn’t want to appear rude, but he really didn’t want her touching him, either. He counted to ten, then reached for a cup and the water pitcher.
“I don’t think it’s that bad. I don’t know why she’d be looking at me like that—I apologized for the misunderstanding on the Heimlich thing. I thought we were okay.” He thought of the barn and that almost-kiss. Of the feel of her knee against his under the table at lunch. He had hoped they were better than okay. Until this morning. For the umpteenth time he wracked his brain for what he might have said or done to make her so angry at him. Maybe he’d pushed it too far, presumed too much the other day.
Jenn smiled and touched his arm again. She caught his gaze and held it, exuding sympathy and sincerity. “She’s a good pianist, and the choir has come so far since you started leading us. God will bless us. And maybe He’ll bless her and ease the hardness in her heart. I don’t want you to be worried about any of it, Nix. You deserve to know that your efforts are appreciated and that there are people here who know you and really care about you.” She gave his arm a little squeeze, then stood and left the table.
He watched Jenn leave, surprised that she hadn’t clung to him longer. But then, she hadn’t said or done anything that could be construed as anything more than friendly. He closed his eyes, mentally chastising himself. He was a jerk. He was self-centered and egotistical. Raising his eyes to the ceiling he thought, “God, forgive me. Again. And save me from myself.”
Fiona drove home with Jack, partly because she hadn’t seen much of him since she got home, partly because he’d always been her favorite brother, and partly because she was totally mad at Lindsay and she didn’t want to answer any of her questions. Because there would be questions.
Fiona knew she’d been childish at church. She knew she’d made faces at Nix, and given him such a cold shoulder it probably froze the first five rows of the congregation. She knew better, heck, working with producers and directors who did nothing but judge you and direct you, told you one thing, then cursed at you for doing that very thing—she knew exactly how to grin and bear it. Nix certainly wasn’t the first musician who thought they were better than her; but he was the first non-musician to suggest he was a master while she was not.
He knew she was an opera singer, didn’t he? She thought that was the point of his whole, strange conversation when he came to her house that first day. How could he think she could be debuting with the Met, yet think he, an owner of a karaoke bar, knew anything more about music than she? Had he gone to the best music school for opera in the whole country? Had he thrown his entire life into succeeding at the most difficult musical genre ever created? Had he sacrificed family and friends—a life—to learn everything and more that could help him beat the competition?
No, she thought to herself as she watched the countryside pass by. No, he did not.
She hadn’t expected him to be so full of himself, though. She didn’t know what she thought of him, but it wasn’t that. He’d seemed so humble. So easygoing and quiet. Then again, they say it’s always the quiet types you have to watch out for.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jack asked when they were about halfway home. She glanced his direction just in time to see they were passing by Variety. She hadn’t noticed it on their way down to church in the morning, but now her eyes lingered as they drove by. How had she not noticed the complete make-over the old bar had gotten? And that sign—it was right out of an oldtime variety show, the kind she loved to watch on Saturday mornings with a cup of hot ginger tea and Biscoff cookies.
Jack turned to gaze at the club, then said, “Don’t see Nix’s truck there. Must’ve stayed for the potluck.”
“They still do that?” Fiona asked, anxious to grab onto any topic that wasn’t her feelings or her thoughts. Or Nix Elliot. She’d kept her own counsel pretty much her whole life—she really didn’t want to get into it with her big brother right now. Knowing him, he’d be all reasonable and kind and make Nix seem like a good guy who just said the wrong thing, and she didn’t feel like forgiving him right then. She wanted to be mad. She wanted to glower and sulk.
“Sure do,” Jack said in answer to her question. “In fact I haven’t missed one in so long I can’t remember when. I have no idea what I’m going to have for lunch or second lunch without Mrs. Lewis’s casserole to fill me up. She always sends me home with leftovers.”
She liked listening to Jack talk. Liked how his face always held a smile and his eyes were bright and friendly. Without thinking she asked, “Why didn’t you stay today?”
He threw her a grin and she immediately regretted asking. “Because you wanted to go home.”
“But—I didn’t tell you I had to go. We could’ve stayed if you wanted to.”
; “I know, Fiona-bum. But I also know you and you were wearing a storm cloud like other women wear Chanel. I figured it was either bring you home and let the storm blow over, or stay and prepare for some seriously rainy weather.”
“Hey. I’m not like that.” She hated how defensive she felt, how raw at being sounded out so completely. She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She should have more control, be classier than that.
“You’re not?” Jack asked.
She threw him a glare of daggers, but his expression was soft, easy, and full of something more accepting than what she expected and she sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I am like that. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today.”
He held her gaze for a moment before returning his attention to the road. “Coming home’s hard, I bet. Especially when you’re used to being the star. We’ve all been keeping track of your career, sis. We’re so proud of you. You were making your dreams come true. And now you’re here. You’re just the little sister. You don’t have a job; maybe you don’t have much hope for the future.”
Fiona’s breath came so shallow and low that she wondered if she’d stop breathing altogether. Her throat burned as tears clawed their way upward, but she fought them down.
“Hang in there, little sis. You’ll figure this out. You’ll find your place again. Just promise me one thing?” He slowed as he pulled the truck into the driveway, and as he did he caught her eyes.
“What?” she breathed, hardly daring to know but feeling that somehow, he might have the answers.
He stopped the truck and put his big calloused hand on her hands fisted together in her lap. “Promise me you’ll be open to whatever comes your way. You might find hope, happiness even, somewhere unexpected. I’m not saying you have to stay—I know you want to go. But dreams can change, Fi. Just be open to new dreams.” She stared into his gray eyes, like the sky after a storm.
She managed a nod, and Jack took them up to the house where he parked the truck and greeted the dogs.
