By half four, Noah had been smuggled into the hall by way of laundry bags being taken to the laundromat. Esther coordinated his movements like she was a spy in the military, with detailed instructions. I was surprised she hadn’t gotten herself a walkie-talkie.
“Let them have their fun,” Noah said, pulling a laundry bag over his head in the back of my car.
“You have to be careful how much leave you give them,” I warned him, but he only chuckled as I slammed the door and drove the long way to the village community center.
The center was one of those multi-purpose places with a large open room and a stage that has seen everything from nativity plays to furious debates about bin collection. Tartan bunting swooped from beam to beam, a forest of poinsettias lined the front, and someone had fashioned a photo backdrop with paper stars and the wordsA Very Kingsbarns Christmasin letters cut from glitter card.
In the back room, the kids’ choir buzzed like a shaken bottle of Irn-Bru. Cherise organized folding chairs while Shannon poured wine into paper cups. Esther, clipboard under her arm, wore a silver headband that said “Director”in rhinestones and the aura of a woman who was ready to yell at you if you stepped out of line.
“You’re late but also early,” she pronounced, which is peak Esther. “We’re running ten minutes behind and two steps ahead.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked, but she was already turning to bark at a teenager who’d wandered off with the microphone.
The Book Bitches were rehearsing their skit—because of course they were. Tonight’s pièce de résistance wasa short reenactment ofPride & Prejudice.
Apparently, they’d looped Esther’s husband in to play Mr. Darcy, and Wallace, the pub’s warrior kitten, was set to make his stage debut.
Harper slid up beside me, handing me a paper cup of wine and a conspiratorial grin. “How’s your stomach?”
“Anxious,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Means you’re about to do something that matters. Also, look.” She nodded toward the side door. Two men with expensive cameras waited in the corridor, shivering in their parkas, clutching tickets. “We made them buy programs.”
“You made programs?” I laughed. “How much did you charge?”
“Whatever they had in their wallets, plus a promise to clap for the pensioners.”
Rosie popped up like a ribbon. “Also, we’ve reserved the first two rows for the kids and their parents. The paps are at the back where the cheap seats are.”
My stomach swooped, and I tried to ignore it. Thiswould be fine. Noah was used to performing for much larger crowds.
I found Noah by the stage door, tuning his guitar. He looked different. Lighter, somehow. The jumpy, hunted light had gone from behind his eyes. They also warmed when they saw me and I tried ignoring the shiver of excitement that danced through me at his look.
“You’re on after the nativity chaos,” I said.
“Good,” he said, plucking a string. “They’ll be the headliners. I’m the warm-down act.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said. “You also don’t have to do this, you know. The paps are still here.”
“I said I would do it, so I am,” he said, his eyes creasing at the corner as he smiled. “Think I can get a glitter banner that saysInnocenthung over the stage?”
“Esther will hang you if you touch her set.”
“Fair,” he said, and his smile slid sideways into something softer. “Skye.”
“What?”
“I want to sing what we wrote. Last night.”
My mouth went dry. “Noah?—”
“With you,” he said quickly. “Only … only if you want to. No names. Our way. But I…want to stand in front of them”—he tipped his head toward the murmur of the hall—“and sing something we built together.”
The shoebox flashed in my head. The scraps. The bridge we’d hammered into place like two people repairing a fence in the rain. Fear whirled in me. And then something else … a thread of joy that felt like a high wire, dangerous and exactly my kind of view.
“House rules,” I said, my last defense. “No songs about me.”
“It isn’t,” he said, steady. His stormy eyes held mine. “It’s about choosing to come back through the front door.”
