The other choir members file out, their voices echoing down the staircase, until it’s just the three of us.
I should leave. Give them privacy. But something about Sarah’s body language, the way she’s trembling as she approaches Elijah, makes me stay in the shadows near the filing cabinet.
“Brother Elijah,” Sarah’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Can I talk to you?”
Elijah looks up from the sheet music he’s organizing, his angel face open and kind. “Of course, Sarah. What’s on your mind?”
She moves closer, too close, her hands twisting together. “I need to tell you something. I’ve been trying to find the courage for weeks.”
I watch Elijah’s expression shift from friendly to wary. He takes a small step back, putting distance between them. “Sarah, if this is about your solo in the Christmas cantata, you’re doing wonderfully. You don’t need to worry.”
“It’s not about that.” Her voice cracks. “It’s about us.”
The word hangs in the air like a bomb. Elijah goes completely still.
“There is no ‘us,’ Sarah.” His voice is gentle but firm. “I’m your choir director. That’s all.”
“But it could be more.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I know you feel it too. The way you look at me during rehearsals, the way you stand close when you’re teaching me breathing techniques. I’ll be eighteen in six months. Brothers can marry. We could?—”
“Stop.” Elijah’s voice cuts through her fantasy with surgical precision. “Sarah, listen to me very carefully. What you’re describingisn’t real. I’ve never looked at you as anything other than a talented student. Any closeness you’ve perceived was purely professional instruction.”
Sarah’s face crumbles, but she pushes forward desperately. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. I know you’re being careful because of my age, but I’ll wait. I’ll do whatever you need. I love you.”
Horror floods Elijah’s expression. “Sarah, you’re seventeen years old. I’m thirty-two. What you’re feeling isn’t love, it’s a crush, and it’s completely inappropriate for you to express these feelings to me.”
“But—”
“No.” His voice is firmer now, though still kind. “I’m not available. I’m not interested. And even if I were, the age difference alone makes this conversation deeply troubling. You need to understand that what you’re suggesting could destroy my career and hurt you in ways you don’t yet comprehend.”
Tears stream down Sarah’s face. “You’re just saying that because you’re scared. Once I’m eighteen?—”
“Once you’re eighteen, I’ll still be your choir director and nothing more.” Elijah’s jaw clenches. “Sarah, I care about you as a member of this parish and as a talented young woman with a bright future. But that’s where it ends. It has to end there.”
Sarah’s face twists with pain and humiliation.
She makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, then turns and runs from the choir loft, her footsteps pounding down the spiral staircase.
The silence she leaves behind is deafening.
I emerge from the shadows, and Elijah’s head snaps toward me. His eyes are wide with something that looks like panic.
“How much did you hear?” His voice shakes.
“All of it.” I cross to him, and he pulls me close immediately, his body trembling against mine.
His arms wrap around me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright, his face buried in my hair.
“Mon Dieu,” he breathes. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know she felt that way.”
“I know.” My hands slide up his back, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “You handled it perfectly.”
“Did I?” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the fear in his eyes breaks my heart. “What if she tells someone? What if she twists this into something it’s not?”
“Then we deal with it.” I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Together.”
His fingers tangle in my hair, possessive and desperate. “I need you,” he whispers. “God help me, Charlie, I need you so badly right now.”
The sexual tension that’s been simmering between us all morning ignites. His mouth crashes against mine, hungry and desperate, and I taste fear mixed with need on his tongue.
