People standing by start clapping.
I stiffen slightly. “I usually don’t...”
Shoot. I am never invited on the spot like this. I glance at my phone on the tripod. Five-thousand viewers and they are leaving heart emojis like wildfire.
The chat floods with: DO IT! STREAM IT!
“Wednesday, why not?” I say a little reluctantly, forcing a smile.
I don’t know what Down syndrome is. I better read about it.
Noel combs his hair with his fingers nervously before leaning in for a hug. I return the embrace, but honestly, it’s weird hugging people who seem a little too into it. And this guy... he’s hugging me so tight it hurts.
Is he sniffing my hair?
“Okay, hon,” I say and politely peel him off of me.
He bites his bottom lip. I hope he isn’t expecting more full-body hugs.
I look into the camera and invite the viewers to join me for the Bible study at theCenter for Special Hearts. Bailey, my assistant, adds it to my schedule.
A bodyguard ushers Noel along, and the next person takes his place. The cycle repeats. An hour later, my feet hurt in these heels and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Backstage, I carry my high heels and slip into the dressing room to grab my things.
Gabe appears behind me, and his lips skim my neck.
“Are you crazy? Someone might see.” I whisper-hiss and spin around.
“Come on, Morgan. Nobody cares if we’re dating.”
I flip my hair and side-eye him. “Dating?”
“After last night, I thought—”
I gasp and hold up my hand to silence him. “Nothing happened, understand?”
Which is somewhat true. We didn’t have penetrative sex.
He rolls his eyes.
If he wasn’t sweet and cute, I’d scold him for it. He’s an all-American boy. A perfect gentleman. Kind, generous, spiritual, and soft-spoken. He’s lean, my height, handsome enough, and has brown eyes. His nose is big, but he’s confident, so I don’t mind it. I just don’t like him pressuring me whether it’s sex or a relationship. This is not the right time or place.
“Are we hanging out tonight?” he asks.
I cringe inwardly. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Sorry. Busy. Only Saturdays after youth service. I have to go,” I say, and slink away before he can protest.
I pass the money room and punch in the code. Inside, Dad counts stacks of cash with Eugene, our finance chair. The big safe is open behind them. Its steel mouth yawns wide, thick bolts exposed like teeth.
“Good week?” I ask.
Daddy beams at me. He’s a gorgeous older man. Silver threads his hair at the temples. The corners of his eyes crease when he smiles, practiced warmth that photographs beautifully. Women always love him. His looks are a plus for the church, but it’s his charm that makes him so popular.
He opens his arms and gives me a hug.
“Yes, a great week, sweetheart. They loved your solo today. Some checks have notes about your beautiful voice.”
