“You’ve got a really good heart, Jesse.”
“I’m not sure it’s always served me.”
“Well, I think it’s admirable. You could be sour and bitter over the way some people around here treat you, but you choose to see the best—to turn the other cheek.”
Something in Alex’s words and the way she’s looking at me emboldens me. I’ve been thinking of inviting her out to a community event. She’s alone, new. It’s the neighborly thing to do.
“I was wondering …” I stare at her, but then I have to glance away to get the rest of my sentence out. My fingers tap the steering wheel, betraying the nerves I wish I could hide. “There’s a carol sing at the church on Sunday …”
Alex’s hand lands on my forearm, forcing me to turn and look at her. Her face is soft and welcoming. She’s not saying no.
“Would you want to go with me? Together?”
“Are you asking me as your partner or your plus-one?” she smiles.
No use hiding it. She asked, I’m going to be honest. “Guess I was hoping for both.”
“I’d love that.” Her answer is simple, easy. My heart beats like I just ran a race—and won. The air in the car feels warm and heavy. I turn the key in the ignition, pulling away from the nativity back onto the streets of Bordeaux.
I park out front of Alex’s home on Sunday evening. My nerves hum with a heady mix of anxiety and anticipation. This isn’t a date. I’m not sure I’d know how to ask her on an actual date. But it’s also not a work event. We’re going out together.She said yes. Actually, she said,I’d love to. She probably has no idea how her simple kindnesses do me in. She believes in me so effortlessly and completely.
I knock on the door, stuffing my hands in my pockets as I wait for her to answer.
Her hair is down, flowing around her shoulders—not the way she braids it for work. And she’s wearing a bit of eye makeup. Her eyes look bigger, the blue sparkling in the porch light. Her red sweater hugs her curves and the brown skirt and boots make her look simultaneously casual and dressy. She’s perfect.
“Ready?” she asks me.
No. Yes. I don’t know. “Yes. Are you?”
“I am. I haven’t been to a carol sing in ages. It’s been at least three years since I went to a Handel's Messiah Sing-In at Lincoln Center.”
“Well, let me assure you,” I smile down at her. “This … is not that.” I chuckle.
“No?” She laughs as if she already has a picture of what we’re walking into.
“You heard Mabel sub as dispatcher?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Well, picture that, only carols.”
She bursts into laughter, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Oh, this is going to be fabulous.”
“That’s one word for it.” I smile down at her again. All my nerves seem to have vanished. It’s just Alex. She relaxes me—puts me at ease. We reach the curb and I say, “I thought we’d walk.”
“That sounds lovely,” she says.
We stroll through her neighborhood, turn at the end of a block and head toward downtown. Streetlamps illuminate the snow. Families and friends stream toward the chapel. Alex and I simultaneously glance at the manger—never fully off-duty.
We find an open space in a pew about halfway up the sanctuary. I step back, allowing Alex to slide in past me. She smells sweet, like cinnamon and something homey.
The chapel is bathed in candlelight, pine garlands hang from the windowsills, and the scent of old wood and incense faintly lingering in the air. A toddler’s drowsy giggle echoes off the wood rafters. Eyes are on us. I resist glancing around. I know what I’d see. Curiosity. Speculation. Maybe even shock.
The carol sing doesn’t disappoint. Of course there are heartfelt reflective moments, like when we sing, “O, Holy Night.” But there are also plenty of self-appointed soloists breaking through the collective voices with out-of-tune soprano notes or the wrong words sung with gusto. Alex and I share amused glances.
I’ve never had this—someone to laugh with privately at the humor around us. The melody of her laughter wraps around me with a warmth I didn’t know I’d been missing.
People linger and chat after the sing is over. I walk Alex home through empty streets, fresh snow falling steadily, softly crunching underfoot.
