Page 27 of Sweet Devotion

“America!” she was almost bouncing out of her seat. She knew he knew opera, but show tunes?

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

That she was beginning to figure out for herself.

Before she could say another word, Aiden opened his mouth and the soothing tones of a talented tenor filled the cab space. She wasn’t a fan of opera, but she recognized the tune about a poor clown. Not understanding a single word, the simple melody in his voice had her almost in tears. And then, when he stopped, she really felt like crying. Folks had always said that opera was moving; she was starting to get an inkling of how that worked.

“Sorry. All this talk of music reminded me of my grandfather. My grandmother may have been a Broadway fan, would go to the theater every chance she got, and often dragged one or more of us with her. But my grandfather… that man played opera records every chance he got. Most of my siblings hated it. Called the music shrill noises, they much preferred going to the city with my grandmother. At first, I think I listened to Grandpa’s music because I loved my grandfather and he was so happy when he was singing along to the songs. Then one day I realized, I liked the music too. Really liked it.”

“And you can sing.” That didn’t hurt any.

For the first time that she’d seen, pink tinged his cheeks. If that wasn’t just as endearing as the beautiful voice, she didn’t know what could be.

Chapter Eleven

Heat stung his cheeks. Lord have mercy, he hoped she couldn’t tell. “I hadn’t sung like that in years.”

“Well,” Colleen tucked one foot under herself and angled in his, “you should do it more often.”

Lots of things he had no business thinking ran through his mind like a video on replay. Clearing his mind and his throat, he decided shifting focus of the conversation was in order. “What were you needing in Millers Creek?”

“A dress for the fundraiser, same as Ms. Alice. Working and training, there wasn’t a whole lot of need for an almost formal cocktail dress.”

He wasn’t at all sure he knew the difference between formal and cocktail. Almost formal was totally outside his scope of understanding so he settled for a knowing smile and hoped it wasn’t the wrong response.

The road into Millers Creek widened. They had found big city life, West Texas style.

He pulled into a parking space in front of the dress shop and shut off the engine. “Errand number one.”

Inside, the dress retrieval took less time than he’d expected. Alice’s name produced instant recognition. The woman behind the counter disappeared into the back and returned with a carefully wrapped garment bag that she handled as if it contained the crown jewels. Garment bag in hand, Aiden waited as Colleen looked around, pulling out a dress, studying it as if her life depended on it, and then put it back. He had no idea what she was looking for but from what he could see, just about anything she chose would look great on her—including a flour sack. He knew the moment she’d found what she’d been looking for. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tightly, her gaze rose from top to bottom and then, a hint of a smile on her lips, she nodded.

Ten minutes later she was out of the dressing room, the dress he hadn’t gotten to see was paid for, and the two garment bags were safely in the back of the truck. Apparently whatever fundraiser was coming up, only Millers Creek boutiques would do for the women’s attire. Now, the rest of the afternoon was wide open and neither of them had mentioned going back to Honeysuckle yet, which suited him fine.

Millers Creek had the particular quality of a town that took itself slightly more seriously than Honeysuckle did—more storefronts, wider sidewalks. A real city from the shopping, to the warehouses, to the apartment buildings, to the honky tonks. Not his choice of words, the sign said so.

They walked without direction, Colleen leading the way.

“In here.” Colleen pointed to a shop with a hand-lettered sign that said ANTIQUES AND OTHER THINGS.

Inside, the shop smelled like old paper and furniture wax, the kind of place that rewarded attention—every surface covered, every shelf loaded, everything arranged by a logic that was either deeply personal or entirely absent.

“Look at this.” She held up a small framed print—an old movie poster.

“Not a bad movie, but no one could ever dance down Fifth Avenue, never mind on roller skates.”

Eyes wide as an owl stared at him. “You’ve seen It’s Always Fair Weather?”

He shrugged. “What can I say, I like Gene Kelly, even if it is absurd to think traffic would stop in Manhattan for a man to dance down the middle of the street.”

“You are a man full of surprises, aren’t you? First you know opera, then show tunes, and now you know Gene Kelly.”

“My grandfather liked opera and playing bocce in the park, my grandmother loved everything Broadway, and my mom liked any film made in the fifties that involved singing, dancing, and a very happy—if impractical—ending.” His head leaned to the side. “Most people loved Astaire or Kelly, but Mom loved Cyd Charisse. So I got to watch Brigadoon, Silk Stockings, Bandwagon, and It’s Always Fair Weather enough times to have performed the shows myself.”

“A musical family. Makes sense.” For a second she wondered if the man could dance as well as he sang, not that it was any of her business.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”