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Her face lit from within when she coaxed a shy voice to sing louder or when she caught someone’s gaze and smiled encouragement. She made eye contact with every person in the room at least once, calling them by name.
He remembered that about her, the absolute, sincere joy in sharing music. Back when she was in school, she had talked about wanting to do exactly this, to use music to reach people who were hurting or struggling.
He had loved listening to her dreams, even if at the time he hadn’t fully understood how powerful they could be.
He got it now.
Beside him, his mother swayed slightly on her chair, tapping the tambourine in time to the music.
Kodiak lifted his head, ears forward, eyes fixed on Hannah. On the next round of “Joy to the World,” the dog let out a quiet, warbling sound that built into a soft howl, matching their notes as best he could.
Laughter rippled through the room.
“The dog is singing,” one of the residents said happily, clapping his hands together in delight.
Wes looked down, startled. Kodi’s tail thumped against the floor, his gaze bright and intent, the most animated Wes had seen him in weeks. He wasn’t just tolerating the noise. He was enjoying it.
“Sing louder, son,” his mother said with her vague, sweet smile, glancing back at him. “You have a good voice.”
He did not, in fact, think he had a good voice. But for his mother, he drew in a breath and sang the rest of the verse out loud, his rusty tenor joining the wavering voices around him.
Once upon a time, Hannah used to tell him she loved his voice. She always used to try coaxing him into singing along with the radio in his car.
He didn’t need that flash of memory right now, but his brain offered it anyway. Her head tipped back, her laughter mixing with the song, her hand slipping into his between verses.
“Beautiful,” Susie said brightly now when they finished. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
He would have brushed it off, but when he glanced up, he saw a faint flush on Hannah’s cheeks. Whether it was from the music, the effort or the fact that he’d joined in, he couldn’t say. He didn’t ask.
They finished with a simple, gentle carol. As the last chord faded, Hannah thanked everyone for coming, praised their participation and gave them clear, calm instructions about returning their instruments to the cart.
She was good at this. Better than good. She was exactly where she was meant to be.
He was as riveted by her now as he’d been years ago. That thought did not make him particularly happy.
While Hannah finished up with the group, he turned his attention to his mother, who was still beaming.
“Help Hannah,” his mother said, pointing vaguely toward the front of the room.
“Help her with what?”
She gestured again toward the instruments Hannah was stacking on her cart. The intention was clear.
This visit was not going the way he had planned. He had not come here to be pressed into being a roadie for Hannah Goodwin. He didn’t want to be handed any more reasons to spend time with her.
Every minute in her orbit pulled old dreams to the surface—and reminded him of exactly how thoroughly he had shattered those dreams.
“Sure,” he said anyway. “We can help her.”
Hannah did not look delighted to see him heading her way, arms full of tambourines and shakers. She pressed her lips together and turned her attention to his dog.
“Kodi seems to be reacting really well to the music,” she said after a moment, keeping her tone briskly professional.
“He does,” Wes admitted, glancing down at the dog. Kodiak sat at his heel, alert, watching Hannah with open, almost puppyish interest. “I haven’t seen him that enthusiastic about anything in a while.”
“Have you tried what we talked about earlier?” she asked. “Playing calming music for him? I’ve been researching some playlists and I have a few suggestions. I’d also be happy to work with him one-on-one, if you think that might help. I wouldn’t charge you, of course.”
He did not want more intersections between their lives. He needed distance, clear lines. He didn’t need fresh opportunities to complicate things.
