Free Ex-mas by Kate Brian Page B

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    So she shook her head slightly, surprised to feel a heat creep across her cheeks as she did.
    She was even more surprised a little while later, when Beau started to sing. Lila stood against one of the wood cabins, feeling the rough wood scratch at her back. He had been set up with a chair, his guitar resting comfortably on his knee, a mic before him. He commanded the stage, his biceps peeking out from under his thin T-shirt. It was like he was suddenly the only person alive in the world.
    Everyone looks good on a stage, with a guitar, Lila told herself. It was why famous musicians were always considered hot, even when they obviously weren't, and would be ignored on a street corner.
    Beau fielded requests from the crowd and sang and played while the bride and groom led the dancing in front of him. He was a big hit--the guests
    cheered and sang along, and no one sat down.
    Lila stood to the side and felt like she was tipping over, fal ing headfirst into something she didn't understand, as his slightly scratchy voice managed to make old songs sound new. She didn't know how he did it--it was like his voice was a spel , and she was fal ing under it yet again.
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    It's just a memory, she told herself sternly. A memory of so many other times she'd watched Beau sing, watched his clever fingers dance across the guitar strings while his voice hinted at poetry and connected with her heart. She felt a tug deep inside her. Just a leftover memory.
    She looked up and spotted a cluster of girls by the edge of the stage. They had to be at least twenty-two, and were eyeing Beau with way too much interest. She tore her gaze away from them and tried to see what they saw when they looked at him.
    It wasn't hard to see. Beau's blue eyes seemed to glow against al his dark hair, and his careless T-shirt and jeans showed off his lean, hard body. Lila was forced to admit something she'd been actively denying for years: Beau was hot. One of the best-looking guys she'd ever seen, as a matter of fact. It probably would have gone to someone else's head. But Beau was always, defiantly, Beau.
    He wasn't as big as Erik, and he definitely didn't work out, or walk around with Erik's adorable cockiness. But there was something about the way Beau held himself that made it clear he wasn't to be messed with. That he belonged up on a stage, in front of a crowd, always and forever on his own terms.
    Just then, he looked right at her and smiled.
    "And now for something a little lighter," he said into the microphone. He stil held Lila's gaze. He strummed a chord, then another.
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    No way.
    Lila knew those chords as wel as she'd once known Beau. He'd written the song to cheer her up when she had a cold in the seventh grade. The next
    time he sang it was over the phone, while she was visiting her relatives in Michigan the summer after eighth grade. They'd dubbed it their lul aby. They'd added to the song over the years, and sung it to and with each other ever since. Up until ninth grade, anyway. Lila remembered every single word.
    "Roses are red, violets are blue, are you allergic to flowers, too?" Beau sang now, up onstage. The dim light from above bounced off his cheekbones.
    "What if I brought you cookies instead? One sniff of your roses and I could be dead."
    Lila smiled back at him. But she stil didn't get up to join him at the mic.
    It was one thing to appreciate the past. It was something else to relive it.
    "That guy was lying through his teeth," Beau said as he eased back into his Ford Escort a couple hours later. He settled himself in the driver's seat and glared through the windshield at the blue-coveral ed mechanic, who had the nerve to wave at them.
    "About what?" Lila asked quietly, suddenly feeling oddly shy
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    in Beau's company. Probably because she was tired. It had been the longest day of her life.
    "The car wasn't that jacked up," Beau said. "He said it was done hours ago."
    "But I'm betting he took al the money anyway." Lila's dad had