Free Songs of Christmas by Thomas Kinkade

shining down on the altar area. Amanda didn’t bother turning on the rest.
    She sat at the piano and opened the cover. Her fingers glided along the smooth, cool keys in an easy, rippling scale. She hadn’t played keyboards much in the last few years, devoting herself entirely to the cello. But she had practiced at home last night and felt her touch returning. It was amazing how the body remembered some skills before, or even without, the conscious mind. Like riding a bike, for instance, or playing an instrument.
    The choir was scheduled to sing “We Wait in Hope for the Lord” as Sunday’s opening hymn. Amanda played a few bars and then began to sing along. She didn’t do a very good job with the first few bars, she thought. She paused and tried it again, finally hitting a high note that had been out of reach on her first try.
    She sang to the end of the next bar and stopped to make a note on the music. A sharp, slow clap suddenly broke the silence. She lifted her head and turned, peering into the shadowy sanctuary. Was Reverend Ben listening to her? Amanda had been surprised when he hadn’t asked her to play the piano or organ during their interview. Maybe now he was checking out her skills.
    A figure stepped forward, down the center aisle, out of the darkness. Definitely a man, and definitely not the reverend. It was the pie guy again. Amanda felt her breath catch and quickly looked back at the piano. I should call him the spy guy now, Amanda thought, feeling both excited to see him again and very self-conscious.
    “You have a lovely voice,” he said. “You don’t even need a microphone.”
    “The acoustics are good in here. This church is known for that.” Amanda fussed with the sheet music, trying to ignore him as he came closer.
    “Are you going to sing on Sunday?”
    “No, but I’ll be conducting the choir.” She looked up at him quickly. He was standing near the piano now, just a few steps away. “I’m the new music director.”
    “Really? So you work here. How about Willoughby’s; do you work there, too?”
    Amanda looked down at the piano and closed the cover. “My mothe—stepmother, actually—owns the shop. I was just helping out for a while.”
    “Oh. Very interesting.” She couldn’t tell from his tone if he was sincere or mocking her. Or flirting with her. Maybe a mixture of all three?
    Before she could reply, he added, “So you’re not a bakery girl after all. You’re a musician?”
    “Yes, I’m a musician.” Or trying to be, she amended silently. She started to gather the sheets of music and put them back in the binder, but it was suddenly a mess, with pages springing out all over the place. She wanted to make a fast getaway but feared she would leave a trail of music in her wake.
    She felt him studying her and glanced up. He was tall and had broad shoulders, which looked even wider as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her.
    She was sorry now that she had dressed in such a hurry this morning, pulling on a cream-colored turtleneck and a tweedy brown skirt. Her long hair was brushed back in a ponytail and she wore no makeup, just a dab of lip gloss. She usually dressed with more flair but thought she should look conservative for a job in a church. And it never occurred to her that there would be anyone here to dress up for. Well, wrong about that one, she realized. She would definitely do better tomorrow.
    Though his outfit wasn’t unremarkable, he looked fairly remarkable in it. He wore a dark blue pullover today that was stained with paint and maybe varnish. The spots matched the marks on his faded jeans and boots. Despite the worn wardrobe, or maybe because of it, he looked as if he had just stepped off the cover of GQ or out of some glossy advertisement for male magnetism and charisma.
    He caught her gaze and smiled at her in a way that was totally unnerving. As if he had just guessed everything she had been thinking about him.
    “So, are you going to sing