Chapter 6 #2
There were a few tears from younger children who were scared of Neto, but he was able to settle them down enough with his soft, calm voice to get a photo for their parents.
“You did a great job,” I said when the last child left.
“Thanks,” he said. “It was much easier than a meet and greet with fans. Nobody even asked for my autograph.”
I laughed but blushed at the thought that I’d once dreamed of being a fan in a line who would ask him to sign my poster.
Playing Santa and his helper had taken up most of the morning, so we didn’t have very long to rehearse.
We drove back to the concert hall, me in my car and him in his.
It would have been great to drive together, but I hadn’t wanted him to pick me up from Rosings Park where Mamá would have questions for me.
Questions like, what in the world are you thinking, getting attached to that young man?
I shoved my mamá’s voice aside as I let Neto in through the back door with my key. There wouldn’t be a performance if we didn’t solve the murder, but that was no reason not to be prepared. We were going to catch the killer, and the show would go on. So we needed to make sure our duet was perfect.
We went to the stage and I flipped on some lights. Not the spotlight that would blind me on the night of the performance, but a few lights around the auditorium and in the wings.
The police tape had been removed and the floor cleaned of all the blood, as if by magic. In fact, it was likely magic had removed it.
I hadn’t gotten a recording of the orchestral accompaniment yet, so Neto and I would have to sing acapella.
I swallowed down my nerves. Singing in front of the crowd was no problem for me, but the thought of singing in front of Ernesto made all the blood in my body rush to my head.
Luckily, his part was first. We stood side by side on stage in front of the empty seats, and I worked to calm my breathing while Neto went through a couple of vocal exercises.
“Do you do that before concerts?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Yes. More if I’m performing a song that requires screaming.”
I smiled. Though I usually hated when artists screamed, the Grey Doors had a few songs that got a little…intense, and Ernesto had a talent for adding musicality to the screams that made them fierce and emotive without being harsh or severe.
Neto took a deep breath and began the first verse of O Holy Night.
I’d listened to all three Grey Doors albums hundreds of times and watched too many concert clips to count but hearing Ernesto live—and this close—took my breath away.
I gave myself a few bars to revel in the tone and quality of his voice, in the way he enunciated the words, and the low timbre that gave me chills before I shut down the part of me that listens and enjoys and honed in on my own performance.
Only hundreds of hours of practice could enable me to tear myself away from his voice and come in on time when it was my turn to sing.
I unstoppered my senses and poured every bit of myself into my voice, existing only in the song.
And then Neto’s part picked back up again. The way our voices blended was like they were meant to be together.
When the song ended, we stood side by side, not speaking, barely breathing, letting the echo of our last notes settle on the empty concert hall.
Neto moved first, brushing his hand against mine like he didn’t want to break that connection, either.
I moved my pinkie slightly against his, letting him know that his touch was welcome, and he took my hand in his.
“I didn’t know you could sing like that,” Neto breathed after we’d been through the song half a dozen times.
“I didn’t either,” I said. I’d known my voice was good but this… this was something else.
My phone beeped, breaking the spell, and I let go of Neto’s hand to silence it. I had a text from my mother.
We’re going to the Woodhouse’s tonight. Be ready by 5:00
I groaned. “Sorry, I have to get going. Do you want to rehearse again tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a studio session in the morning and a hockey game in the evening, but I’m free in the afternoon.”
“Let’s plan for Thursday, then. I’ll be having lunch with my abuelo tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “We do it every week.”
“I bet he loves that. My grandparents live with my parents, so I see them a lot. I’d probably live there too if Eddie hadn’t invited me to be his roommate.”
I smiled. It was strange to hear him talk about a member of the Grey Doors like he was just a regular guy. Although the more I got to know Neto, the more I realized they were all just regular guys.
“Why did you all decide to move back to Austen Heights?” I asked.
“For me, it was because I liked the idea of being closer to family. Plus, people in Austen Heights don’t fawn over us. For the others, I’m not sure. I know it’s nice for the fae members of the band to be in a magical community.”
The reminder that I was fae and Neto was not pierced me like a deep sliver, but I shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter. This didn’t have to last. I had nine more days to enjoy every minute I could with him before we sang together and he inevitably moved on.