Page 63 of Hope & Harmony

“Sarah isn’t concerned with you,” he says. “Sarah’s seeing dollar signs. She’s looking at the bottom line and thinks she may have discovered the next big thing. But she hasn’t. She’s wrong.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t take that as an insult, Blaire. What I mean is this.” He places both of his hands firmly on my shoulders. “I’ve been your teacher for six years. I know what your dreams are and I’m confident you can achieve them, but this isn’t the way.” He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead. “I have your best interests at heart, Blaire. Don’t do this.”

I open my mouth to reply when Sarah rushes toward me. “Jamie’s all set. It’s now or never, Blaire. Come on.” She grabs my arm.

I look over my shoulder at Professor Morgan shaking his head at me.

Singing one measly karaoke song isn’t going to run my career off its tracks.

I give him a quick shrug and a moment later I’m onstage, looking into the searing blue eyes that can belong only to Gunnar Healy.

“Before we open up the karaoke mic tonight,” Jamie says, “we have a special treat for you. If you’ve been here for the last hour, you’ve heard both of these performers sing, and you know how talented they are. Tonight they’re going to team up to open our karaoke hour with their rendition of ‘Mellow’ by LaLa Queen and Brett Blake. Please welcome back to the stage the phenomenally talented Blaire Cavileri and Gunnar Healy!”

The applause is deafening, and I can’t help but smile. How different we look. I’m dressed in my dark-red velvet cocktailgown, my hair swept up, with black strappy sandals on my feet, my toes painted the same color as my dress.

Then there’s Gunnar…

Gunnar, who makes plain blue jeans look like they were made solely for him.

Gunnar, who oozes sexiness.

Maybe it’s his granite-sculpted masculine beauty.

Maybe it’s those corded forearms that come to life as he strums his guitar.

But his guitar isn’t strapped to him now.

And my God…

Once the applause dies down a bit, Jamie starts the karaoke machine. As the intro plays, I pick up a mic—it feels strange, as opera singers don’t usually use microphones—turn, and look straight into those scorching ice-blue eyes.

And when Gunnar sings that first line…

“‘Tell me what you want, girl…’”

Everything else fades away…

Gunnar is singing only to me.

“‘I’ll be your shooting star…’”

There’s no more audience. No Jamie. No Sarah. No Professor Morgan. No stage and no karaoke machine.

Just Gunnar.

Just me.

Just music.

“‘Just say the word babe, and I’ll meet you where you are.’”

I can’t help it. A smile creeps over my face. I stare directly into Gunnar’s eyes, into his very being, as the artificial karaoke track drones under us.

Gunnar’s eyes narrow, and he mouths the words “your part.”

Right! The song. LaLa Queen’s verse.

---