You're What?!. Anne Eames

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      “Well, I…”

      “Of course he can!” Millie scurried around the table, beaming from diamond-studded ear to diamond-studded ear. “I get the first waltz, Hazel,” she called over her shoulder, tugging him from his chair.

      “Oh, Millie. Don’t be silly. I bet they don’t even play a waltz.” They each claimed an arm and continued their banter as if it were a sure thing he would join them.

      Kevin smiled down on the pair of bobbing blue heads and let them lead him away. One dance each and then he’d leave, hopefully before Michelle finished her walk.

      Forty minutes later, longer than he had planned, Kevin excused himself and took the stairs two at a time to the Sky Deck, then systematically made his way around and down each level. But no slender redhead graced the railing. Finally, he gave up and headed for his stateroom, disappointment and relief warring inside his gut. Who was this woman, anyway? And worse yet, why did he suddenly care?

      

      Tuesday morning Michelle found an empty chair on the Sun Deck and finished the dregs of her coffee. It was nearly noon and for hours she’d watched tender after tender transport excited passengers ashore. Earlier she’d wondered if she’d made a bad decision staying behind, but now, bathed in sun and serenity, she wasn’t sorry.

      With the side of her hand shielding her eyes she studied the private yachts dotting the seascape. One in particular caught her eye. It was anchored far from shore, away from the others, and had to be at least a hundred feet long. Lifting her binoculars from around her neck, she adjusted the focus and slowly swept the ship’s length. She was about to drop the lenses when a sole figure appeared on the fan tail. A bearded man dressed in a tartan plaid kilt, of all things. Fascinated, she watched and waited. He hoisted something over his head and positioned a strap across his shoulder and chest, tucking a large bag beneath his upper arm. When he began blowing into a tube, Michelle knew her first guess had been correct.

      Bagpipes.

      She lowered the glasses and moved to the railing, anticipation racing through her veins. Before the melody began, she knew she was in for a treat. But when the first haunting refrain of “Amazing Grace” wafted toward her, she wasn’t prepared for the emotion it evoked. A favorite since childhood, the poignant tune began spinning its web about her. Transfixed, she stared at the source of the magic, the words forming on her lips without sound. It felt as though he played just for her. Each high-pitched note wailed and lingered until the next, weaving a mystical spell around her soul. God was talking to her—what the message, she wasn’t sure, but the power and passion were like none she’d ever known. The Caribbean was her cathedral. And hers alone.

      Even the footsteps behind her didn’t break her concentration. When the person stopped beside her she remained riveted, wishing the music would never stop, hoping whoever joined her would possess the sensitivity not to speak. Tears trailed down her hot cheeks, but she did nothing to hide them, fearing the slightest movement might break the spell.

      With only the slightest pause, the tune began again. She closed her eyes and felt her body sway with the gentle rocking of the ship. And then a new sound pierced the stillness beside her. In one of the most beautiful tenor voices she’d ever heard, the words she mouthed came soft yet clear from the person at her side. His intonation returned the soulful tune with as much meaning and tenderness as its sender.

      Michelle gripped the railing, her legs trembling from sensual saturation. And when the last note faded into nothingness, she felt both sad and relieved, the intensity of the experience one she would never be able to explain to another human being.

      Except maybe this man beside her. But then words were inadequate.

      Minutes passed in total silence. Still, she didn’t move. Nor did he. She wanted to sit down before her legs buckled, but should she turn away from him without comment? Or did she turn toward him? Suddenly she felt vulnerable—an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling. She’d let someone see a part of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen herself. Better to have been caught in the buff than to expose her soul.

      Finally, gathering all the courage she could muster, she turned toward him. His eyes were shiny, his cheeks damp. And he was gazing down at her like a vision from heaven.

      “Kevin,” she whispered, surprised yet somehow relieved. He took her hand, but didn’t speak. They turned back to the railing and gazed out at the yacht, her deck now deserted. For a moment Michelle wondered if the bagpipes had been real, but then Kevin squeezed her hand ever so gently, telegraphing a message only the two of them could understand.

      Others began wandering over to the railing, speculating on what they’d heard moments earlier. Still holding her hand, Kevin led her away from the crowd, their steps measured, trancelike. When they reached the stairs they descended in silence, then strolled leisurely down the Fjord Deck. Lifeboats lined the perimeter, partially obstructing the view. Apparently the few travelers who remained aboard preferred better spots. But to Michelle this was perfect. It provided time and space to think about what just happened.

      When the bagpipes first began, she’d been happy to experience the moment alone, resenting the intrusion of someone else. But when Kevin opened his mouth and sang, the magic had taken on new heights and her spirit soared like never before.

      Michelle slowed her pace so that she was barely moving and Kevin followed suit. Was there a message in this somewhere? Could God be trying to tell her how much happier life would be if shared with the right person?

      She quickened her pace. Where was that old cynical Michelle who doubted the existence of Mr. Right?

      But at this very moment, she was so filled with love and peace she couldn’t help but think kindly of this man beside her. Was he merely a symbol of what she could have if she opened her heart and took another chance? Or was Kevin…

      No. She shook her head, the last of the cocoon evaporating and reality seeping in. Without breaking stride and in a voice that sounded as if she’d just awoken, Michelle finally braved a few words. “Do you sing in church?”

      They kept walking. Both looked straight ahead.

      Kevin’s answer seemed tentative, cautious. “No. I wish I could, but I’m usually working Sunday mornings. I used to sing in the men’s choir in college, though. Now I’m lucky if I have time in the shower.”

      Michelle smiled as they rounded the corner and sauntered on. She liked this new Kevin. “What kind of work keeps you so busy Sunday mornings?”

      At last he stopped and turned toward her, looking relaxed and self-assured. “What do you think I do? Take a guess.”

      She lifted the hand still in hers and studied it. “It’s so clean and soft, no calluses. Definitely white-collar.” She looked up into his magnetic gray eyes and her pulse quickened.

      “So far so good,” he said, his steady gaze saying so much more. “Could you be more specific?”

      Michelle looked back to his hand in hers, its warmth now traveling up her arm. A part of her wanted to tell him what profession she’d pegged him in two days ago at the breakfast buffet, but she didn’t feel that way now. Unfortunately, her thoughts betrayed her and she felt the corners of her mouth tug upward.

      “Go ahead. Tell me. It’s obviously amusing.”

      “Two days ago I was sure you were a lawyer.”

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