Page 22 of The Matchmaker's Melody
“It was romantic. Men just don’t get romance.”
He snorted again and got up to take their dishes to the kitchen. Ice cream, chips, and leftover Christmas candy were the perfect food for watching leftover Harlequin Christmas movies, after all.
They bickered playfully about the movie as they washed the few dishes, watching the weak January sun slip below the horizon, leaving the world in late-afternoon twilight.
“Stay for dinner?” Gordon asked as he put the last bowls in the cupboard. “I know we just spent the afternoon munching, but I can call in a pizza. We’ll keep it early. We both have work tomorrow.”
This was nice. Emma had never had a friend like this before, someone she didn’t have totrywith. She didn’t have to put her superior taste on display, or wear the perfect outfit to impress, or have the best quips and comebacks. Gordon knew her too well for that; he’d probably wiped snot off her nose when she was five. He could handle her now with sweatpants and the zit on her chin undisguised by makeup.
She could also talk to him like she’d never talked to anyone before. She had been popular all through school. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be friends with Emma Massey? But while some of these had been good friendships, they’d never been deep. Always feeling on display, Emma had never really let anyone see the unpolished person below the shiny surface. Consequently, most of those friendships which had seemed so genuine at the time had faded with the distance and obligations adulthood often brings.
But Gordon, well, he’d always been there. Not always as a friend, not like this, but always as a comforting presence in her life. And now they were growing closer in ways she never would have imagined, and she was discovering that she liked him very much. He really was the best-bosom-buddy friend she’d never had before. It was nice.
Perhaps it was the warmth of this new, lovely friendship with Gordon that led Emma to open her heart that bit more, allowing other friendships to change and blossom. Halli had become quite busy with school of late, and now that any sort of matchmaking between the young soprano and Phil—or anyone else, so she’d promised—was no longer her main objective, they did not get together as much outside of choir time anymore.
Jean-François was there to fill a lot of that void. He’d often returned to Montreal on weekends, but during the week, he was alone in the city and more than happy to be both entertained and entertaining. When Gordon was busy, or wanted earlier nights than Emma preferred, she could often find something to do with the charming baritone. He enjoyed finding bars where cool groups were performing, or skating at some public rink, or just wandering through one of the city’s many indoor shopping centres. Emma could not imagine dragging Gordon window-shopping, and didn’t even think to include him in these outings.
It did cross her mind, more than once, to ask Halli along. She and Jean-François would look so cute together. But no, she’d promised, and she only entertained these notions in her mind. She would not say a word or do a thing to encourage something… unless one of them asked, of course.
Choir rehearsals started again in the middle of January. It was good to see everyone again and hear about their holidays. None had been quite as grand as Emma’s of course, but she listened to their accounts with every appearance of interest. There some genuine matters of interest as well. Randall and Taylor appeared happier than ever—they’d been away in the Caribbean for a few days—and one of the altos had spent time with her family in the UK, and had brought back a pile of chocolate for everyone to share at break. English chocolate was always worth paying attention to! And, as always, there were one or two minor changes. Kevin, one of the tenors, had left the city, and Randall had invited someone he knew to sit in for the rest of the year in his place.
The next concert was to be the big show of the year, a performance with a full orchestra of Mozart’s glorious ‘Coronation Mass’. A quartet of professional soloists would sing in the concert itself, but some members of the choir had been asked to prepare some of the solo parts for the earlier rehearsals, so the choir could learn how the various parts came together.
Emma, of course, would sing the soprano’s solos in rehearsal. She had informed Randall of this, and he hadn’t objected. A couple of the other sopranos had trained voices as well, but really, she was the clear choice. She was, however, surprised when Ashleigh was asked to prepare the alto solos. She was a soprano as well, but had a rich voice and a surprisingly wide vocal range. It did make sense. The alto part was equally suited for mezzo soprano, and really, there was no one in the alto section who could manage the part. Elise had a nice voice, but she was more jazz than opera.
Victor, a short and rotund man with a lovely flexible voice, would prepare the tenor lines, and Jean-François was rehearsing the baritone part. Emma had never heard him sing solo before, and she was amazed at the dark-chocolatey sound he produced.
Hah. With these resources in the choir, they hardly needed the professionals for the concert.
But now there was an extra connection between her and Jean-François, and when he asked her to join him for a drink after the second rehearsal to discuss the music, she accepted at once.
“Would you like to join us?” she asked Gordon as they were packing up after the rehearsal. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to add. You know this piece so well.”
He gave a tired smile. “Thanks, but I have an early morning at the construction site I’m overseeing, and I think I’d be a third wheel.”
What did that mean? “Well, don’t say we didn’t invite you.” She pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek and told him she’d call the next night to make plans for the weekend.
By tacit agreement, they wandered towards The Fife and Fiddle, the pub on the main street just around the corner from the arts centre, where, as expected, a group of about half a dozen choir members had already staked their claim at a long table by one wall, their laughing voices filling the place.
“Hi. Come and join us.” Elise waved her arm as Emma and Jean-François moved into the space. “There’s always room for more. Carlos, can you shift over a bit? There’s an extra chair at that empty table…”
Carlos leapt up and pulled it over, then shuffled further down, closer to Janet. On the other side, Ashleigh gave a muted grin and pulled her own chair towards Masako, leaving enough room between the others at the table for two newcomers.
Emma glanced sidelong at Jean-François, who answered with a short nod, and they accepted the offered seats.
“Only for a few moments.” Emma was quick to limit her time with this group. They were all perfectly nice people, but a bit dull. Well, Janet was an interior designer, which was rather cool, and Masako had a clothing line. Perhaps they should talk, after all. But the others were all ho-hum things like administrators and accountants, and really, Emma had an image to maintain.
“We are happy to join you for a short time,” Jean-François added to Emma’s thoughts, “but we wished to talk about some aspects of the music. We will find our own table in a bit.”
They stayed and talked for a few minutes, enough to be friendly, not enough to give unintended expectations, and then excused themselves. Emma bought out her copy of the music, so as not to appear rude, and then moved across the room to an empty table for two. That would discourage visitors.
“Have fun with the… music.” Elise winked as they left.
Honestly! Why did people’s minds always gothere? But if someone happened to snap a picture and put it up on the web, tagging her, she looked so much better sitting at a cosy tablea deuxwith a handsome man, rather than with a gaggle of paper pushers.
* * *
Once is an occurrence.Twice is a recurrence. And three times is a habit. By the first rehearsal in February, it was just taken as fact that Emma and Jean-François would go out after the rehearsal, spend five minutes with whoever was at the large table, and then move on to their own table at the far end of the pub. They cast their eyes heavenward at the raised eyebrows and double entendres, made all the appropriate comments about just discussing the repertoire, and then ignored everything else. True, they spread the music out on the table so it seemed like a conference, but within minutes of ordering their drinks and munchies, any musical topics were long forgotten in favour of flirtatious conversation.
