Step with Me: Love Amiss... A Christian Romance (Seaside Chapel Book 2) Read online

  Ninety dollars from her grocery funds later, here she was.

  Thank God Skye had returned to the café to pick her up and drop her off here. What a friend.

  “Whoa!” It was a male voice that Emmeline did not want to hear in a million years. “You tripped, Juliet.”

  Creepy hands and fingers were on her arms.

  Emmeline shrieked and shrank back from Rafferty’s grips. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Just trying to help you get back on your feet.”

  “Did you hear me, Rafferty Reid? Don’t. Touch. Me.” Emmeline straightened her floral summer dress as she strutted away from Rafferty and toward the sound of strings.

  They’ve started rehearsing without me.

  Well, it wouldn’t be for long before she was done with the Sea Islands Symphony Orchestra.

  On the drive here, Emmeline had texted Sebastian to tell him she would take the summer job. He texted back almost immediately, asking to meet tonight for a planning dinner at his flagship restaurant on Jekyll Island.

  Well, how in the world was she going to get there without her van? She’d have to borrow a car.

  Or cancel.

  “I’ll always be your Romeo…” Rafferty was singing now behind her. Loudly and—

  Well, that’s some good tenor.

  “She walks on the catwalk…”

  “Quiet, Rafe!”

  Still, she didn’t care for the xylophone player digging up her past. Sure, she had modeled beachwear while in college, but she only did it to support her schooling. She couldn’t help it if certain genes ran in her family. Her mother had been a sought-after model back in her days.

  And Father, well, he was that harpist of harpists. During one of his concerts some forty years ago, he had met Mom backstage somewhere in Prague, the result of which had eventually produced two offsprings, Claude and Emmeline.

  Thanks to genetics, both of them had been child models long before they picked up the harp.

  Today, playing the harp was all Emmeline wanted to do. She took a deep breath and prayed feverishly that she wouldn’t lose her job two months before she went to grad school.

  She opened the door to the practice room.

  Conductor Bouvier Petrocelli’s booming voice punched her eardrums.

  “O’Hanlon! Late again!”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry…” Emmeline’s jelly legs dragged her all the way to her harp. She slid onto her seat. “My van died.”

  “And I care because?”

  “Sir—uh, I got here safely.” Emmeline looked around the room to see if she could get some sympathy.

  None.

  Adrian Chung looked at his violin. Misty Miller was frozen in play with her bow and cello. The rest of the string ensemble seemed to be pretending they didn’t hear anything.

  “As I was saying, the Brock-Flannagan wedding next Saturday.” Petrocelli waved his baton in the air.

  Ah, the Senator’s daughter.

  Senator Brock, also known as Senator Broke, was marrying his youngest daughter off in July, right in the middle of a hot summer.

  Emmeline hadn’t voted for him in past elections. All he wanted was to reclaim the marshes for strip malls. But he had been around to many fundraisers. Emmeline had met him and his daughter at the Oglethorpe Charity Dinner on Jekyll back in December. Yes, that one in which she had seen her ex-boyfriend Ivan and his then girlfriend getting cozy. She had felt jealousy then because she wanted Ivan so badly she couldn’t sleep at night.

  It’s a sin to covet, I know. Forgive me, God.

  “We should be able to do this even though it’s a last-minute addition to their program right after they switched out the groom,” Petrocelli continued. “I don’t understand young people these days, but as long as we get paid, we get to keep the studio.”

  And if we get to keep the studio, I get to keep my job.

  Emmeline’s feet inched toward the harp pedals as she listened.

  Petrocelli lifted his copy of the program for the string ensemble to see. “We should be able to complete everything in two hours. On time!”

  He glared at Emmeline.

  In keeping with the series of unexpected circumstances in Emmeline’s life, her cell phone pinged at that very second.

  Emmeline reached for her pocket—

  “No, O’Hanlon. No, no, no.”

  So we’re all talking, talking, talking in triplets now?

  “It could be the van service center,” Emmeline said.

  Petrocelli made some sort of gestures with his baton. “If I didn’t know your father, I wouldn’t have let you talk back to me like that. In fact, even though I do know your father, O’Hanlon, you shouldn’t be talking to me like that. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Emmeline always felt embarrassed when Petrocelli made it sound like she wasn’t in SISO on her own merits but due to her connections, being Kipp O’Hanlon’s daughter and all.

  “The program is right in front of you. Mostly similar to the Jefferson-Yang wedding last Summer. You remember?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “When the guests are taking their seats, we’ll start playing. Nothing too complicated.” Petrocelli shrugged. “O’Hanlon, since you were late, I had Rafferty put the folders together for us.”

  Only the worst assistant music librarian in the whole world.

  Emmeline couldn’t imagine the clean-up she had to do when she got back to the music library after this rehearsal.

  Her heart thumped. She hoped there’d be enough time for her to get the library back in order, walk home ten blocks, get ready, and borrow a car to get to the dinner meeting tonight.

  “Miss O’Hanlon!”

  Emmeline straightened her back. “Yes, sir?”

  Petrocelli swept his arms in front of him. “Go on.”

  “Go on what, sir?”

  “Go on and play the processional.” Petrocelli strode toward her music stand and whacked it. “Read the program, which the rest of us have.”

  Gingerly, Emmeline opened the black folder and skimmed it. There were music sheets for about ten numbers. Some of the music sheets were upside down and dog-eared. Signature Rafferty mess.

  She flicked the plastic pages to the first page.

  Oh no.

  The processional wasn’t Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D. It was Enrique Granados’s Oriental.

  She must’ve read the wrong email. All week long she had brushed up her Canon from last year. The Brock-Flannagan wedding would be one week from Saturday.

  “Is this another last minute change?” I’m dead.

  “What have you been practicing, O’Hanlon?” Petrocelli seemed to have read her mind.

  “I—well, Pachelbel?”

  Petrocelli made some guttural noises that Emmeline couldn’t decipher. They sounded like what her brother Claude’s cats had made when they were coughing up hairballs.

  “Well, since I arranged this I should be able to sight-read it.” Granados had composed it for the piano, and though this piece was usually played on the guitar, Emmeline had arranged it for their string ensemble.

  Petrocelli’s face showed various shades of red and purple.

  Emmeline gently pulled the Lyon & Healy concert pedal harp toward her, placed its neck on her right shoulder, and nodded to the rest of the ensemble. She felt the strings in her fingers as Danzas Españolas Opus 37 Number 2 came forth out of her harp.

  She watched Petrocelli’s reaction.

  He seemed pleased.

  Why wouldn’t he be? She had played this wedding arrangement many times over, except not in the last six or seven months. Still, it had always been at someone else’s wedding. Some day, maybe…

  No. I’ll never be married.

  God, help me to be contented living single.

  Emmeline willed herself to fade into her concert harp. This was her world now, probably for the rest of her lonely life.

  In the middle of Oriental it all came back to her, the eighth notes, sixteenth not
es, the trills, the acciaccaturas. She could see in her mind the ritardando measures, the segno symbol where she repeated the piece. She saw every page in her head, her heart, her being. She let the notes wash over her, the strings an extension of her fingers. She plucked and strummed as if she were at a wedding.

  Though not mine.

  Two thirds through, Emmeline couldn’t see the notes on the music sheets nor the strings extending out of the spruce soundboard.

  Sorrow trickled down her cheeks.

  What in the world…?

  She stopped abruptly, a plink calling attention to her lost focus. She quickly wiped her face with a quick flick of her fingers, hoping that no one had noticed.

  The rest of the string section continued to play without her.

  Petrocelli nearly threw the baton at her. He didn’t look happy. He opened his mouth to speak but a background applause stopped him.

  Like everyone else in the room, Emmeline turned toward the solo clapping.

  Sebastian Langston.

  Standing tall and buff at the door wearing a blue tee-shirt and indigo jeans was the guy who could help her find her brother and send her back to music school.

  How did he get in here?

  Besides, our dinner meeting isn’t until seven.

  “I want that arrangement at my wedding,” he said.

  Chapter Three

  “Why are you here so soon?” Emmeline asked Sebastian after the rehearsal was over.

  Sebastian Langston had sat through the entire repertoire, the lone cheering section, watching Emmeline mostly, trying to immerse in her world.

  If this ruse were to work, it required Sebastian to look like he was very interested in Emmeline. He wasn’t sure if they could pull it off, but Skye had told him that Emmeline was a principal cast member of the fledgling Theater by the Sea, the perfect no-name stage actress for his plan to win back Talia.

  “I have a meeting with Mr. Petrocelli at three.” Sebastian watched Emmeline tilt her harp onto the trolley, securing the neck and wider part of the harp with straps, like safety belts.

  Around them string ensemble members were either putting away their instruments or talking with Conductor Petrocelli.

  “About?” Emmeline looked up.

  “Curious one, aren’t you?” Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her.

  “As long as it has nothing to do with me, I don’t care, really.” Emmeline waltzed—at least Sebastian thought she waltzed—around her harp. There was something about her movement, fluid and graceful, like a ballerina on stage.

  “It has everything to do with you. I’m hiring SISO Strings to play at Saffron on Friday nights starting July.” Sebastian pointed at her. “That includes you.”

  “All part of your plan?”

  “Absolutely. Act one.” Sebastian noticed that her eyes were hazel and she didn’t have any makeup on. No freckles anywhere. Not a scratch or a scar either. Her arms were like those of a porcelain doll.

  Why hadn’t he noticed her before?

  He had passed by Emmeline at church many times over the past year but hadn’t paid her any attention, and hadn’t talked to her much even though they were in the same Sunday School class.

  Emmeline and his sister Skye were also in the same Women’s Bible Study Group at Seaside Chapel that met at the Pastor’s house.

  Now that he was standing this close to Emmeline he realized that she had perfect teeth and cute dimples.

  Perhaps it was the lighting above their heads playing tricks on his vision.

  Must be it.

  Sebastian wondered how Talia would react if she saw him with Emmeline. It was odd that Emmeline was still single. A beauty like this…

  He reached for the trolley. Emmeline didn’t protest. She simply stepped back. The way she stepped back was so graceful—

  No.

  Think of Talia.

  All of this is to get Talia back.

  That’s all there is to it.

  Sebastian wished Talia had made up her mind and be done with it. His thirty-fourth birthday was coming up. There was to be a bash at Saffron on Jekyll. He wanted to make an announcement, to tell the world that they were getting married. But Talia had dumped him again for the fourth time.

  This on again, off again relationship has got to stop.

  This would show her. Nothing like a little bit of competition especially from one so—so…

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “How heavy is this harp, anyway?”

  “About ninety-some pounds.” Emmeline clicked on the lever to release the wheel locks on the trolley. “My lap harp is only nine pounds.”

  “Which do you play more of?”

  “Both, depending on what’s required. The concert harp has forty seven strings and the lap harp only has twenty two.”

  Emmeline stepped in front of him to lead the way, her wavy butterscotch blonde hair flowing behind her.

  I could follow her anywhere—

  No.

  Sebastian shook his head. Think of Talia!

  This plan had better work. Sebastian had a lot riding on it. He was quite sure that Emmeline was the right candidate. She was single, unattached, and in need of help finding her brother, whatever his name was.

  Well, his friend Matt Garnett would probably not approve. And when Ivan McMillan came home from his vacation in Vienna in a couple of weeks, he’d probably think less of Sebastian after he found out what he was doing.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Ivan’s ex-girlfriend to do this.

  “Have you ever considered playing a lighter instrument?” Sebastian asked. “You know, like the triangle?”

  Emmeline laughed.

  That laugh. It’s the sound of a bubbling brook…

  No. Stop it.

  Thank God it was a short trip past the water fountain and break room to the music library.

  Emmeline suddenly stopped walking. Sebastian nearly plowed the trolley into her.

  “What in the world?” Emmeline gasped.

  Sebastian parked the harp that had blocked his view. He stepped around Em.

  Em? I’m calling her Em now?

  Folders, music sheets, boxes were all over the floor and bench and counters.

  Sebastian watched Emmeline survey the damage. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Half an hour to his meeting.

  “Looks like someone is slightly disorganized,” Sebastian said.

  “Rafferty.”

  “Is that your assistant?”

  Emmeline nodded. “The thorn in my side.”

  “It doesn’t look too bad. Someone was looking for things.”

  “They were all classified and sorted. How hard would it be to read the labels on the shelves?” Emmeline asked.

  “I gather this bothers you.”

  “You think?” She was in near tears. “I’m not sure if I could make it to our dinner meeting.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll help you. I have half an hour.” Sebastian started to gather up the music sheets.

  “Don’t touch anything. I don’t need anymore help from non-librarians.” Emmeline reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a hair band. She gathered up her hair over one shoulder and tied it up in a ponytail.

  Sebastian couldn’t get over Emmeline’s hair. Tied to one side and hanging over her left shoulder, her hairstyle made Emmeline’s face change yet again.

  Standing there in front of him in her flats, she was perhaps six or seven inches shorter than he was. That made her quite tall, maybe five nine or ten. And that bluish-and-purplish floral summer dress looked nice on her.

  He could stare at her all day.

  Not good.

  Focus, Seb. Think of Talia.

  “What color are the flowers on your dress?” Sebastian asked, not knowing why he wanted to know. Had to know.

  “Periwinkle.”

  “Really.”

  “Is that your feeble attempt at small talk?” Emmeline asked.

  “I’m trying to get to know you more.”r />
  “By staring at my skirt?”

  Sebastian wasn’t sure how to respond to the accusation. “I wasn’t exactly staring at you, although you do have lovely hair.”

  “Should I say thank you at this point?”

  “It’s unscripted.” Sebastian sighed. “Why don’t you relax? I know this mess is making you uptight. I can help you put the music sheets back, if you like, though I only have twenty minutes left to spare.”

  “That’s not enough time, Sebastian.” Her voice cracked.

  Sebastian hushed her. “It’ll be okay. It’s just paperwork.”

  Emmeline chuckled.

  “See? Feeling better already.”

  “Maybe you can tell me what you’re doing and I’ll assist.” Sebastian kept his hands to himself, but he wanted to touch her smile.

  Could smiles be touched?

  “You’ll assist?” Emmeline’s eyebrows rose.

  “Yes. I’d be happy to.”

  Sebastian felt drawn to Emmeline. He was standing close enough to her to catch the light floral perfume. It seemed to go with her summer dress. She looked so feminine, so pretty, so…

  So kissable.

  Chapter Four

  Halfway through her brief overview of classification numbers, collections, and sets, Emmeline realized that Sebastian’s eyes had glazed over and she had lost him among the pile of music sheets.

  “Well, maybe I’ll explain all this stuff some other day,” Emmeline suggested. “Don’t you have a meeting to attend?”

  “In five minutes. You want some soda?”

  “Sure. Anything with caffeine in it.” Emmeline adjusted her crossover purse to find the zipper.

  “I’m buying.” Sebastian lifted his palm. “Coke okay?”

  “Classic. Thank you.”

  Emmeline watched him walk away looking relieved that he didn’t have to do all this menial labor trying to get things in the right order. He seemed to be an athletic guy with a straight back.

  Mother always said to never to date a guy who slouched.

  Mother.

  She should Skype her parents sometime soon. They were going to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary this fall. The best anniversary gift she could give them would be their oldest son Claude, composer and Juilliard graduate.