the moment, she was brimming over with excitement and nerves and something else. Something thrilling.
Carter walked over to the bar and said something to his brother. They talked for a minute. Lincoln gave Carter a hard pat on the back in what was obviously support. It was a nice moment to witness. Lincoln encouraging his brother that way.
Then Lincoln went over to adjust something under the bar. The background music went off. It didn’t make much impact because of the steady buzz of voices, but Ruth noticed because she was watching.
Carter walked toward the back corner, pausing by Lance and Savannah’s table so he could take the red sweater.
Ruth had known—she’d known—that sweater was significant.
Carter pulled it on over his head as he headed for the piano. Ruth gasped out loud as he sat down on the bench and started to play a few chords.
The music surprised enough people that about half of them stopped talking and turned to look.
Then Carter started to sing.
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas...” His pleasant baritone voice rang out through the bar, quieting the rest of the talkers. By the time he’d finished the first line of the song, everyone in the room was focused on him. “There is just one thing I need.”
Ruth knew this song. She was used to it from a female voice, but it sounded perfect coming from Carter. She adjusted her chair so she could see Carter at the piano better, her mouth hanging open as he continued to sing.
“I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree.”
Some of the listeners started to applaud and cheer, delighted by this unexpected serenade. Ruth sat breathlessly and listened.
When he reached the end of the introduction, he turned his head to look right at her as he sang, “Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is you.”
The bar exploded with excitement as he pushed the piano bench back and stood up, turning around to face her as the tempo and energy of the song accelerated. Bells started to jingle around the room as several women (including a grinning Savannah) started to shake them in time with the music.
Carter came closer to Ruth as he sang the first verse. Before he’d completed it, Lance stood up from his table and Lincoln came out from behind the bar. The two men moved into position behind Carter.
Then they started to sing backup as Carter reached the chorus.
Ruth could barely breathe. Barely move. She really couldn’t believe this was happening. But Carter was definitely there. Singing the familiar words in a voice as smooth and warm as velvet while the other two men sang very competent harmony.
Ruth choked on giggles (or maybe tears) as Carter and his two backup singers moved forward even more so they were right in front of her, taking up much of the empty space in the middle of the bar. It was obvious Carter was singing to her. He never looked anywhere else. He was grinning in the same way he had as they’d danced together last weekend in the kitchen, like he was full of feeling he tried to contain but had to come out as he sang.
During the second verse, he started to dance. Nothing too flashy or athletic. Just some of the basic steps he’d used in the boy band song with some tongue-in-cheek cheesy hand motions. When Lance and Lincoln did the moves with him—clearly choreographed and practiced—the whole place went wild.
People were on their feet, singing with Carter and the others. Clapping and laughing and obviously just as blown away by the spontaneous performance as Ruth was. She couldn’t help but notice Lincoln’s expression as he sang. He was smiling at her a lot, but more of the time he was watching his brother with a joyful awe. Like the bottom had been blown out of his world.
That was how it felt to Ruth too. Like this had to be a dream. Like this wasn’t really Carter. And he wasn’t singing this romantic Christmas song to her in front of their whole town. It wasn’t real life. It must be a scene from a romantic comedy. Or a teenage musical television show.
In Ruth’s life, those things simply didn’t happen.
But it was happening now. And the man singing was all Carter with his warm brown eyes and his thick red sweater and a slightly self-deprecating glint of irony in his eyes.
She was almost in tears, her hand poised in front of her