Every song on my list tonight I’d written for Ella or Jeremiah. I started with the song I used to sing to Ella’s belly when she was pregnant with Miah. My lips quirked up when I remembered how I’d get close to her tummy and watch, fascinated, as the mound shifted with our son’s movements. When I stopped singing he’d stop moving.

“Sing another,” Ella would say, rubbing her hands up and down her bump. “He dances when you sing.”

I missed those moments. I wanted them again, with our daughter. With Ella.

I finished the song on a bit of a sigh. Not ideal for a singer, but this performance meant more to me than critical reviews.

I strummed out the second song in my set, then a third. But the fourth, my nausea dissipated, but so did my faith that music—my willpower, even Angelica’s awesome organizational abilities—would fix the gulf between Ell and me.

“So, I have just a couple more songs this evening. I hope you all there in Seattle are enjoying this session as much as the crew here.”

I’d chosen not to broadcast back a video of the student body packed into the gymnasium at Ella’s school, deciding that would be more than my shaky nerves could handle. Angelica gave me the thumbs up, but her mouth remained pinched.

Better make this one count. Those kids needed to know how special Ella was to me—whatever came of our relationship.

“Most of you students there at Franklin High know my wife simply as your choral teacher. But I wanted to tell you a story about the day we met. There’s a sport here in England called cricket.” The raucous crowd in the pub bellowed and stomped their feet.

“I’d never played before, being American and into baseball, but I was lucky enough to have a full semester at Cambridge. I decided to learn all things British, so I signed up for what we Americans call a rec league. First person onto the field was this petite young woman with the most amazing eyes. She wore the cricket whites better than any of her teammates.”

I winked at the crowd here, who’d lowered their glasses and leaned forward, hanging on my every word.

“She walloped me in cricket and then she landed me flat on my butt when she sang some British battle song.”

Such a beautiful voice to go along with those beautiful eyes. I smiled at the memory of her first glance in my direction—her eyes widened before a small smile lifted her lips. A blush stained her fair, rounded cheeks. I’d never understood the term heart-shaped face until Ella.

Lord, she was lovely with those bright eyes, soft pink lips and brown hair tumbling over narrow shoulders all the way to her tiny waist.