Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

I stiffened, finally recognizing just who was busking in the middle of the night in the middle of Dublin and exhaled a disbelieving breath along with a, “Holy shit.”

Ophelia stepped closer and I glanced at her.

She was fighting another smile, leaning in to whisper, “Right? And I think these other blokes are too drunk to realize who’s playing for them. Feckin’ eejits.”

There was laughter in her voice, and I also chuckled, but then stiffened again, ducking my head on instinct. If he saw me, our famous performer would definitely recognize me. I didn’t want that to happen in front of Ophelia. I was still just some dude. Maybe I’d never see Ophelia again after tonight, but we had tonight. I wasn’t ready to be Broderick Addams to her yet.

Just for tonight.

“Is this where you were going to take me?” I used her snack stature as an excuse to dip lower.

“No.” She turned wide eyes on me. “But do you want to stay and listen?”

“Nah. I can hear this guy on Spotify anytime I want.” I gestured with my head toward the sidewalk even as I turned. “Let’s get going.”

She followed and then quickly took the lead, sliding her hand down my arm to capture my fingers as we crossed the street.

“It’s just up this way, not too far.”

Studying our hands, I asked, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“And it’s open?”

“Yep.”

“On Christmas Eve? At midnight?”

She chuckled again, like something about my words was especially funny, sending me a look. “Oh yeah, it’s open.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“Um.” She pressed her finger to her chin again, obviously debating how to respond. “How about, there will be singing.”

“A club?”

“Noooo.” She shivered, wrapping her arm around her middle and stepping closer to me as her teeth chattered. “Not a club.”

Without pausing to think, instinct had me wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her near.

. . . What? She was cold, right? What was I supposed to do? Let her freeze to death? No. The arm around her shoulders and the bringing her body to mine was all about sharing warmth. That’s it. Anyway, she didn’t seem to mind. Ophelia snuggled against my side, her arm coming around my waist like we’d done this a hundred times.

We were strangers. It should’ve been weird. It wasn’t.

“We’re almost there.” She peered up at me, her eyes twinkling and excited as they lowered to my lips. “I think you’re going to like this.”

“You think so?” I muttered, almost adding, Well, you would know. But I didn’t, because that would be crazy (even though I thought it and my subconscious apparently believed it).

In the next moment, she was guiding me up steps and I realized as soon as the music hit my ears where we were. Well, maybe not specifically where we were. Rather, what kind of place we were in.

Sending her a look as she stepped away from my hold, she held my eyes for a long moment, dipping her fingers in water to the right of the inside door. She then crossed herself. Ophelia led me to the pew at the very back of the church, a smile teasing at her lips as she lifted her own voice to join the choir at the front in their hauntingly beautiful rendition of ‘Silent Night.’

She was right. I did like it. A lot.

Taking a moment, I glanced at our surroundings as the music filled the spaces around and within us. I was surprised by all the color, especially along the upper walls. Vibrant, giant frescoes in high contrast had been painted beneath arching windows. The ceiling was white or beige, impossible to tell without daylight, and green vines had been painted between the rafters, reaching from the back of the church to the alter.

Visually, it was louder, the art less muted but no less ostentatious than the Catholic churches I’d visited throughout Europe. But I decided I liked it better than St. Peter’s gold gilt, pastels, and white marble.