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🎶 Chapter 3 — The First Look
Saturday afternoon, the church buzzed like a beehive 🐝 — voices echoing, microphones squealing, someone arguing over who stole their pen (again).
Sarah walked in with her binder and a smoothie, instantly regretting the smoothie part. The choir leader gave her a look.
> "Sarah, please tell me that drink won't end up on the hymn sheets."
> "Promise," she said, sipping nervously.
Then she spotted Eli.
Behind the drums again. Head bobbing to a rhythm that probably lived rent-free in his brain. 🥁
That smile — the one that could make a choir forget its lyrics — flashed as soon as he saw her.
> "Hey, Choir Girl," he mouthed.
She shook her head and mouthed back, "Stop calling me that."
He just tapped his sticks twice — his version of a wink.
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When they started singing "Oceans," she swore he was watching her the whole time.
Not creepy-watching — the kind that says "I see you pretending not to look at me."
Every time she lifted her eyes, he was already smirking.
> "Sarah, higher!" the choir leader called.
She jumped. "Sorry, ma'am!"
The soprano next to her whispered, "Girl, you're blushing." 😳
> "No, I'm hot," Sarah muttered.
> "Mhm. Sure," the girl said, grinning.
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🎤 After Practice
When everyone left, Sarah stayed behind — again — stacking sheet music and pretending not to wait for something (or someone).
Eli was still packing up his drum kit.
> "You ever gonna admit you stay late just to see me?" he asked with that half-grin.
> "You ever gonna stop assuming things?"
> "Not when I'm always right." 😏
> "You're never right."
> "I'm right now."
She blinked. "How?"
> "Because you didn't deny it fast enough."
She groaned. "You are impossible."
> "And yet, here you are."
Sarah threw a folder at him. He dodged, laughing. "You missed!"
> "Next time I won't," she said, trying not to smile.
He raised his hands like, "Okay, okay." "Fine. I'll chill. You just… distract me, that's all."
> "Me?"
> "Yeah. You sing like you mean every word."
That one hit different. The teasing disappeared for a second, replaced by something quieter — realer.
Sarah looked down. "You're such a flirt."
> "Nah," he said softly. "Just honest."
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🚶♀️ The Walk Home
Outside, the air was warm and sweet — that early-summer kind of night. Fireflies blinked lazily over the grass 🌙✨.
They walked side by side, shoes crunching gravel.
> "You ever think about how weird it is that people watch us sing like it's a concert?" Eli asked.
> "It's church, not Coachella," she said.
> "Still feels like a performance. Except you actually look like you mean it."
> "That's 'cause I do," Sarah said, smiling. "It's the only time I feel like I'm not overthinking everything."
He nodded, tapping his sticks against his thigh. "Yeah. I get that. When I'm drumming, it's like—"
> "Freedom?" she offered.
> "Exactly."
They stopped at her driveway.
> "This is me," she said, glancing toward her porch light.
> "Cool." He grinned. "See you at Sunday service?"
> "Yeah."
> "Good. I'll be the guy in the back pretending not to stare." 👀
She rolled her eyes, laughing. "You're ridiculous."
> "But you like it."
> "Goodnight, Eli."
> "Night, Choir Girl."
She turned quickly so he wouldn't see her smile — that big, stupid, can't-hide-it smile. 😌
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