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A Very Chapel Falls Christmas

By Amanda Lauer

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Chapter 1


He squeezed Willow’s hand, nerves getting the best of him. The slender fingers, which gave her the dexterity to be the celebrated piano player that she was, were surprisingly chilly at the moment.
She glanced his way, slipped her hand from his, and proceeded to pluck a hair from his tuxedo sleeve. If it’d been up to him, he’d have left the hair there—considered it a talisman for good luck from man’s best friend. His closest friend at this moment, truth be told.
Turning again towards the stage, Willow’s bright blue eyes were fixed on the podium some twenty rows ahead of them. Cool as a cucumber. He gave her credit. She’d kept her
composure as they’d sat through the Grammy ceremony together last month. And now, here they were, at the Academy Awards, and she was equally unflustered. A person would never know that they were waiting for a life-changing award to be announced.
Hands free, he tented his fingers. Thinking better of it—so it didn’t appear that he was praying as the cameras swept over them—he set his hands on his thighs.
A young pop singer, whose song was all the rage now, stepped to the podium, the sequins of her bone-fitting gown reflecting the glare of the stage lights trained on her lithe figure. She
reminded him of a rainbow snake that he’d once encountered when he was touring Bayou Country in southern Louisiana. Ugh. Probably be easier for that reptile to shed its skin than for that girl to get out of that dress when the ceremony concluded tonight.

“Hopefully, she’s more than a one-hit wonder,” he remarked. “Maybe then she’ll be able to afford to feed herself.” A quick glance his way, showcasing Willow’s perfectly threaded arched eyebrows, was the only response to his words. Her head forward once again, he was left staring at her profile. Prominent cheekbones highlighted her striking features, her face framed with platinum blonde finger-waved hair. Her hands were folded demurely on her lap, the solitaire diamond ring centered squarely on her left ring finger.
“And the winner of this year’s Oscar for Best Original Score goes to…” The singer pried the envelope open with her perfectly manicured nail. A smile came to her lips, as though she actually recognized the name printed on the card.
Before the word was even completely out of the presenter’s mouth, he sprang to his feet, pulled Willow up alongside him, and crushed her in his arms. Two major awards in a row. It was mind-blowing. Confirmation that leaving the comforts of home for the unknowns of big city life—and dedicating every waking minute to music since then—had been worth it.
Willow stepped into the aisle and allowed him to pass. As he strode toward the front of the auditorium, fellow musicians and prominent guests offered their congratulations and fist- bumped and high-fived him.
“Way to go, Nik,” yelled his buddy Joe, himself an unbelievably talented composer. “She mangled the name, but we all knew it’d be you anyhow.”
Hadn’t been the first time someone tripped over that. Which explained why he went by Nik. Even Willow had a hard time with his given name Nukilik. Strong. A common name in the Inuit culture. Not so common in the contiguous United States.

Nik smiled, buttoned his tuxedo jacket, and ascended the steps to the stage. The presenter waited for him with the Oscar—which looked to be half her body weight—and then shoved it towards him. He gave her a nod of thanks and, gripping the statue for all that he was worth, hoisted it over his head and stepped to the podium.
When the crowd noise subsided, Nik pointed skyward. “First things first. All praise and glory to God.” Polite clapping ensued. “I’d like to thank the committee for not only the nomination but for bestowing this honor on me. A decade of studio work backing up some of the
craziest talented musicians on this planet, touring every backwater dive in this country, living out of a van for more months than I can remember. Just goes to show that hard work pays off.”
He took a gulp of air so he could continue. “There are so many people I could thank who’ve brought me to this moment in my life. I don’t want to start listing names in case I miss
anyone but know that I remember each and every one of you, and I’ll be forever grateful for the role you’ve played in my life.”
A heartier round of applause swept the room. “That being said, there is one person who I have to single out. The one who’s been with me ever since I found myself in Nashville—the
epitome of the starving artist. She’s been with me through thick and thin, working with me side by side, guiding me along the way.”
Nik nodded toward the row of seats he’d just vacated. “Willow, babe, you should really
be the one up on this stage. Your talent blows me out of the water. I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for you.”

He gave his fiancée a quick smile and turned back to face the general audience. “Thank you again. I’m honored. I’m humbled. I’m grateful for this blessing.” Giving a slight bow, he stepped away from the podium and was escorted backstage.
As he took his place in front of the Academy Awards screen, the flashing cameras blinded him, but Nik smiled through all the fuss from the paparazzi. What was probably three minutes later, but felt like thirty, he’d been congratulated by every person backstage, and, with a commercial break upon them, he was finally allowed to resume his seat.
Once more, he navigated through the gauntlet of friends acknowledging his win, a few who reached out to rub the Oscar statue for good luck, and others giving him knucks. He got back to his row and did a doubletake. The seat next to his was empty. Was he in the right row?
Row T. That was the one. Where had Willow gone? Not wanting to make a scene, he resumed his seat and pulled his phone from his front pants pocket. Plenty of texts, but none from Willow.
EVERYTHING OK? Send.

No response. Maybe she was in the ladies’ room. Nik settled into the velvet-cushioned chair and watched the stage as the cameras started rolling again. As the proceedings continued, he glanced over his shoulder every so often. He concluded that—with only three awards left to be presented—Willow was waiting in the lobby for him.
Best Picture was the final award. A wry smile came to Nik’s lips. It’d been a bittersweet moment when he’d discovered that the score he’d written and performed for the movie had been nominated for an Oscar this year, but the film hadn’t made the cut. This project had been near and dear to his heart. The movie was set in an Alaska Native village close to where he’d been

born. It was a compelling story that painted a fair picture of the Inuit people as a whole. Critics raved about it, but apparently that didn’t sway the members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences who voted to determine the nominees.
The final curtain dropped. It took a good twenty minutes for the crowd to disperse from the auditorium. Once he finally made it back to the lobby, his eyes scanned the area for Willow’s blond hair. She always stood out in a crowd.
Attendees were leaving for the after-parties. With his Oscar in hand, Nik had more than his share of invites. He looked forward to heading to the next venue but was starting to worry about Willow.
Finally, he felt his phone vibrate. A text from her. Thank goodness. He tapped her name and a message popped up.
I’M DONE.

DONE WITH WHAT? he typed back.

JUST DONE. GO OUT AND ENJOY YOUR VICTORY.

WHAT?? I WANT YOU HERE WITH ME. THIS IS OURS TO CELEBRATE TOGETHER.
No response. He gave it a minute and typed another message. NOT SURE WHAT’S GOING ON BUT I CAN COME GET YOU WHEREVER YOU ARE.
That was weird. The message failed to send. Had Willow blocked him?

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