She's like the wind. Ephemeral and no less destructive for her beauty and form.

Christopher Clarke has watched her, just like this, more times than he can remember, and it's always the same. She's magic and light on stage, but when the curtains close, she's untouchable, unreachable.

Still, he wouldn't miss a performance from Sara Deveraux, especially when she's the heroine in his favorite play, and it's just getting to the good part.

"Sara, try singing as if you're speaking to a lover instead of the cashier at the grocer."

He loves how Sara blushes, before she gives a slight nod. Again her voice carries on the wind and Chris closes his eyes to listen. When she reaches for her falsetto, however, the crack is glaringly unmistakable as is the disappointment that hangs in the air.

"Carlotta!" Maestro yells. A busty woman with a wealth of carmine hair enters stage right.

"Yes, Maestro."

"Will you please sing Sara's section so she can hear how it should sound."

Chris watches Carlotta takes her place and listens as she bellows the song only Sara can rightly sing. He cringes when she sings the falsetto perfectly. Thankfully her round figure is too plump for the part or Sara would be out on her ear.

Sara clears her throat and tries three more times to reach a falsetto that just isn't going to give in, before Maestro moves on, clearly unwilling to spend more time today on Sara's failures.

Chris moves away when the troupe continues on with the play, forming a plan in his mind as he goes. If Sara can't reach the height of her part, he'll figure out a way to move the part for her.

"Please say you'll come with us," Carlotta pleads. "It's still early and Will would surely walk you home."

"It's a lovely thought," Sara smiles. "But I've got to practice more. If I can't hit that note, Maestro's likely to boot me and then where will I be? I've been wanting this part for months now."

"Okay," Carlotta pouts. "But don't say I didn't offer."

"You're the best," Sara grins and gives Carlotta hug before her friends exits the dressing room. Sara heads back out onto the stage and cues up the song that's got her hanging out alone on a Friday night.

Each time her voice balks at the strain of her impossible falsetto, Sara sighs and tries again. After an hour. she's frustrated and ready to quit.

"It's not your voice that's the problem." Sara whirls around and finds a stranger standing near the other edge of the stage. His sandy blond hair hangs over a half mask that Sara finds intriguing.

"Isn't it?" she comments. "Gee, if only I could reprimand my vocal cords for being uncooperative."

He grins and his light eyes fill with humor. "If only," he says, taking a few steps toward her. "Well, let me rephrase. Your voice isn't the only issue. Falsettos are like intimate partners. They want to be courted and reassured.

"Do they?"

"When you strain your voice to reach for a note, you're effectively telling your body that you don't quite care what it feels like doing. You can't be bothered with waiting."

"So, what would you suggest I do, considering I have only two months to get this song perfect?"

"We simply need to train your voice to trust you."

"Well, my goodness I didn't realize it was so easy."

Again, he smiles and Sara feels a flutter in her belly.

"Would you be interested in learning how to get your voice to cooperate and get in line?"

"What qualifications do you have that lends itself to my trusting you?"

"Simple. I am the writer of the play you wish to perform. Without my innate knowledge, you wouldn't have a part to sing."