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I shot him a questioning glance, but he wound his thick fingers through mine and squeezed.
Play along.
My face was a furnace. I raised the cold bottle to my cheek and pressed it there gently, surprised steam didn’t curl through the air with a hiss.
Grayson’s smile faltered. I watched as he mentally rifled through memories, trying to figure out if I’d ever mentioned this guy to him. If any of his secret crusades through my phone ever produced the image of Sam’s smug face. Grayson came up empty, then turned to me for answers. “You never mentioned yourfriendhere to me.”
Sam answered. “She wouldn’t, I’m afraid. I’ve been admiring her from afar foryears,but she never gave me the time of day until just now.”
“So you’re a stalker,” Grayson asserted. He took a generous gulp of his pinot.
The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted and he squeezed my hand again. A reassurance; A promise. He looked down at me adoringly, like I was already precious to him. “I first saw Grace years ago, shining on my horizon just out of reach like a star in the night. She was a rainbow lingering on the edge of my vision, luring me further into the waters of my unrequited college crush with the promise of a priceless treasure at the end of my winding path. Every time she glanced at me, I felt like she saw me—reallysaw me—though I was nothing but a looking glass as she searched for you. I longed for scraps of her attention, because I couldn’t take my attention away from her, and I craved equilibrium. She’s a flawless diamond in a shifting sea of glass: once you know it’s out there, you can never stop looking for it. Even if you have to spend years of your life trying to find it again. Even if you cut yourself bloody from stepping on anything less, it’s worth it.She’sworth it. I’m a man obsessed. So yes, yes I suppose you could call me a stalker.”
My jaw dropped.
Sam’s eyes bored into me. I could tell by the intensity of his gaze that he believed every single word that came out of his mouth was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
This boy was dangerous.
Grayson shifted his weight and furrowed his brow, his patience fraying. “What are you, a fuckingbard?”
Sam smirked, his eyes glittering with the thrill of the game. “Mostly people call me a bastard, not a bard, but sure, I’ll take it.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed and his fingers twitched. I could tell he was itching to wrap them around Sam’s throat.
Sam brought his finger and thumb to his jaw in a thoughtful gesture. “I guess you could call memodernbard—one who just captured his muse. The word for that would be a musician, by the way,” Sam said, finally tearing his eyes from me to wink at Grayson. “Or rather, musician-turned-producer. It’s much more fun to work a room instead of letting the room work you, you know?”
Grayson bristled, shedding his layers of lawyer charm like a snakeskin. “So you stalked my girlfr—Grace foryears?!”
“That’s irrelevant now, don’t you think?” Sam quipped, wrapping his warm, thick arm around my shoulder like a boa. “Congratulations, by the way,” he said as he gestured to Eden’s ring.
“Thank you,” she said in her slow, syrupy voice.
Grayson wasfuming.He probably didn’t even know what was happening on a conscious level—all he could feel was that he was losing some sort of game.
Grayson hated losing.
Sam wasn’t done. He smiled deviously, knowing victory was already in his mouth. “Now—I must know. How didyoutwo meet?”
“Tinder,” Eden said dreamily, oblivious.
Tears poured down my face, but it was because I’d been laughing for almost an hour straight.
After the showdown under the trellis, Grayson made an excuse, hooked his arm through Eden’s, and left with his tail between his legs. Sam said something smart to entice me away from the crowd so we could talk in private, but there was no need.
There was no resistance left in me. I was bewitched.
I texted Effie that I wanted to stay a little longer and she gave me the thumbs up.
The sun lingered just above the horizon, blanketing the glittering city of Watervale in pastels and gold. Sam and I cuddled on one of the square love seats overlooking the shimmering, watercolor skyline. Our second whisky glasses stood empty on the ground nearby.
Resting my head on Sam’s chest felt natural. His warm arm draped around my shoulder felt like the most normal thing in the world. It felt like we’d been doing it foryears.
It felt safe. It felt easy. It felt like home.
Even though he was pretty much a stranger, being in Sam’s arms felt like lying in a hammock with a childhood friend. Here in his arms, just for us, the world stopped turning.
That’s what we were together—a pause button: two parallel lines pressed into the square cushion until we glowed.
