Page 99 of Lotus

Meanwhile, poor Oliver is studying the drink menu like he’s reading an introduction into brain surgery. I glide down the bar, deciding I should start actually working before my boss sees me slacking off and scolds me. “What can I get for you, Oliver?”

He sets the menu down, eyes lifting until he finds my baby blues. They seem to steal his breath for one blissful moment. “Oh, um, this strawberry creation looks rather good. It comes with a little fruit medley.”

His eyes twinkle with authentic joy.

Over a fruit skewer.

“God, I love you.”

The three words tumble off my tongue, unexpected, spontaneous—a potent proclamation. A weight that sinks me,sinks me, until I’m swallowed whole, struggling for air.

A gasp follows, his and mine, and for a moment I forget we’re staring at each other in a crowded nightclub. The music dies out, the laughter, the voices, the noise; it’s drowning, right along with me, and then I’m lying on that grassy hill with Oliver and we are gazing up at the starry night sky, watching the fireworks.

“Should I make a wish?” I wonder, my voice sprinkled with magic.

“You make wishes on falling stars, Syd. Not fireworks.”

“Says who?”

“I dunno. No one, I guess.”

I pucker my lips, deep in thought. “I make wishes on birthday candles and dandelion seeds. Fireworks can reach higher than those.”

We’re shoulder to shoulder, our faces alight with radiant colors as the fireworks burst to life above us.

“What do you mean, higher?”

“You know, for the man who grants our wishes. He lives in the sky.”

Oliver appears dumbfounded. “Really?”

“Maybe.”

“You should make a wish, then.”

Our heads twist at the same time, and we’re face-to-face.

“Okay.”

His eyes are glowing with reds and blues and purples. “What’s your wish?”

“I should write it down. Then it will definitely come true.”

“So write it down.”

I blink myself back to reality, shutting the lid on my box of reveries.

There’s no need to reminisce the past, or get swept up in another life, or stress about thewhat might have beens, because the look in Oliver’s eyes tells me all I need to know.

My wish came true.

“Come on, Neville, spill it. You’re distracted and unfocused,” Brant says to me an hour later as I’m struggling to ring up a complicated order. He’s not angry or annoyed—he’s concerned.

I blow out a breath, my hair dancing along with it, and pause to gather my bearings. I’ve been trying to stay professional all evening, but Oliver hasn’t left the bar, despite Gabe’s admirable efforts to get him on the dance floor or pull him over to a table. He’s waiting for me to get off work so we can talk, and then I’ll be forced to elaborate on those three friendship-changing words, and all my feelings will bubble over, and I won’t know what to do.

My eyes scan the crowd, envious of the way Gabe and Tabitha make it look soeasy. They’re dancing like fools without a care in the world, and they clearly have the worst moves out of everyone on the dance floor—but they also have the biggest smiles, and that’s what counts.

With a final sigh, slamming the cash register closed, I glance towards Brant. “Remember when you said I wore my heart in my eyes?”

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