Page 36 of The ABCs of You & Me

“I’m not sure if these fries are things I’d turn to if I was grieving the love of my life,” Foster ponders, holding up a fry and studying it. “They aren’t bad, they just aren’t good enough to be grief fries.”

“Grief fries?”

“Bereavement frites.” I try to hold in my laughter, which is a mistake because it causes the sip of margarita I just took to shoot out of my nose.

“Oh my god.” I grab frantically for a napkin. “That fucking burns!”

“Here.” Foster hands me his, and I dab at my nose and chin while he tries and fails to hide his laughter.

“Let’s never speak of this again.” I glare at him.

“So I shouldn’t write a detailed account of the events of the past two minutes as my contribution to the wall?” he teases.

“Only if it paints me as an innocent party,” I say matter-of-factly, balling up the napkin and setting it to the side.

“It was with my deepest shock and horror that I unknowingly caused my stunning companion to spew a neon-green beverage out of her nose. Even with the filtered drink dripping down her face her beauty was ten times that of anyone else in the room. I can only hope that one day she will forgive me for my outrageous sense of humor,” he says as if performing a Shakespearean play, and despite knowing he’s putting on an act, I cannot help my mind from snagging on “stunning” and “beauty.” If crushes die hard, mine is an expert at evading its execution.

“That was excellent. You may have a future on the stage.”

“If I didn’t have stage fright, that would be fun.”

“You have stage fright? But you’re so confident,” I marvel.

“In a small group, sure. In front of a large one, not so much.”

The rest of our meal is fine, but certainly nothing to shout about. Before leaving, we both write notes and find a place to stick them on the wall. He wouldn’t show me his, so I hid mine as well. It seemed only fair.

The first half of the concert is electric, and while I spend most of it completely captivated by whatever Nyx is doing, I cannot stop myself from noticing the way the woman beside Foster keeps peeking over at him. I can’t blame her; I’d be looking too if he were a stranger. His hair is stylishly messy, and his T-shirt doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He’s clearly someone who treats his body well, plus all those tattoos aren’t so bad.

His amber eyes are wide and seem to look at everything with wonder. He catches me watching him and smiles, and for a split second I’m twelve again and Foster’s teasing Cass about something and then smiling at me the same way, except back then he had a mouth full of metal. I need to write a Yelp review for his orthodontist because that smile is now commercial-worthy.

“She’s ridiculous,” he shouts, leaning in closer so I can hear him.

“Her performance is something, eh?” He nods back, but his attention is already back above the stage as Nyx is now suspended fifty feet in the air playing a piano.

I’m still distracted by the other woman. She’s becoming bolder, moving closer to Foster and eventually leaning in to say something to him. He turns briefly to her so I can’t see if he’s smiling the way he smiled at me. I hate the little bubble of jealousy that builds somewhere deep inside.You have absolutely no claim on him. We’re friends. Let him have his fun.

When Nyx gets to the section of her slower, more acoustic guitar songs, I see the woman lean into Foster again, and this time I know exactly what she’s doing as she bites her lip, gives him a full-body scan, and turns to leave. Foster’s head is turned, watching her go, and when she looks back and sees that his eyes are on her still, she bounces her eyebrows at him before disappearing down the aisle toward the exit.

“Go on, have some fun,” I force out.

His head snaps back to me, brows furrowed. “What?”

“She clearly wants you to follow her. Go on, go have some fun.”

“We’re here together,” he shouts back. “This is fun.” He gestures between us.

“Well, not exactly together,” I correct even though it sucks to say out loud.

“Well, I am here with you and because of you.” He leans closer so I can feel his words brush my ear when he says them. “And I don’t want to go hook up with some random at a concert because she made eyes at me. That’s not my style, Soph.”

My name sounds like a plea, but it’s loud in here and that could be all in my head. I’m afraid to look at him, afraid that I’ll see my own longing reflected back at me, terrified that I won’t. So I nod, keeping my eyes on the stage.

“I do have to pee, though, so that’s where I’m going now.”

About ten minutes later, the flirty woman returns looking more than a little put out, and if the look she gives me is any indication, I’m the reason she’s feeling that way. When Foster comes walking back, I see the woman panic and switch places with her friend. He’s carrying two drinks and wearing a new T-shirt. The official concert tour T-shirt, to be exact.

“It’s ginger ale,” he yells, handing me a cup. Ginger ale is a weird choice to randomly bring someone who isn’t feeling ill—or it would be if the person it was being brought to wasn’t me. The bubble of jealousy begins to morph into something else as it hits me that even after all these years, Foster remembers what my favorite fizzy beverage is.

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