Page 63 of Sounds Like Love

Tropical storm Darcy.

There still was a chance it might not hit.

The storm was a good week out, and the models projected it going every which way—most of them swinging back out to sea and missing us entirely. I’d lived through enough hurricane seasons to know that it was too early to tell. The hurricanes that were projected to hit us rarely dumped a rain shower,while the ones the meteorologists said would miss us entirely sucker punched us right in the gut. Jimmy Buffett said it best—there was no use “trying to reason with hurricane season.”

And currently, my biggest problem wasn’t a hurricane named Darcy.

I massaged the bridge of my nose and stifled a yawn. The band ran way too late last night, and I didn’t get in until close to one a.m. Mom accidentally misplaced the coffee somewhere, so we didn’t have any this morning. I could’vereallyused a cup.

I’ll be at the Rev shortly.

“Okay—oh.”He sounded surprised at something.

Everything okay?

“I think someone recognized me.”

Run, I advised.

“Ha, I’ll be there soon.”

I wasn’t joking when I advised him to run. Locals recognizing him was one thing, but tourists always thought that being onvacationmeant that they could do whatever they wanted. But I was sure he dealt with people all the time, so who was I to say anything?

Crumpling up my M&M’s wrapper, I tossed it into the trash and picked up my sandwiches at the end of the counter. “Thanks, Red,” I told the old guy behind the counter, putting a ten in the tip jar, and left for the Rev.

At the corner, I turned to make my way up Main Street to the Rev, when I caught sight of a crowd in front of Cool Beans. I backtracked a little, squinting to see if it was any concern of mine. Two young women giggled to each other and parted, and there in the middle of the throng was Sebastian Fell, surrounded on all sides by people who wanted their photos taken or something signed.He smiled at everyone, and laughed, and posed for their selfies.

Guess he didnotrun.

He probably wouldn’t have been spotted at all if he’d just bought one of those vacation shirts instead of walking around like a Gucci model.

I would’ve just left him, but then I heard his voice in my head, tight and frantic.“I’m going to be late—I should tell her.”

I inclined my head, listening.

“Smile. Oh, there’s two of you. Nod, yes, this is so funny. Ha, laugh. Please get your hand off my ass.”He stepped away from the young woman in question, turning so that her hand slipped away, and greeted a tween, stooping for a selfie with her.

I’d been in his head before without him realizing, but this was the first time while knowing that he was Sebastian Fell. He sounded so polite and welcoming with the crowd, it was surprising to hear his voice so nervous. Our fight came to mind—what had he said? That everyone took photosofhim, and talkedathim, and gossipedabouthim, but never gave him a chance to be a person. He was a story to them.

Not real.

Just the way I had thought of him, too. I hadn’t gushed over him or asked for a selfie, but I never gave him the chance to be anything more than a story on Page Six.

Why was he evenoverhere? He could’ve just gone straight to the Rev and passed this entire headache.

“The things I do,” I muttered to myself, and set off down the sidewalk toward the horde of people surrounding Sebastian. When I was within earshot, I cleared my throat and called, “Sebastian!”

He didn’t hear me as he autographed a receipt one-handed and returned the pen to the man with a “Nice to meet you.” And greeted the next person.They were queuing up at this point.

Todd came out of Cool Beans and stood helplessly beside me. “It’s like Disney World. One person got in line and then the rest of them. He just came for coffees. He’s been standing here for atleastfifteen minutes.”

“Ah. That’s not great. Excuse me,” I added, trying to slip through the crowd. A tourist shot me a glare as I slipped past her, and someone else told me to wait my turn, but I didn’t have the patience for that. “Sebastian,” I called again, but he had his back turned, chatting. I reached forward and slipped my arm into his, and said, “Sasha.”

He jerked his head toward me. The smile plastered across his face flickered with anxiety.

Play along?I advised.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,”he replied, and with my arm through his, I felt him relax against me.

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