Page 115 of Crave Thy Neighbor

I shake my head, unable to speak.

He gives me a shy grin as he sits. When our shoulders brush, neither of us moves to give the other more room, both relishing the feeling too much to do so.

Dean leans forward, giving Nolan a pointed look. “Glad you could come.”

Nolan’s lips tighten with annoyance, but he doesn’t let it linger too long. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Tension lingers, thick and suffocating, and I miss the times when it was easier with Nolan, when nothing was strained between us and being with him felt as natural as breathing or loving The Beatles.

“Did we miss anything?” Caroline asks, sliding down the aisle of chairs, Cooper right behind her. She plops down in the chair next to Nolan. “We got held up. Someone came into the store five minutes before close.”

“Good sale?” River asks.

Caroline nods. “Over two hundred.”

River sits back with a smile, pleased.

“Where’s Patrick?” Dean asks, checking the time on his phone. “It’s about to start and Sam goes on fourth.”

Frustration slams into me, and I try my hardest not to get upset all over again thinking about the phone call I received thirty minutes before we left the apartment.

Patrick couldn’t make it…again.

He was bailing on his son…again.

“Last-minute work thing came up.” I try to contain my anger when I say it, but the words still come out with grit.

Anger flashes in River’s eyes and she opens her mouth to respond, but the lights dim and the crowd goes quiet. She settles back in her chair, shaking her head.

I understand her reaction. She’s been there as much as I have to pick up the pieces when Patrick disappoints Sam.

“Told ya he’s a fucking moron,” Nolan mutters out of the side of his mouth, and my shoulders shake with laughter.

A sense of calm washes over me for the first time tonight. This feels normal with him. Feels good. Feelsright.

The announcer hits the stage, and we focus our attention on the front of the room. The curtains pull back for the first act, and that’s when I feel it.

Nolan’s fingers ghosting down my arm.

He slips his hand under mine and laces our fingers together, pulling our joined hands into his lap.

My breathing stops, and I swear I feel his touch everywhere.

It’s like coming home.

When I remember to breathe again, I peek over at him. He’s staring straight ahead, attention on the stage in front of him. We sit like this through two more performances, him watching the stage and me watching him.

“Next up, we have Samuel Martin singing and playing guitar.”

Everyone applauds politely…except for us.

“Yeah, big Sammy!” Cooper hollers, hands cupped around his mouth.

“Woohoo!”

“Go, Sammy!” Dean claps, whistling loudly and clearly playing favorites.

“Kick some a—”

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