Page 68 of Thorns That Bloom
As he lets out a gasp, I halt my movements.
He must have realized how much he let his pheromones go, because I see the sides of his neck and his ears flush with a glorious, lovely shade of dark pink in real time. “I— I’m sorry, I got…I got too comfortable and—”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, even if my mouth waters. “It’s okay, you’re…safe,” I whisper, perhaps a little too close to him. I figure that when goosebumps bloom across his nape. With a painfully awkward tap on his shoulders, I pull away. “We’re all done, anyway. I say that as if I have any qualifications,” I pause with a snort, “but I did my best, and it should feel a little better at least?”
Sam shifts his shoulders, moves them up and down, then his head. He quickly puts his jacket back on, back still to me.
“It’s much better, actually,” he says, sheepishly meeting my gaze. “Thank you. I appreciate this.” My heart leaps at the genuine tenderness he lets through in his voice. “And I know. I do feel safe…with you.”
Hearing those words out loud makes me think I’m in some daydream.
Smiling widely, I nod, and before I can get a hold on my dumb feelings, I blurt the first thing that comes to my mind. The thing I’ve been thinking about a lot. The thing I’ve wanted to ask him about before I messed up and upset him and then thought I ruined it completely by having that phone call in the worst of my rut. “Would you like to come and watch me perform?”
Sam’s brows shoot up in surprise.
I feel stupid for blurting it out like that, so I start clarifying. “There’s this little club downtown I perform at sometimes. It’s called The Butterfly Den. I sing and play guitar there. A lot of indie and up-and-coming artists do. Well, it’s been a while since I’ve gone, and I thought I’d have to wait even longer, because my finger still doesn’t let me play properly,” I pause, showing the injured digit, “but this guy I know offered to fill in as the guitarist so I can perform. It’s not ideal, I really don’t like singing without playing, but I haven’t been in so long, it felt like I had to take the chance.”
Oh, I’ve said too much. I can’t stop rambling when I’m around him!
His left brow goes down, while the other stays up. Sam moves his pursed lips to the side, maybe considering it. “When is this?”
“When? Oh. Right! This Wednesday, 7:40 PM. I know, I know, a random time. It’s how it is. You get what you get.”
“Is it supposed to be a date?” Sam asks, studying me cautiously.
I pause with a heavy gulp. “I— No. I was just wondering if you’d like to listen to me perform in a proper setting, singing a proper song. I mean…it’s whatever you want it…to be,” I say quickly.
As I lick my lips and brave another glance, I notice an unusual, borderline playful smile on Sam’s face. His eyes soften. “I admit, you have a lovely singing voice. But the karaoke probably wasn’t the best circumstance to show it, so…I’ll come, sure. To watch you perform,” he notes with a hint of friskiness to his words, almost like he’s toying with the ambiguity of the invitation.
My heart fills with the same kind of joy as when I saw hisname on my phone screen the few days prior.
Sam stands up slowly, handing me the now empty plastic container with a thankful nod, feet pointed to the door. He rolls his shoulders back again, letting out a pleased sigh. Then, as I’m relishing his lingering scent and admiring his beauty again, he pauses with his hand on the door handle, looking at me over his shoulder.
“It better be worth dragging my pregnant ass across town and staying in regular clothes past my lazing-on-the-couch time,” he says, voice low and smooth, lips twitching with a fleeting smirk, before he turns.
I sit there, mouth agape, staring at the spot where he was, and if I knew better—if my mind wasn’t delusional and twisted in favor of wanting to believe that already—I would’ve sworn Sam just flirted with me…
?
It takes absolutely everything out of me to survive working my shift, or doing pretty much anything that isn’t practicing for my performance in the following two days. It feels like I’m training for the act of a lifetime. Like I’m going to be singing in front of Peggy Porter, the ‘alpha with the voice of an angel’ herself.
“You’re going to strain your vocal cords, Theo,” Dad says, letting out an amused chuckle as he glances at Pop next to him.
“But it’s good, right? It sounds good? Not too much?” I blurt out, fiddling with the guitar in my hand. They both sit in the kitchen with me after I’ve demanded to have their audience and for them to give their honest opinion on the song I will be singing in front of Sam. “Minus the guitar, obviously. I only hope that Max is as good this time as he usually is. He says he knows the song well, so…”
“Wouldn’t want him to ruin your serenading,” Pop teases.
I fight the urge to puff my cheeks like a child, settling only on stomping my foot. “Stop! Stop making fun and tell me.Honestly.”
“Of course it’s good. It’s perfect. Your voice is perfect, like it always is, my little dork, and your eyes shine with the most captivating adoration when you sing. I think he’s going to be as smitten as you want him to be,” Dad says. He stands up to come to me, putting his hands on my cheeks with a crooked smile, while Pop watches from the kitchen island, amused.
I purse my lips, doubt swirling inside my mind and my heart.
“I don’t want him to be overwhelmed. Or weirded out. It’s not too much, is it? It’s a love song, but it’s not a love song that would scare someone away, right?” I ask, darting my eyes to Dad specifically, hoping he understands what I mean.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Have you ever seen him this flustered over someone before?” he asks, twisting at his waist to Pop.
“Nope. Never.”
