Page 29 of Echoes of a Silent Song
“Because I’m starving,” Victor declared.
I smiled up at him.“Me too.”
“Well then, milady”—Victor gave an exaggerated courtly bow, complete with a flourish of his cape—“would you care to accompany me to the purveyor of concessions?”
Giggling, I set my horn down.“Of course, my liege.I particularly fancy a cylinder of their finest processed beef, grilled to perfection and served piping hot in a nest of freshly baked bread, topped with a pinch of Dijon and an array of chopped pickles.”
“That does sound delicious.”Victor beamed, pleased that I’d joined in his game.“I have my eye on that as well.It would be even more scrumptious with a side order of potatoes, sliced into strips, salted, and fried to a crisp.”He leaned in, brows arching with mischief.“Perhaps they won’t go cold this time.”
Our eyes met and our laughter increased, the shared moment at Sammy’s shimmering in the chilly air between us.
“In fact,” he continued, “perhaps later we could—”
“Hey!You two!”
We turned at the sound, and a long-haired kid in a pair of bell-bottoms and a bunch of necklaces aimed a camera at us.
“Smile,” he said.“Say cheese.Whatever.”
“Sure,” Victor replied in his normal voice.“Just let me put my hat back on.”
The rest of the band streamed past on the way to the snack stand as Victor replaced his hat and leaned in close.His hat clunked against mine, and his arm found its way around my waist.
His arm.
Was around.
My waist.
Someone was touching me.
Victorwas touching me.
And unlike touches from most people, Victor’s felt nice.Comfortable.Like I belonged to him.
I slipped my arm around his waist too.And it didn’t feel as weird as I thought it would.
He tightened his grip, and that didn’t feel weird either.
In fact, it felt ...good.
“Okay,” the photographer said.“One ...two ...three!”The camera clicked, and the flashbulb popped.“Far out.”His feet crunched against the gravel around the field as he headed toward a cheerleader.
What was I supposed to do now?Spots from the camera flash still danced in front of my eyes, and Victor and I still stood there, smiling at nothing, our arms around each other.But he slid his away, and I did the same.
Phew.Okay.Good.It was over.
Wait,wasthat good?Was I truly glad it was over, or did a large part of me wish it would happen again?
Okay, all of me wished it would happen again.But maybe not at the orders of a half-stoned photographer.
As though summoned by my thoughts, Victor slipped his hand intomine.He still wore his gloves, and so did I, but I could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layers of white fabric.
We were holding hands.And ...that felt good too.
“Let’s see.”Victor no longer sounded like he was from London.“We’ve been out to Sammy’s together.And we’ve been photographed together.And now we’re holding hands.”
Curious, I glanced his way.“All of that is true.”
