Page 55 of A Surefire Love
When he hadn’t texted her Saturday or sought her out at church Sunday morning, she expected him to renege.
Yet here he was.
Satisfaction and anticipation unfurled in her chest. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.” She motioned at the stage.
“Don’t let me stop you.” He pulled out a chair at the table and dropped onto it. “We can talk after.”
If she stayed late again instead of going straight home to relieve Marissa, her friend would grill her for information. Already, she kept putting air quotes around the wordfriendswhen referring to Blaze and Anson.
He rested his forearms on the table and dipped his head to catch her eye. “That work for you?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.”
Anson’s brow furrowed, but Philip passed and pointed at the stage. Time to get back to work. She tucked her phone into her pocket as Anson studied her. He didn’t understand the power of his full attention to crumble her defenses or he wouldn’t keep turning that weapon on her. Would he?
“See you after.” She escaped to the stage.
Except the platform didn’t shelter her from him. Dozens of others filled the room, but he was the only person she saw. The only one she cared to impress. Questions about him swirled in her brain, distracting her from her own performance. When she finally replaced the mic, she wondered if she’d put on a good show or mumbled her way through it.
“Good work tonight, everyone.” Philip lifted the strap of his bass over his head. “See you all Thursday at lunch.”
The Signalmen had been performing together so long, they hardly needed the lunchtime rehearsals anymore. Hopefully, Philip’s mention of it was routine and not a subtle jab at her performance.
She hopped off the stage and headed for Anson.
He stood when she neared. “You’re not a beggar, Blaze. Choose.”
A giddy exhale escaped. “What am I choosing?”
Sydney and her friends skirted their table on their wayout. Blaze’s stomach clenched, but Sydney flashed her a soft smile.
Anson’s focus stayed on Blaze. “When and where you want the conversation to happen.”
She swallowed. Sydney was a living, breathing example that a relationship with Anson could go off track. That there were right answers and wrong answers, some that divided and some that connected. She desperately wanted to connect—wanted his stories, his attention, his affection. “What are my options?”
He shook his head. “I decline to influence your decision in that manner.” Humor played at the corners of his mouth—that perfect mouth.
She passed her palms over the hips of her jeans. “I feel like a genie’s granting me three wishes.”
“Just one. And I’m no genie.”
But he could make her wishes come true. She clenched her teeth to keep that one inside. “Well, I’m curious, so I’d rather not wait. We both know I have a hard enough time focusing without a juicy question distracting me.”
“The prescription still isn’t helping?”
She shook her head. “Unless you call turning me into a zombie helpful.”
He winced. “I wasn’t thinking about how tired you might be when I came here.”
“Are you about to offer an option?”
He shut his mouth and mimed zipping his lips.
“I feel this way no matter the time of day, and it could be weeks before I get better, so for the foreseeable future, it’s zombie or nothing.”
“Then I’ll take zombie.” After a beat, a grin spread his lips.
“What?”
