Page 113 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Forty

“Seriously, though. I can’t believe they have a mile-long aisle for crackers and snacks. That’s just insane. Way too much choice for a small-town girl.”

“You say it like choice is a bad thing,” Ben says as he unlocks his car and opens the back door. I wheel the small trolley closer to the car, careful not to touch the paintwork.

“Well, in there it is!” I thumb towards the building. “I must’ve looked like a kangaroo in the headlights. It could’ve been days before I found what I was looking for.”

Ben unloads bags into the back. “Looks like some party you’ve got planned.” The two bottles of red wine clink as he positions them beside each other on the floor.

“I mean, I was hungry, hangry really, and well, Sam asked me to stay tonight, so I thought we could have a couple of drinks.”

“Sure,” Ben says and smiles briefly.

Ben is quiet the rest of the trip home. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of sleepovers. Me? I’m beside myself.

***

A short time after arriving back at the apartment, I deliver the meanest-looking, loaded-up cheese platter to Sam’s room. As soon as he lays eyes on it, he grins.

“Anyone else joining us?” he asks, toying at the neck of a fresh black T-shirt withCounting Crowswritten across his chest in white writing.

“Nah, just us. Ben’s having leftovers.”

“I meant, you have enough here to last us days, Janie.”

“Hey. I’m hangry. Don’t judge me.”

Sam’s hearty laugh fills the room, lighting it up and filling my heart just the same.

“Be back in a sec,” I say and run out to the kitchen, and grab two wine glasses and a bottle of red. Ben is hovering over a bowl of food, his eyes fixed on a game of rugby league on TV.

When I get back to the room, Sam has tidied the bed covers, and the platter is on a small table he’s pulled closer. I pour each of us a small glass.

“We need some tunes,” Sam says around a mouthful of food. He takes a cylindrical silver speaker from his bedside table. He pairs the device with his phone, and soft music filters throughout the room.

A few wines down, Sam is slurring, and I’m no better in the speech department. Being together is bliss. Being away from the home, having a room where we can truly relax, is heaven.

A familiar reggae tune has me bopping my head, which has quickly become floppy on my shoulders. My fingers tingle from the fermented grape-induced high, which doesn’t help when I’m trying to cut a few wedges of double brie cheese to slide onto crackers for us.

Sam hums along to the song “Every Little Thing Gonna Be Alright”.

“Bob Marley, yeah?” I ask.

“Yup.” Sam smiles as he sways upper body. It looks as if he’s having the same trouble I am when it comes to holding his head up.

“You know, if I was into smoking pot, I would definitely do it listening to Bob,” I say and giggle.

Sam chuckles. “Is that so, huh?”

“Yup.”

“I thought you were a good girl, Janie,” Sam teases.

I hold one hand up as if taking an oath. “I swear, I am.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “You know, one day we’ll get our campfire.”

“Campfire?”

“You know, the one you told me about?”Surely, he remembers.

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