Page 39 of Sing it, Sam

Heat flushes my cheeks as I imagine him lying on a beach towel, boardies that sit low on his hips, sunnies over his eyes, bronzed skin and a rock-star smile, like he has the world at his feet. As for sitting beside him when he’s looking like Hollywood? Sounds pretty stellar to me.

“So that’s your perfect day, huh?” I ask.

“Not finished yet.” He reaches over and slips his hand into mine.

My breath hitches. Again.

“We’d walk along the white sandy beach, stroll for miles as the waves licked at our feet until the sun finally went down. Then we’d sit around a campfire, and I’d play my guitar and sing to you until the sun came up.”

Be still, my frenzied beating heart.He wants to sing to me?

What am I doing? I can’t flirt with someone that lives here.Although there wasn’t anything in my contract.

I shift my hand to my lap. “You can play guitar?” I ask, knowing full well he does after overhearing his conversation with Frederick.

“Used to,” he says, positioning his hands as if he has an invisible guitar, and he’s ready to strum. “Kind of off the cards, now.” His hands drop like a dead weight into his lap. I see the pain in his eyes sometimes when he tries to move his hands. I don’t like it one bit.

Sam hangs his head and focuses on his knees. I hate that he seems so defeated over this. He has to have hope.I have to give him hope.

“You’ll play again. I just know it.” I give him a wide smile, the only thing I can do that feels right. Sam won’t even look at me. I reach out and grip his forearm. “Maybe not today, but one day.”

He grumbles and flips his wrist, awkwardly linking his fingers between mine.

“What would you sing to me?” I say in a soft voice.

His eyes meet mine. “Huh?”

“By the campfire,” I coax. “You know, at sunset.”

A grin stirs at the corner of his mouth. “Anything and everything, until my voice goes hoarse and I crash with exhaustion.”

My insides resume melting. There may not be anything left of me at the end of this conversation. “Then you have to believe that that will happen too. I believe, Sam.”

An ambulance siren blares in the distance, growing louder by the second. Moments later, flashing red lights penetrate the sheer white curtains of Sam’s room. Tyres squeal as the vehicle pulls to a halt close by.

“Jane, I need you out front,” the walkie-talkie on my hip screeches.

I bolt upright from the chair and grab the device. My hand shakes as I press down the button on the side. My heart explodes in my chest as adrenaline kicks in. “On my way,” I choke out.

“An ambo’s here?” Sam asks, wheeling closer to the curtain.

“I need to go.”

I hope all the residents I’ve grown to care about are okay.

But I know deep down that I’m wrong.

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