Page 54 of She Was Made for Me

“This is cool,” Violet says as we walk through the garden. The large tree in the middle is strung with bulbs, making it glow as the sun sinks behind the city beyond. The entire garden feels magical and romantic, and if this were a date, I’d be pulling her aside for a kiss.

“Let’s go in and get a drink.” I head out of the dimly lit garden and into the bright lights of the theater, Violet trailing behind. “The usual?”

She nods, smiling. “Yes, please.”

I grab her a Riesling, get a beer for myself, and we mill about as we wait for the band to start. They don’t keep us waiting long, and soon enough the lights dim and the cavernous warehouse fills with music. In spite of myself, I grin over my beer at Violet as they play, glad I decided to come. I love their music, a genre called ‘Americana Rock’ that encompasses traditional music styles like folk, bluegrass, singer-songwriter and others. I discovered them, purely by accident, when I moved to Maine, and the lyrics of their songs remind me of the natural beauty of places like Kennebec County. Their music will always make me think of the move I made and the peace it brought me.

They play a great set, Violet and I hovering near the back enjoying the beat. I’m relieved to see that it’s not all twenty-somethings; there are people of all ages, and I don’t feel nearly as old as I’d imagined. I feel right at home, with Violet by my side.

“I love this song!” she squeals, as they begin to playFalse Floors—the song that was on when I scared her shitless in the basement that time. She sets her wineglass down on a table and grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd, closer to the band. Her hand is warm and soft in mine, her excitement palpable, and I move to the music beside her, feeling more alive than I have in a long time. Her energy is infectious, her smile so wide my heart pounds in response. And the fact that she’s still holding my hand in the crowd makes my skin feel electric. It makes me high.

When the song ends, she turns to me, beaming. Her gaze falls to our linked hands and she gives a sheepish laugh, unlacing her fingers. “Sorry.”

Don’t be sorry, I want to lean in and whisper to her.

Instead I smile, turning back to the stage as they begin a favorite of mine.

Violet leans in to speak to me over the music. “It’s so cool to finally see them live.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, cheeks pink, “I used to have a little crush on the lead guitarist.”

I grin at her teasingly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” An adorably awkward laugh titters out of her. “There’s something about a guy with a guitar…”

“I play guitar,” I blurt, like a teenager trying to impress his crush.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She twists to meet my gaze, her face lighting with an interested smile. “Really?”

“I’m not very good,” I admit. Now I’m the one laughing awkwardly. “But I can play.”

She lifts her brows in a way that says she likes that, a lot. And even though I’m not supposed to be encouraging this, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the feeling I get when she looks at me like that—the way my chest expands, my pulse accelerates.

Then the guilt and disappointment that always follow. The knowledge that I’m falling for a girl I’ll never be allowed to touch.

“I need to get some air,” I mumble, pulling away from her. I push through the crowd and out into the garden, hoping Violet won’t follow me.

Ah, that’s a lie.

I expect the garden to be busy with other people getting a breather from the crush of the crowd, but it’s not. It’s only me and my racing thoughts, along with the sound of music drifting out from the theater into the garden.

I step into the shadow of a birch tree and slump against the bricks, dropping my head into my hands. What the hell am I going to do? Rich is like a brother to me. He’s truly the best friend I’ve ever had—someone I know will always have my back, no matter what.

Well,notno matter what; if I made a move on his daughter, it would change our relationship and not for the better.

And yet…

I sigh, grinding the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. I’ve never met a woman like Violet. Someone who challenges me, who makes me laugh, who constantly surprises me. Someone who looks at me like I’m the best thing she’s ever laid eyes on, like I could be her whole world if I let myself. Someone whose smile makes me want to give her everything.

I lower my fist and slam it into the wall behind me. My jaw clenches as the rough brick bites into my skin, but I welcome the pain. Anything to stop myself from storming back into the theater and pulling Violet close.

But it’s no use. I spot her wandering through the garden, weaving between the trees until she finds me. The only light comes from the string bulbs on the tree in the garden’s center, giving the place an otherworldly feel, but it’s enough for me to make out the concern on her face as she steps into the shadow of my birch tree.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I mutter, pushing off the wall. I can’t be out here with her. I need to be inside, around other people, not alone in the darkness where no one can see us.

“You’re obviously not fine,” she says as I step past her. “And I know why.”

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