Page 42 of Ambiguous
Grinning, I pour us each a glass. We settle into enjoying the gorgeous paella.
He doesn’t mention the song I wrote that’s clearly about him.Songs. I don’t, either, but regardless, conversation is easy. He tells me about restaurants he likes around here and his family’s political moves. I tell him about the tour and the places I’ve traveled.
“Emily is your biggest fan,” he says.
“What about you?” The words are out before I can stop them. “I mean, do you like my music?”
Sam’s looking at me, and his expression is hard to describe. It’s like he’s paying attention to everything I’m saying, but it’s not hero worship. More like he thinks I’m important and interesting, and what I say matters to him.
I watch him bite his lip, and again I have this rash desire to kiss him. To find out what he tastes like.
“I do now,” he finally says. “I used to tease Em about how much of a fan she was, so I intentionally wouldn’t listen to you. But I looked up your songs after I met you and before I went to the concert.” He reddens. “I mean, of course I’d heard your music before, but I hadn’t actuallylistenedto it, if that makes sense. But once I slowed down to pay attention? Yeah, I’m a fan.” He smiles at me, and it makes me feel as if everything in the universe is going to be okay.
“Thank you. I appreciate you listening.”
Pink splashes appear on his cheekbones, like he was painted with watercolor.
And I’m either going to launch myself across the table and kiss him or keep this PG. Against the urgings of my heart, I move to a safer topic and ask, “Do you play any instruments?”
“I do. I took piano lessons growing up.”
“Then you should accompany me when we’re done with dinner.”
A laugh escapes him. “Uh, no.”
“C’mon. I bet you’re good.”
“I can play a few classical pieces competently. Like, intermediate stuff. I can’t create something original.”
“I’ll do the creating for us.” I wink. “But I want to hear you.”
“Sometime,” he agrees. “I’ll be embarrassed, but maybe it can spark something creative for you. I’m willing to do that.”
I don’t need Sam to spark any more creativity in me. He’s already done that. I’m simply enjoying having him here with me. He’s easy on the eyes and has elegant table manners and is so fun to talk to. It’s like we’ve known each other for a very long time.
When we’re done with dinner, we clear off the table but find ourselves back out on the balcony with fresh glasses of wine, watching the sunset. A breeze has picked up, and while it’s not cold, it is cool enough to make me stand close to him. He nudges me with his shoulder, and I want to wrap my arm around him. I don’t, but he doesn’t move away.
I’m looking for any excuse to touch him. And with the way he’s looking at me, I can sense that he’s attracted, too.
I bet I could get him in my bed.
But I don’t just want him in my bed. I want him in my life. We barely know each other, but he’s already more supportive of me than almost anyone else I know. Obviously, he’s working for the label, but he doesn’t treat me that way. He treats me like… like I matter as a human being rather than just a singer.
That’s heady stuff.
* * *
When the air turns chilly, we go inside and sit on the couch, still watching the waves.
“What comes next? How can I help keep you moving forward?” Sam asks, and I think he might be trying to make this evening go back to being about business. “I liked seeing you at the festival. And it sounds like you’re making progress.”
“Just keep checking up on me.”
“I can do that.” He looks around. “This has been interesting. Fun, too. I like watching the way your brain works. It’s very cool.”
His reticence is frustrating, because I thought we had something going. Am I wrong? Finally, I say, “Thanks. I’m not one to normally share this part of me, but something about you got my creative juices flowing.”
“I’m glad.” His eyes are bright. “Well, thanks for dinner and everything. I’d better get going.”
