him I’m full to bursting with love. For him and for myself. His long lashes lower, his focus intent on me, a sliver of honey-brown darkening as his breathing steadies. “You’re amazing,” he says, almost to himself.
That’s when I find myself reaching down for my purse, pulling the zipper back, and slowly, without hesitation, sliding my passport from its depths. I place it on the table, surprised my name hasn’t burned through the pages, and I glide it toward Sam. He watches me, brow furrowed. It only takes a second for it to click, for him to understand what I’m doing. He’s asked often enough about my name to know I haven’t been honest.
Smiling now, he reaches for the small blue book and thumbs to the Page. I contemplate ducking under the table again, but he nods and smiles, and nods and smiles some more, and I can’t look away. “It’s perfect,” he says. “You deserve a name as unique as you.” He doesn’t say my five syllables aloud. He places a soft kiss on my nose and, with it, dissolves all my fear.
Sam will never laugh at me. Even if he sees the Public Speaking Video—and odds are he will one day—he’ll only ever show concern, indignation, or anger: protectiveness. Renewed warmth spreads through my chest.
I’m moving to Florida with One-syllable Sam.
Eventually, the empty glasses are filled. As Leigh and Paige cozy up together, Bruno licks his lips and rests his chin on his hands. He stares blatantly at the couple. “Never Have I Ever…fallen in love with a girl in New Zealand.”
As if on cue, both girls sling their shots. The kissing starts up again, which I’m pretty sure is why Bruno asked the question, and a round of applause rises from the table. In the ensuing racket, my breath catches. That question was asked to the whole table, not just the girls. I don’t dare move. Hope has me frozen. Surely Sam is as in love with me as I am with him; we’ve both just been too terrified to say it aloud. The way his eyes glaze when we make love, how could he feel anything but?
Look. Look. Look. Look.
Steeling my nerves, I swallow and, ever so slowly, glance to my left. Sam’s running his finger around the rim of his shot glass. His very full shot glass. It shouldn’t be like a dagger to my heart, but the effect is undeniable. A sharp, deliberate pang. He drags his finger in circles, round and round, never once glancing at me. Then he nudges it away.
His glass. Away.
Maybe it’s sharing my name with him or his proposal to move to Florida, but that nudge hurts more than it should. It’s not like I’ve declared my love, and I know his feelings for me are deep. I don’t question that. I just don’t know if it’s infatuation, not love, me being the first girl to accept his legs. Moving to Florida with him is a big deal for both of us, making a commitment, altering our lives. But I’m giving up more. My family. My home. I’m taking a massive risk for him. If he’s not in love with me the way I am with him, this could all blow up in my face. Maybe I shouldn’t go.
My heart squeezes at the thought, the pang in my chest raw and jagged. Sam’s the first guy to want me for me, crazy and all, and he doesn’t want to lose us. He wants me with him. Even with the risks, that’s exactly where I want to be.
Eighteen
Nina
If I could wake up every morning for the rest of my life with Sam pressing soft kisses down my belly, I would die a happy girl. Before last night, things had achieved fairy-tale status between us, each day dreamlike, but knowing we’re staying together after this trip has made our happily-ever-after real. Sam’s more content, relaxed. My mind’s calmer, too. I’ve stopped overanalyzing everything we do and say, wondering if he feels the same. I don’t need to hear those three words to know how he feels.
Excited to meet him in the lounge and research culinary schools in Florida, I hurry out of the washroom with an armful of toiletries. As I head to dump my stuff in our room, a guy shoulders past me, sending my soap and moisturizer flying. Perfect. He fumbles around to help me gather my stuff. When we stand, he hesitates. “Do I know you?” The high