She pokes her tongue out at him and he reaches for it, trying to pinch it.
I swear, sometimes they’re children.
“Yes, Dean, you’re exuding professionalism right now.”
My back snaps straight and my heart jumps into my throat.
Nolan came.
I glance up at him, and damn am I met with a sight.
Gone is his usual flannel. Tonight, it’s replaced with a crisp, clean gray button-up with the sleeves rolled up, exposing those muscular forearms of his I know feel like heaven when wrapped around me. His long legs are clad in dark-wash jeans, and his usually messy hair is combed back. A dusting of facial scruff covers his face.
I swear he’s more handsome than I remember.
“This seat taken?” He nods to the one next to me.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
He gives me a shy grin as he sits. When our shoulders brush, neither of us moves to give the other more room, both relishing the feeling too much to do so.
Dean leans forward, giving Nolan a pointed look. “Glad you could come.”
Nolan’s lips tighten with annoyance, but he doesn’t let it linger too long. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Tension lingers, thick and suffocating, and I miss the times when it was easier with Nolan, when nothing was strained between us and being with him felt as natural as breathing or loving The Beatles.
“Did we miss anything?” Caroline asks, sliding down the aisle of chairs, Cooper right behind her. She plops down in the chair next to Nolan. “We got held up. Someone came into the store five minutes before close.”
“Good sale?” River asks.
Caroline nods. “Over two hundred.”
River sits back with a smile, pleased.
“Where’s Patrick?” Dean asks, checking the time on his phone. “It’s about to start and Sam goes on fourth.”
Frustration slams into me, and I try my hardest not to get upset all over again thinking about the phone call I received thirty minutes before we left the apartment.
Patrick couldn’t make it…again.
He was bailing on his son…again.
“Last-minute work thing came up.” I try to contain my anger when I say it, but the words still come out with grit.
Anger flashes in River’s eyes and she opens her mouth to respond, but the lights dim and the crowd goes quiet. She settles back in her chair, shaking her head.
I understand her reaction. She’s been there as much as I have to pick up the pieces when Patrick disappoints Sam.
“Told ya he’s a fucking moron,” Nolan mutters out of the side of his mouth, and my shoulders shake with laughter.
A sense of calm washes over me for the first time tonight. This feels normal with him. Feels good. Feels right.
The announcer hits the stage, and we focus our attention on the front of the room. The curtains pull back for the first act, and that’s when I feel it.
Nolan’s fingers ghosting down my arm.
He slips his hand under mine and laces our fingers together, pulling our joined hands into his lap.
My breathing stops, and I swear I feel his touch everywhere.
It’s like coming home.
When I remember to breathe again, I peek over at him. He’s staring straight ahead, attention on the stage in front of him. We sit like this through two more performances, him watching the stage and me watching him.
“Next up, we have Samuel Martin singing and playing guitar.”
Everyone applauds politely…except for us.
“Yeah, big Sammy!” Cooper hollers, hands cupped around his mouth.
“Woohoo!”
“Go, Sammy!” Dean claps, whistling loudly and clearly playing favorites.
“Kick some a—”
I yank River back down into her chair, shaking my head at her.
“What?” She shrugs. “I was totally going to say butt.”
“Uh-huh. Just sit down and quit embarrassing your nephew.”
“It’s my job to embarrass him,” she insists.
I roll my eyes, turning back to the stage in time to see Sam take his spot. He places the guitar on his knee and adjusts his microphone stand.
Tears spring to my eyes, but this time they aren’t sad ones. He looks so grown sitting up there, and I’m so proud to call him mine.
“Uh, hi,” he whispers into the mic, and the audience giggles. He clears his throat. “This, uh, this is a song called ‘Everlong’ by Food Fighters.”
“Did he just say Food Fighters?” River whispers, giggling.
He misses the first few chords.
“Shit,” he mutters, and the mic picks up the feedback.
My cheeks flame as embarrassment floods me, but everyone seems to get a good laugh out of it. Maybe I should have gotten onto him about the cussing after all.