A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,118
don’t know if I’ve ever seen you in a suit.”
“Get used to it,” he says. “If I have to wear this to get you to wear that, then suits are my new wardrobe.”
Sam’s already called a Lyft for us, and it pulls up just as we reach the pavement. He opens the back door for me, and we slide in.
He clears his throat. “So, what’s this event tonight about? What’re we saving? Animals? Babies?”
I don’t answer right away. I take a breath first, wishing there weren’t another person here. Still, our driver hasn’t so much as glanced back since we got in, so I shouldn’t use him as an excuse.
Time for honesty. Full-on.
“It’s to support ALS research, actually,” I say, sounding just a little bit fragile. “Which . . . my dad died from.”
“Oh,” Sam says, his deep brown eyes going soft and sincere. “Maeve, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “It was seven years ago. But my mum and I used to always go to this together. And then, Dean used to go with me, but now . . .”
“Now I’m here,” he says. “And I’ve already made a joke of it.”
“No,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever told someone about my dad without crying. And now, look. Mascara still firmly in place.”
I laugh, and Sam laughs with me.
I feel lighter about this than I ever expected.
“Well, then, let’s go raise as much money as we can in your dad’s honor,” he says as we pull into the event. “Can I bid on a boat? I’ve always wanted to bid on a boat.”
Tsking, I shake my head. “Boys and their toys.” Soon, Sam’s taking my hand and walking me into Novotel London West. We make our way to the event space, passing people who look like they’re made of money.
We check out the auction items, browsing through signed movie posters and football jerseys and, finally, a signed Ed Sheeran guitar. It’s white and glittery with a gold signature on the front.
“My mum says his songs remind her of my dad.”
“Then let’s bid on it.”
Sam looks down at the bidding card. “One thousand pounds. I’ll split it with you. We have to go in on this.”
I shoot him a skeptical glance. “Sam, do you even like Ed Sheeran?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, dead certain. “We’re doing this.”
“How are we going to split a guitar in half?”
“We’ll have joint custody. Half the time at my place, half the time at yours.”
“Ridiculous,” I say, but I’m laughing, and that feels good too.
“It’ll give you a reason to visit,” he says in a flirty tone.
While I reel a bit at the idea of going to Sam’s home, he’s putting down a bid for the guitar. We’re outbid for it before we’ve gotten more than ten paces away, but that’s okay because we’re having fun.
As the night winds down, Sam and I call another car. We tumble in, laughing about everything and nothing at all. We pull up to my flat, and there’s no question—I’ve never ended this evening feeling this light or this good.
Sam did that. Sam, who kept my spirits up during the event. Sam, who remembered the sunflowers. Sam, who’s kind and funny and thoughtful.
He walks me up to my steps and takes my hand to kiss my knuckles.
“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he says, his lips curving into a knowing grin. “You know, I’ve got this wedding to go to. Not sure if you’d be interested. It’s transatlantic.”
“You don’t say?”
He laughs, and I decide it’s time for fun. For chances.
For choices.
I nibble on my lip, meet his gaze, and go for it. “Would you like to kiss me? Because I’d really like to kiss you.”
“What do you know? I’d love to kiss you too.”
He cups my cheek, brings his lips to mine, and dusts a soft, gentle kiss to my lips.
One that sends tingles down my spine.
And one that doesn’t stay soft for long.
I kiss him back harder, and he tugs me closer, and soon we’re kissing like we don’t want to come up for air.
We make our way up to my flat, kicking off heels and shoes and losing ourselves in each other. I catch a glimpse of the table where the sunflowers have lasted remarkably well in their vase, and I smile, as sure as I ever have been about a decision in my life.
After a beautiful wedding ceremony, Sam holds my hand as we watch Dean