Warren wraps his hand around my back, resting it on the ground next to me. I tuck myself into his shoulder.
“Willow is so lucky to have you. There’s no way to be perfect, but I bet if she’s anything like you, she’ll be kind enough to give you chances when you screw up. She’ll be happy.” He kisses the top of my head, and I let out a breathy sigh.I hope he’s right.“And that second wish?”
Right, honesty time.“I wished the same thing… but about you.”
Warren doesn’t pause or hesitate. He pulls away from me so he can look into my eyes. “Me too. I wished that this would be my last first date,” he says, and I melt into him.
We hold eye contact as the lights twinkle from the city below and the lantern casts shadows across our faces. I break to look at his lips and kiss him, softly but full of wanting. Wanting more than each other’s bodies. Wanting love, wanting loyalty, wanting permanence. We pull apart as Warren tilts his forehead into mine, stopping us before we get too carried away.
“I have one more surprise, if that’s okay,” he says, voice raspy.
Part of me wants to say no, desperate as I am to go home and finally be together. But how could I not see this night through?This perfect night.
“Of course.” I kiss his cheek.
He stands, lifts me up by my hands, and places me to the side of the blanket so he can pick it up. He carries everything to the trunk and opens my door for me, then gets in and turns the ignition.
“Ready?” he asks, his cheeky smile pinning me to the passenger seat. I roll my eyes affectionately as he reverses out of the parking lot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
We pull up to an empty lot in a far sketchier part of town. There are no signs on the brick wall in front of us to identify where we are, and nothing around us other than a dumpster to the right and a set of doors to the left, lit by a motion sensor above. Not exactly the same vibe as the previous two settings, but I’ve already learned to trust the process.
“Wait there.” Warren gets out, then grabs the half-emptied backpack from the trunk before coming around to get me, leaving his jacket in the car this time.
He leads us to the set of black steel doors and presses a key code into the metal handle. There are two beeps and a brief flash of green light before he tries the handle and pushes it open, revealing a dark abyss on the other side of the door. I cling a little tighter to his hand and wrap my other hand around his forearm as we step inside.
“This is the part where you reveal your long con, right? You made me fall in love with you so you could lead me to my death?”
“You’re so morbid.” He keeps us walking forward. “But yes, sorry.”
“It’s okay. I should’ve guessed.”
“It’s very hard to find an affordable apartment these days… this was the only way.” He stops. I can barely make out the sight of a wall in front of us. Wherever we are, he must have spent a lot of time here—in the dark—to be moving us around with such ease. “I’m going to turn on the lights now. Don’t get scared.”
The room fills with deep blue and green lights, revealing a stage beneath our feet.
“This is where my band used to play. It’s being renovated right now, so it’s emptied out, but I know the owner. He was cool enough to let me bring you before it’s all gone.” He pauses, lets my hand go, and places the backpack on the floor. He pulls out a bottle of water, a notebook, and a small tin. He puts them on the floor next to a wooden folding chair. “As much as you have a thing for drummers,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “that’s not really a one-on-one serenade type of thing, so I hope this will do.”
Warren guides me by my elbows to the chair, and I sit. He disappears around the corner on the opposite side of the stage and returns with a guitar. “Please keep in mind that I was the drummer, not the guitarist, for a reason,” he says, eyes lit with excitement, but smile apprehensive.
I place both hands in front of my mouth, unable to form words.This is by far the most romantic thing that could ever possibly happen to me.
He sits down on the stage and flips open his notebook, opening the tin to grab a guitar tuner and capo. I hate looking down at him like this, so I get off the chair and sit on the ground in front of him.
“But your dress—”
I shush and wave him on, eager beyond measure. I look down at the notebook, which faces away from me. Upside down, I can still make out the chicken scratch writing at the top of the page. “Chloe’s Song,” it reads.Have mercy.
Warren takes a deep inhale and begins plucking the strings of the guitar in a slow, romantic tune. He is instantly as impressive as he is on the drums. At least from what I’ve heard on his CD.
His fingers move quickly; there’s a small scratching as he slides between chords. With a deep breath in, he begins singing. His voice is smooth, lower than his speaking voice. My eyes close for just a moment, desperate to memorise the sound, before I open them to listen to the lyrics.
“Your colours are brighter than I’ve known.
Rose-coloured glasses are all you own,
Limitless smile, but doubtful eyes.
