“Saving your life.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t you read anything? There’s brain-eating amoebas in the water here.”
“Let me guess.” She rolled her eyes, but he knew she wasn’t really upset. The way she licked her lips subconsciously told him so. “There’s only one cure.”
“I’m afraid so.” He feigned a sigh. “I happen to have the antidote here on my lips.”
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
It never ceased to disquiet him, the way she always bowed her head when he complimented her. If he so much as broached a compliment or an intimacy, she ducked away.
“Don’t start with me,” she said, brushing him off. Besides “good morning” and “good night” the next thing she probably said to him most often was “don’t call me beautiful.”
“Come outside. I want to see you.”
A moment of indecision, where she peeked a guilty glance first at her stack of books, then at her watch. Her mouth drew into a thin line. He bounced on the balls of his feet, nervously awaiting her answer. Eventually, his patience won out.
“I’ll be out in a second.”
True to her word, a few minutes later, she was in his arms, pressed between the high fence and his hard body as he captured her lips. He gripped her waist, reveling in the soft curves of her melting into his edges. He wanted more, more, more, but he forced himself away.
He was a gentleman, after all. Or trying to be one, at least.
“I’ve got news,” he said, pulling away from her. He wasn’t quite sure if the electricity running all through his body was from the phone call he’d gotten this morning or from Sam’s lips, but he held onto the feeling anyway.
“Oh, yeah? Big enough to take me away from my studies?”
“Bigger. Do you remember the woman with the purple-and-black hair at Crowdwell’s during the open mic?”
“I was a little distracted that night, to be completely honest.” A delicate blush came across her cheeks. “Why?”
“Because she’s Alanis Trent. Producer at Icon Records. And she wants me to come to London to perform for the rest of the signing team.”
A smile sparked, lighting up her entire face.
“No way.”
“Yep. If everything goes well, you might be looking at her new signee.”
He couldn’t quite explain what it meant to him to stand there and share his dream with her. Sure, his family and Angie knew that he wanted to write songs that would reach out and touch the world, but watching Sam’s face illuminate with pride was…
“That’s incredible. Congratulations. That is… I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll be there next time I have to sing in public. You’re good luck.”
She paused, punctuating it with a brief kiss. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’m glad to see my coat’s gone to good use,” he teased, tugging on the lapel of the jacket.
Even on Sam’s wider figure, it hung too long and too big. The size made it all the more adorable. Thankfully, he long ago picked up one of his father’s discarded work coats and adopted it as his own.
“It’s comfortable,” she said, trying to hide a smile that he easily spotted.
They took off through the streets of Oxford, strolling under the autumn-barren trees side-by-side. He liked bringing her around his reckless, lively friends, seeing her shock and concealed delight when Angie and Freddie got into one of their famed drinking contests, holding her hand as she slowly opened up to him. These events were all lovely and good; nights and afternoons like those were part of the reason he could feel he was falling for her. But it was moments like these—the quiet, private, and undisclosed moments—he liked the best.
