“Don’t get me wrong. You’re a good singer, but it doesn’t change the facts. Music is music and love songs are love songs.”
Music is music and love songs are love songs.How could two people interpret the same set of words in such vastly different ways? To Daniel, music was freeing and love songs were cures for broken and ailing souls. To her, they were nothing but pretty lies, tied up in neat marketing bows.
“What a shame, because I have a confession, too.” Daniel strode over to her and placed one hand on either side of her head, pinning her to the thick body of the tree behind her. Her heat radiated straight into him, urging him to say the one thing on his lips from the first time their eyes met through her father’s window.
“Yes…” She trailed off. In the yellowing light of his car headlights, her blush was clearer and rosier than ever before. Daniel tucked away the memory for safekeeping before diving headfirst into the truth.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
Saying it would have been the ultimate liberation, finally saying out loud what for weeks he’d only had the courage to scribble into songs. Would have been, if she didn’t flinch as though she’d been slapped.
“No.” She shook her head, like a femme fatale who’d been told her husband was a murderer. Even the moon slanted across her face just right and David Bowie swelled at the right moment, giving everything a cinematic tint. “You’re not. Don’t be stupid.”
Before he could stop her, press her to the tree, and commandeer her lips and deliver his sincerity straight into her skin, she ducked under his arms and strode away.
Maybe he was naive. Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he wanted too much and felt too deeply and believed the best of people who didn’t deserve it or who hadn’t proved themselves. But he knew love. And Sam felt it, too. She had to.
“We’re not falling in love,” she asserted. “We’re having fun.”
“So, you’re scared of commitment.”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
“Then what is it?”
“We’re having fun.”
“I’m notjusthaving fun, Sam. I’m falling—”
She held up a single hand. She traffic-guarded his confession.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
“I promise—”
“Don’t promise. I don’t want you to lie.”
How had they gotten from Sam crying at the sight of a birthday cake to eating the cake with their bare hands and splitting their sides with laughter to this fight? An hour ago, this was the best day of her life. How had a confession of love so thoroughly wrecked it all?
“I’ve seen your heart, Sam.” He leaned in and pressed his hand to her chest. When she tried to slip away, he clenched the fabric of his coat in his fist, holding her in place. “I know it’s in there. You can’t pretend it’s not anymore.”
“I like you—”
He’d listened to her pussyfoot around the truth and drop meaningless hints and tease him with a shielded version of herself. No more. Leaving himself bare and vulnerable to her would not end in her brushing him aside.
“What happened to make you this way?” he asked.
“What happened to makeyouthe wayyouare? You’re the one who’s making no sense, like—”
Sam moved again, faster this time, surprisingly fast. He moved his hands from her chest and placed them on her cheeks.
“I know you’re in there, Sam. I’ve seen you.” He tipped his forehead against hers; a shaking breath fluttered against his lips, a shaking breath he recognized from trying to fight back tears. “Now I need to understand you.”
“Some people are the way they are.”
Another deflection. He turned to begging. She didn’t have to love him back. She didn’t need to put any faith in love or love songs, even. But he needed to know why.
“Please.”
