When that new girl band we signed plays on the sound system, I point to the speaker. “One of your favorites,” I say. “The Violet Rays rock.”
Her smile ignites instantly. “I love their music. Not only because I love violets, but their lyrics hit me in the heart every time.”
“Yeah, why’s that?” I’m soaking up every detail, learning the inside story of Savannah for the first time, it seems.
“Because they’re so honest. They talk about love and heartache, about being broken but then overcoming it.”
I raise my bottle, toasting again. “To overcoming heartbreak.”
“I will definitely drink to that.”
The conversation rolls from one topic to the next as we catch up on stories in the news, places we dig in the neighborhood, and whether Glass Slipper should institute a bring-your-dog-to-work-every-day rule. We decide dogs in the office would be dope.
We’ve had convos like this before, but everything feels different now. I can’t believe I didn’t see her as more than a friend before Denise, but I definitely see her that way now.
Soon, my mom joins us. “So great to see you two. You’re adorable, Savannah,” she says, squeezing my fake date’s arm.
Savannah smiles back. “You too, Mrs. Clements.”
“Aww, but you can call me Rose,” Mom says.
“You were destined to run a flower shop,” Savannah says.
Mom beams. “I think I was. And I love you already,” she says to my fake date, and that’s Mom for you. Getting along with everyone. “And how long have you two been together?”
“Three months,” Savannah says, sounding a little giddy, a blush spreading on her cheeks. Is that from lying or something else?
My mom grins. “You sound happy.”
“It’s been a great three months,” I add, and even though we haven’t been together whatsoever, I feel confident that our fake three months have been amazing.
“And you two met at work?” Mom continues.
Savannah nods. “It’s hard working with such a sweet, cute guy. But I manage,” she says playfully.
Mom practically squeals. Wow, this is going better than I imagined. Savannah is on point, and I am . . . turned on.
Wow.
That’s new . . . or maybe not.
“You are such a delightful couple,” my mother declares, beaming between us with the hope that can only stir up that quickly in a mom. “So what’s next for you two?”
Savannah clasps a hand around my arm. “Gavin and I like to have fun together. That’s all we’re thinking about for now.”
That effectively shuts off the questions from my mom, which is exactly what I wanted for tonight.
But it’s also exactly what I no longer want.
Now that I’m seeing this woman in a new light, I’m seeing us moving out of the friend zone and into a zone I didn’t think I was ready to enter.
When I walk Savannah home, I clear my throat and say, “Thank you for being my fake date. But I have a confession to make.”
She stops, tilts her head, and meets my gaze. “What is it?”
I jump into the deep end. No point doing anything else. “Not a thing about it felt fake.”
There’s a hint of nerves when she asks, “What do you mean, Gavin?”
For the last two years, I’ve been missing what’s right in front of me. Missing it because we were just friends, then missing it because I was involved, and lately, missing it because it simply didn’t occur to me.
But now, Savannah has occurred to me, and I don’t want to waste any more time.
“What I mean is, if I kissed you right now, I’d like it to be a real kiss,” I say, and her eyes seem to dance with starlight. “What do you think about that, Savannah?”
The smile that crosses her face is magnetic. “I think you should really kiss me.”
It’s the best response in the history of questions and answers.
6
Gavin
I slide a hand along her jaw, and she trembles as my thumb strokes her cheek.
A small rush of air escapes her lips, as if she’s sighing into the possibility of a touch. I move closer and press a soft kiss to her mouth, figuring soft and subtle is the way to start.
She seems to like it that way, and so do I. It works for a little bit, this gentle exploration, as I experience the flavor of her kiss.
But soon, I find myself wanting more of her, and the kiss darts up to another level. It’s hotter and hungrier as my hand loops into her hair, those lush strands wrapping around my fingers.
Savannah kisses me back with fierceness and determination. I respond in kind, raising the stakes—more roughness, more heat.
Then I’m not sure if I’m kissing her or if she’s kissing me. All I know is her back is up against the brick wall of her building. My hands are in her hair, and hers are sliding down my body, grabbing my ass, yanking me closer. She seals her body against mine, letting me know she wants all the same things I do. My mind takes many, many steps ahead to where this could go, to what we could be.