Tell Me Our Story

“I started my Picstar account not long after.”

Their eyes met. Jonathan looked away. He’d known that too. “Do you need a painkiller for the leg?”

O’Hara shook his head and dropped it back to the cushion.

Water, though. O’Hara didn’t get his water.

Jonathan came back with a glass, and O’Hara paused halfway through it. “What’s the time? We’re gonna miss the deadline.”

Jonathan checked and grimaced. “Ten to. Just finish that glass. Hydration is important.”

Dismay rippled over O’Hara’s face, and it punched through Jonathan. He stood abruptly. “We can still post something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Jonathan paced. “A quote?”

He opened the browser on his phone; O’Hara yanked him down next to him and peered at the screen, reading aloud. “Love is blind, you just see bright blond hair—”

“It does not say that.”

“It doesn’t?” O’Hara rubbed his eyes, dimpling. “I really must be blind. Ohhh, what about Shakespeare: ‘Love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit’.” O’Hara pressed against him, trying to get a better look at his screen; Jonathan’s side prickled. “Or this one: ‘Love is actually not blind. It sees and decides to act as though it is’.”

Jonathan glanced at him—

Savvy burst into the living room with his laptop, O’Hara’s phone lying on top. “I did it!”

O’Hara’s gaze snapped over to them. “Did what?”

“You weren’t gonna make it, so I ran home, logged into Jonathan’s laptop and cut something together. I uploaded under your account already. Talk about the nick of time!”

Jonathan blinked.

His fingers flew over his phone. Savvy had cut their footage to under a minute. O’Hara’s chin settled on his shoulder, and they watched themselves dancing flawlessly to Strauss.

A breathless laugh tickled his ear.

O’Hara, hugging his knees in the front seat of Jonathan’s car, grinning.

Oh my God, guys. The messages flying in about the last Social Challenge post are so wonderful. Sorry I can’t answer you all, so I thought I’d post a wee ‘You guys are incredible’ here and also a ‘hey, go follow Hart’s page.’

Chapter Ten

Social Challenge 5: Love is Sharing Your . . .

Picking O’Hara up from the airport was . . . always an experience. The last two times, Jonathan had ducked O’Hara’s incoming leap, but tonight . . .

Tonight, he braced for it.

The doors opened and passengers filed out into the arrivals lounge from the last flight of the day. O’Hara emerged at the tail end, head bowed in conversation with a red-haired woman, chuckling. He wrapped her into a hug and waved her off with a smile.

His gaze slowly coloured in the rest of the lounge and stilled when it landed on Jonathan. Bright and intense, framed by stylish dark hair. A long forest pullover fed into the green, and . . . huh, new jeans. Without holes. Polished boots, too.

Jonathan lifted his gaze and a jolt of anticipation rocked through him. He stiffened, preparing for the run, the leap, the laughter.

But O’Hara . . . didn’t. He dropped his gaze briefly and lifted it again, then smiled. Slowly, he crossed the yards between them and halted.

Jonathan waited for a sudden launch into his arms; O’Hara was the type to mix up his tactics.

They stared at one another. O’Hara frowned, biting his lip.

Or not. With a brisk pivot, Jonathan gestured toward the exit.

It was already dark as they drove the winding roads, O’Hara’s pitifully small backpack nestled into the back.

Jonathan cleared his throat. He wasn’t used to so much silence from O’Hara. Normally, he only stopped chatting to make the air dance with his laughter. “Who was the woman you were talking to?”

“Who?”

“You hugged her at the gate.”

“Oh!” Animation flooded O’Hara’s shape in the passenger seat. “Hannah’s a fan! We got to talking on the plane, comparing our favourite posts.”

“Looks like you guys . . . hit it off?”

“She’s super lovely, and she’s totally rooting for us! She doesn’t live far, she invited us to meet her later. Jonathan, why are you gripping the wheel like this is your first time on the road? If you’re nervous to go out for a drink with me after the last time, you really shouldn’t worry about it—Oh, wait. Maybe you need to be home for Savvy?”

That wasn’t it. Jonathan indicated and made a right turn. “Jacquie is picking Savvy up soon.”

“Excellent! We’ll go out after!”

Not how he’d wanted to spend the evening. But O’Hara should do . . . what he would do anyway.

Besides, he’d had dance lessons four evenings this week, leaving barely any time to write. An evening to himself? More than welcome.

He parked on his dark, quiet street. Not many houselights on. The neighbours were out enjoying their Friday nights.

Light from O’Hara’s phone lit his face all the way up the path.

“. . . it’s been easy enough to stay in the competition so far; this weekend shouldn’t be too difficult. The last couple of weeks is where it’ll get tough.”