“No. We’re going to have to choose it.” She toys with the top button on my shirt. “What if you pick one show a week to come to? One that fits your schedule best? And what if we set aside Saturday mornings for each other? And what if, on nights I can make it home from rehearsal early enough, we spend evenings together when we can, watching TV or . . . you know. Whatever.”
The button slips through its hole and her hand slides inside to feather across my collarbone.
“Whatever, huh?” I ask, my breaths turning shallow. “You’ve got a deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sami
Threeweeksofbliss.
I’m not sure if that’s short or long, but to me, it feels like forever. I’ve never had three perfect weeks before. But as if our conversation on Josh’s sofa that night somehow got the universe on our side, everything lines up perfectly.
Pixie Luna keeps picking up shows, doing three a week, including a big one when Night View asked us to fill in for them after their bus broke down in Houston and they couldn’t make it back in time.
Josh comes to weekend shows, using the other nights to work late so he can make time for us on nights I only have rehearsal. At least one of my roommates is always at the other ones, always down by the stage, dancing her face off, always coming backstage afterward to assure me we’re awesome.
Saturday mornings have now become the high point of my week. We’ve done everything from spend an entire morning snuggling on his sofa, watching old cartoons and eating our favorite childhood cereals, to driving out to Fredericksburg for breakfast at a place he remembered trying and loving with his grandpa.
Even Ruby’s smirks don’t bug me. I haven’t lost the bet yet, but I’m beginning to think if I did . . . she’s right: I won’t care because I’d be coming out way ahead.
Last week, Josh and I went to the Museum of Ice Cream. I can’t wait for it to warm up so we can hang out at Barton Creek and soak up the spring sun or even hang out by our own pool and do nothing but share earbuds and read or listen to a podcast together.
But this morning, I have an extra special activity planned: brunch at Delia’s and an announcement. I’ve never taken a date to Delia’s before; I’ve never wanted to taint it with memories of an ex.
“Have you eaten here before?” I ask Josh as we pull into the parking lot behind the restaurant.
“No,” he says. “Is it your special place or something?”
“Yes and no,” I say as we climb out of his car. “I come here with the besties whenever we’re all around on the weekend. I’ve never brought a date before.”
He stops and fixes me with a stare across the roof of the car. “I’m not your date.”
I grin. “Boyfriend, then.” It doesn’t even feel cheesy to say.
“Dang right.”
After we order, he gives me a smile, but his expression is questioning. “What’s up? You’re practically wiggling in your seat.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He shrugs. “I know you.”
The simple way he says it makes my breath hitch. He does. He makes me feel seen. Maybe that’s why I’m breaking the news to him before anyone else.
“The president of the record label for Night View came to our show last night.”
His eyes widen. “I should have gone.”
I wave that away. “We didn’t even know this guy—Nick—was going to be there. But we went hard like we always do, and I guess it impressed him.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “How much?”
“He’s considering signing us.”
His full grin breaks out. “Yes! That’s awesome, babe.”
“Babe” also doesn’t sound cheesy to hear, and it really should. “It’s not a done deal yet,” I say. “But that’s the other big news. He wants us to open for Night View at Southwest Fest to see how Pixie Luna does with bigger crowds. And it’ll be on thefestivalstage.”
