“Sami,” I say.
He draws back. “Pardon?”
“Call me Sami. Everyone does.” I’m keepingallmy pieces, and I’ve never fit Samantha.
Miss Elizabeth clears her throat, a small sound that still catches the attention of the Brower men. “The Maine lobster is lovely, Sami. You’ll enjoy it. What about you, Josh?”
She made the tiniest pause before my name, so slight I’m not positive I heard it, but I appreciate her nudging her husband to back down.
The menu discussion continues until our server arrives to take our order, and when Mr. Brower selects a bottle from the wine list, he quirks his eyebrow at me as if to ask,Do I have your permission?
I smile. “I’ll trust your judgment here.”
“So, Sami,” Miss Elizabeth says without a pause this time. “How’s work?”
“Which job?” I ask.
Josh shoots me a quick glance, and I tense, waiting for him to redirect the conversation from my music ambitions, but instead a smile turns up his lips. “She has two,” he explains to his parents. “She’s got a band called Pixie Luna, and they’re the hottest thing in Austin right now.”
I smile at him before looking at his parents. “That’s a slight exaggeration.”
“It’s not,” Josh says.
His parents trade a fleeting look that I’m not sure how to interpret, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t say,Let’s start planning their wedding.
“A band,” his mom repeats, but her voice is fainter than before. “What kind of music do you play?”
“Rock,” I say. “Maybe pop rock would be a good way to explain it.” Sensing they need a minute to process all this, I give them a smile. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”
I step away and take my time in the restroom, retouching my lipstick on smiling lips because Josh stood up for me. Josh told them I have an awesome band. Josh didn’t try to nudge me into my perfect Pi Phi mold to fit with his parents.
Josh isn’t Bryce.
I’m still floating on that high when I return to the table, and I give Josh a searching look. He gives me a single head shake but a half smile and stands to pull out my chair for me.
“Thanks for not running,” he murmurs into my ear as I take my seat.
“You’re stuck with me now,” I say in an equally low voice. He answers by pressing another of those kisses against my hairline. I’m coming to love those. They say,Now isn’t the time and place, but I need to touch you anyway.
A lull falls over the table, and the set of Josh’s jaw tells me that whatever they discussed while I was gone, he won’t be the one to break the silence now.
Finally, his mom clears her throat. “How’s the nursing home?”
“Good,” I say. “But hard. We’ve got staffing problems because the management company won’t raise the pay for the CNAs. It’s hard with all the Pixie Luna stuff.”
“Maybe more balance would help,” she says.
“Cut back on some of your shows,” Mr. Brower suggests, because of course he does.
Our food arrives before I can respond, so I spend the next few minutes eating and feeling sure I made exactly the right choice with my lobster. “This is so good, Josh,” I say. “Thank you.”
“You deserve this and more,” he says. “I’m glad you like it.” There’s an apology in his eyes, and I bet he’s trying to say he’s sorry that his parents somehow became part of this deal. “We came to Spencer’s tonight because Sami’s band was offered an opportunity to play at Southwest Fest.”
His parents nod. Even the old folks at work know what that is.
“Not just an invitation to play,” Josh continues. “To play on the festival stage, opening for another band whose label is interested in signing them.”
This meets with a few seconds of quiet before his mom smiles and says, “Well, all of that sounds very positive, Sami.” She says it indulgently, like she might if Reagan’s daughter asked her to watch how fast she could run in her new shoes.
