“How many of those have you had now?” Sam asked, sidling up beside me at the bar. There must have been eighty people packed into the pub, shoulder to shoulder. While it had initially caused a brief moment of panic, being so surrounded, with the drinks Mila had made for me warming my stomach, I felt fine.

“It’s a secret,” I told him, touching the top of the red, white, and blue shot and licking the droplet off my finger. “But I can confirm that I’ve not yet had enough.”

“What’d she call that?” He nodded at the shot.

“The Fourth of July shot.”

He made a face and with a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed him gently. “Don’t be a grump, Sam.”

“It looks mildly dangerous.”

“Well, it’s named after a holiday that’s celebrated with fireworks and barbecues, so it’s probably a little dangerous.” I tossed back the shot and gripped the edge of the bar, tipping my head backward as I swayed to the music. When I opened my eyes, Sam was staring at me. It was a lot easier to look at him when my nerves were numbed by alcohol. “Don’t look at me like that. Try one.”

He gave me a small smile, his eyes steadily trained on me. I prided myself on not looking away. “If I do that, one might turn into two, and then three.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I pursed my lips and waved two fingers at Mila, who was busy behind the bar with Ames. “It’s delicious.” My lips curved like they didn’t even belong to me and I closed my eyes. This was the first time I didn’t feel like myself; I felt free. It was as if I hadn’t realized what was coming tomorrow until this moment, until I was surrounded by my family’s closest friends—knowing I didn’t have the studio to mind, no more brunches with Bianca, no more family obligations.

The guilt from that thought hit me like a bus. It turned out it wasn’t just my outward behavior that changed with this much alcohol, my thoughts did too.

“That was a dramatic shift,” Sam said softly, and then put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing soothingly. “Your face went from serene to miserable in just a couple seconds.”

I swallowed and looked for Ames, grateful to see he wasn’t within hearing distance. “I just realized this is the first time I’ll be away from this…”

“And you’re going to miss it, of course.”

I gave him what I was sure was a strange smile. “Yes, well, sure. But...” I twirled the straw in the water Sam had given me after I’d taken my second shot of the night. “But ever since my sister died, I’ve felt a little bit like I’m…” I swallowed my words, immediately regretting saying anything. I needed to be careful drinking like this, especially around him. My mouth opened and things I didn’t mean to say just tumbled out carelessly.

Sam leaned on the bar, coming more into view, and this time, I swallowed hard. It was like he had a sobering effect on me, and I nervously searched out Mila, hoping she’d be bringing the alcohol by pronto.

“You were saying?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I was saying nothing.”

Mila returned with the shots, which was layered with red, clear, then blue. Sam eyed it dubiously. “What’s this?” he asked Mila, sounding almost offended.

“Grenadine, peach Schnapps, Blue Curacao.” She put a hand on her hip, the other braced on the bar. “Come on Sam, you draw nude women and you’re afraid of one ounce of alcohol?”

My cheeks warmed. I’d never talked to Sam about his art, but I’d heard enough about it from everyone else around us that I’d never needed to actually see it.

“I don’t only draw nude women, Mila.” He raised an eyebrow and picked up the shot. “In fact, I prefer to draw small pieces of the body itself. You can really get the detail that way.”

“Ames says you’re good. I’d love to see some of your stuff.” I didn’t need to be jealous of Mila, and I wasn’t—well, not much. She had this natural effervescence about her. She was about my height, but looks-wise, she belonged in a different department. Her tousled brown hair covered her shoulders and though it looked like she’d spent an hour to make it as tousled and fun as it was, I knew it was just her. She didn’t have to put an effort in. And it wasn’t just her looks I occasionally envied, it was the charisma she possessed. Like Bianca, but she wasn’t overt about it. People just naturally gravitated toward her. Like my brother-in-law had gravitated to Mila.

I knew people thought it was strange that I could be so accepting of my sister’s widower moving on, but—and this was why the guilt of feeling free from family obligation hit me so hard—Ames was an incredible man. The summer my mum and sister died should have split my family in half. But Ames, instead of leaving us, had stayed on—taking over the pub and running it when my father, torn apart by grief, couldn’t. Seeing him happy with Mila alleviated some of the guilt I always felt, knowing that even though he’d offered to stay on, we were still, in some ways, a burden for him.

As if my thoughts alone had conjured him, he came saddling up to Mila, wrapping an arm around her waist. She leaned into him like second nature, and that’s when jealousy bit me. Not because they had that deep, on another level connection. But because I didn’t. I couldn’t ever be comfortable with someone like that. I glanced at Sam sideways, who was engaged in a conversation with them both, and immediately wondered what it’d be like to have something that was mine. Someone that looked at me like I was more than just skin to hold onto for a while.

If I hadn’t been sure if leaving the country was a good idea, that moment cemented it. It was as if I was a character in a life that wasn’t really mine; without control, acting out a part that was pre-decided for me. And I was surrounded by people living an unrehearsed life.

“What’s got you so distracted?”

Mentally, I shook away my thoughts and turned to Sam, who was still holding the drink. “Are we going to do this?”

I licked my lips. “You first,” I said, wanting the small pleasure of watching him take the shot.

After he tossed it back, it felt as if the three of us were suspended, waiting for Sam’s verdict. “Okay,” he began, rubbing a thumb across his lower lip. “It’s not terrible.”

“See?” Mila exclaimed, her eyes lit up. “Us Americans aren’t all bad.” She snatched up his empty shot glass. “You’ll see, Lotte.”

I nodded and took my shot, handing it back to her before she and Ames walked away.

“So, you really want to do this?”

I turned to Sam. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long that I don’t remember what it felt like to not want to do it.”

He blinked, and his whole face changed. Gone was his playful smile. “Yeah?” Even his voice sounded deeper.

“Yeah.” I let out a breath and finally took a sip of water. “I’m ready to embrace whatever is out there for me.”

He nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but a second later he shook his head and called out to Mila. “Two more.”

I bit down on my lower lip to keep my smile from spreading. “Not totally awful then?”

He shrugged. “It’s your last night before leaving. Why not? Speaking of which, what’s the plan? Ames had said a bit, but not much.”

“I’m flying into Denver and then going to Salt Lake City after that. Well, Utah itself. But the person I’m meeting in Denver is going to Utah, so I’m tagging along to that.”

“And do you know this person?”

“He’s someone Mila knows—she vouched for him.”

“Him?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good idea?”

The shot turned bitter on my tongue. “I’m not a baby, Samson. I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you were a baby. But I admit some concern over this plan. What’s even over there for you? Why are you going?”

“I don’t know what’s there, but I know what I’ve seen in photos—from researching for myself and from seeing the things Mila’s shown me.” I closed my eyes and could vividly see all the airborne photos she’d shown me, of sandy deserts and mountains that went on for ages. It was a sight I wouldn’t be able to see here. “I want to be in a place I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two about myself.”

“And you’re going to do all of this with Mila’s … friend, or whatever he is?”

“It’s safer for me to be in the company of someone than by myself,” I explained, “especially when this someone comes highly recommended by my future sister-in-law.” Saying it like that caused my brow to wrinkle. Considering she was marrying my brother-in-law, I didn’t think that made her my sister-in-law, but it was the only thing that made sense.

“Sure, but Mila,” he looked down the bar at her as she carefully layered the shots. “You know, she’s well-traveled. She seems like she can handle herself.”

“Really, Sam?” I asked, feeling like I’d forever be some kind of child in his eyes. “I’m twenty-four. I’m no baby, and I don’t need any babysitting.”

Sam seemed taken aback by how sharply I spoke to him. “I never said that, Lotte.” It was so rare to hear him call me by my name. It was always “Lots” or “Lotte the hottie.” “I just meant…” He ran through his hair. “You’re, you know, sweet. You could break a lot of hearts, maybe the wrong hearts, by just being you.”

It was the first time he’d ever said such a thing to me and it gave me pause. “Me? Break hearts?” I laughed. “Unlikely.”

“What? You’re young, to them you’ve got an accent, and you’re,” he waved a hand in front of me, and almost seemed to trip over his words, “pretty.”

I didn’t want to blush from the compliment and I was grateful for Mila’s interruption, handing us our shots with little fanfare before she moved back down the bar. “Well, you needn’t worry,” I said softly.

“How do you figure?”

“Because it’s never happened before, it’s unlikely to happen however long I’m in the States.”

“What do you mean, ‘however long’? You’ve got your return plane ticket, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t book a return flight home yet.”

“Why not?” he looked … annoyed. Which did a strange thing to my stomach.

“Because I wanted the freedom of choosing when to return home.”

“You call that freedom.” He tossed back the shot. “I call that fear.”

“How is that fear?” I tossed back my own shot, and Mila deposited two more before we could ask.

“Because you’ve left it open-ended—meaning you could go home one week after arriving, if you wanted. If you purchased a ticket, say, three months from now, you’d have to commit to staying the entire duration.”

“Yeah, well what if I hate it?” I challenged him. “It’s good to have a backup plan.”

He laughed at me, which only further twisted up my insides. “I thought the studio was the backup plan? But then you sold it. Why’d you trade one backup plan for another? I thought you wanted an adventure. Not a holiday.”

He was right, which was why anger curled around my words when I replied, “Why do you even care anyway? You don’t even know me. And besides, just ten minutes ago you were asking me if it was smart to travel with a man I don’t know across two states.”

“I’m not saying to be reckless. I’m just saying, you think that not buying a plane ticket home gives you the freedom to choose—but it cages you in more. By not buying that return flight, you’re already giving space to what you’re leaving behind instead of embracing what’s in front of you.” He pushed the shot aside and moved my cup so that it smeared a line of sweat across the bar. “Think of it like it’s a race, right? If I told you there was no measure of ‘done’ for this race—you just did it until you were done, do you think you’d run a marathon, or just a few streets?”

“Considering I don’t much enjoy running, it’d be just a few streets.”

“Exactly. And if I told you a number that might make you piss yourself—say, fifteen miles…”

“I’d tell you to piss off.”

“Right. And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t want to run forty-two kilometers.”

“And why not?”

“Because I don’t like running.”

“That’s not a good reason. Because you can run. You just don’t want to.”

“That’s right.”

“Because you’re afraid.”

I leaned back. “I’m not afraid.”

“You’re afraid, because you don’t think you can do it. Without even trying, you’re already throwing in the towel, calling defeat.”

“I’m not afraid,” I repeated. I took the shot, and then reached over and took his too.

“Yes, you are. You’re afraid to run fifteen miles. You’re afraid to commit to a time to come home, because if you get homesick, you want to be able to come immediately. Like I said, that’s fear. Not freedom.”

I let out a breath. He was doing a number on my pride at the moment, because he was absolutely right. Not purchasing a flight home was my way of giving me an out at a moment’s notice. I was afraid. Terrified down to my very marrow.

“You’re right,” I finally managed. “I’m not a big risk taker.”

“Oh, I’d disagree with that.” He reached across me and I froze. He grabbed just the ends of my hair between his fingers and tugged gently on it. “You take risks. But you are afraid.” His eyes met mine, and the shots I’d just consumed made his face slightly fuzzy. “What are you afraid of?”

He was still holding my hair. When I looked at his hand, he let go, and my tongue went soft in my mouth. “Everything,” I whispered.

I thought about what Bianca had said to me. About making my move before I left the country. He was mere centimeters from me, his leg pressed against mine, his scent filling the space we existed in, for that one moment.

It was filling me up, belly to throat—all of these unsaid feelings. He’d never know my feelings for him. At least, he’d never know their depth. Deep enough to drown in.

I looked at his lips. Full, but not excessively so. His jawline—sharp enough to cut glass. He was so handsome, in the most cliché ways. It was enough to make you annoyed, that his DNA was this exceptional, that all the pieces fit him as if he was some immortal being and not a man I’d loved for half of my life.

When my gaze made it up to his eyes, I noticed they were soft. Long, dark lashes framing dark eyes. He looked at me seriously, searchingly, and I realized as the feelings filled me to the top of my throat that this was the first time we’d looked at one another for any measurable length of time.

“More?”

Mila’s interruption was enough to jolt me from blurting what could have been one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

“I’ll take another, since she took mine,” Sam said. He looked back at me, and I felt the slightest bit of challenge in his eyes. “Want more?”

“She’s had a lot…” Mila hedged.

“She doesn’t need a babysitter,” Sam replied, echoing my words at her. The way he said it, still looking at me, made those feelings stick—thick, like syrup—to my insides.

“Yes,” I said, but it came out breathy and weak. I cleared my throat. “Yes. Keep ‘em coming.”

Mila waited a second longer than necessary before turning around, leaving me and Sam alone again.

“How about after this next shot, you and I go out onto the dance floor?”

Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t on the spectrum. “You … want to dance?”

“I do. You’re a dancer. Show me a few things.”

This wasn’t the Sam who treated me with kid gloves, holding me at arm’s length with teasing nicknames and brotherly nudges. It was as if he was looking at me separate from the girl he’d always known me as, like the woman I’d actually grown into.

The thought made me equally terrified and thrilled.

We took our next shots in silence. I’d barely set my glass back down on the bar top before he was grabbing my hand and leading me into the crowd of people. I had to stay close to him to avoid getting pulled away just from having to squeeze around the bodies.

When he’d found a clearing large enough for us both, he paused and turned to face me. The light flashed over his face, but in this corner of the room, it was much darker. Like this, he looked dangerous.

Because he was.