If I’d expected him to ask for pointers, I would’ve been disappointed. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. Close enough so his torso brushed against mine. He was nearly a head taller than me—another thing I didn’t notice until I was this close to him.

Gently, he took my hand in his and with a soft, one-sided smile, we began swaying to the song.

“You know how to dance,” I commented, looking up at him.

“My mum.” He lifted one eyebrow. “And sisters. They weren’t going to let me out into the world without knowing a few things.”

“My sister taught me to dance, too.” I could say that, three years after her passing, without it leaving me breathless with grief.

“Mal was a good girl. Too good for Ames. Too good for everyone.”

Hearing Sam talk about my sister, especially because he’d actually known her, brought me an indescribable feeling of peace. “She was the best person in my life.”

“She’d be proud of you, you know.” As if he felt almost uncomfortable saying it, he looked up over my head, out into the crowd for a moment before returning to my eyes. “For making your dance studio what it was, and for the courage to sell it.” He turned me so that I was facing the bar. “For giving her widowed husband the money to finish the restaurant they’d started together.”

“I owe Ames everything. He didn’t leave us when any other person would have.”

“He didn’t think of it like that. There was never a choice for him to stay. He just did. You’re his family. His sister.”

“And you’re his best mate.”

He took a deep breath in. “Yes. And he’s too good for me.” He turned us around so no one was in sight. It was just us two on the dark dance floor, swaying to a song I didn’t know. “Don’t tell him I said that. He’d hold it over my head until I’m dead.”

I laughed. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.” Chasing that were the words in my head, But you’re too good for me.

“He is. I’m not some saint, Lotte.”

There he went, using my name again instead of his many nicknames for me. “Neither am I,” I said, giving him a confused look. “And neither is Ames.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look like he believed what I said. “Right,” he said, sounding like he didn’t actually agree with me at all. “Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Don’t bring back any strays.”

I wrinkled my brow. “Strays?”

“Yeah. Don’t bring back the first boy who falls in love with you over there.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Samson clearly had some idea of who I was, but he was completely off base. “Oh? Should I only bring back the second boy who falls in love with me? Or the third?” I cocked my head to the side. “Or both of those?”

He set his jaw, and I realized with a shiver that I’d pissed him off. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t.” We weren’t swaying as much anymore, but he was still wrapped around me.

“Come on, Lots. Guys are going to go crazy for you. Just be safe, okay?”

“Safe? Don’t worry, I’ll pack my condoms behind the ski mask I’ll wear to ward off all these love hungry American boys.” That time I did roll my eyes. “Give me a break, Samson.”

“Do you think I’m joking?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re being serious.” I pulled out of his arms and wrapped mine around my waist. “What gives? Why do you even care?”

“I don’t care.” But his annoyance was growing by the second. “Just…” he sighed. “I don’t even know what I’m asking here.”

“That makes two of us.” I turned to leave the place we occupied on the dance floor, disappointed in him for ruining our dance. Before I could make it very far, he backed me into the wall that hid us from immediate view. “What?” I asked him.

“It bothers me,” he admitted quietly. “That you might fall in love over there. And then not come back.”

“I’ll come back, Sam. My family is here.” I lifted my shoulder and tried to move away from where he’d backed me, but he didn’t move to allow me to leave him. I let out a frustrated breath. “Look. I don’t know what your deal is, but I can tell you I’m not going to just fall in love willy nilly over there. Love isn’t some careless thing to me, okay?”

He’d been looking at the ground but he lifted his eyes to mine.

I swallowed hard. “I know that word has been in your mouth, but it hasn’t been in mine. It’s … special to me.” For the first time all night, I felt completely inexperienced next to Sam. Of course he’d been in love. He’d loved a great many girls; none of them me.

“Are you insinuating it’s not special to me?”

“No.” But I immediately thought, yes. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you with anyone since…” I didn’t want her name on my tongue.

“Della.” He eased up on backing me into the wall and rubbed a hand through his hair. “My relationship with my ex is not exactly something to aspire to.”

“Yeah, because Della is the very definition of insanity.”

He laughed humorlessly. “That she is.” He braced his hand on the wall.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Just a little dizzy.” He shook his head. “The shots, I’m sure.”

Spying the soft leather sofas behind him, I put my hands gently on his shoulders and eased him to sit. “I’m feeling a little dizzy myself.” I wasn’t, but the alcohol was definitely settling comfortably into my limbs, making me a little less graceful than usual.

The leather sofas were tucked away in the dark corner of the pub. Far from the bar, it granted us a little privacy and was a lot quieter away from the speakers.

I collapsed onto the sofa beside him, feeling like I’d just run a marathon by the way my limbs turned immediately into rubber.

“Some waters,” Mila said, setting them on the table in front of us. “Drink up. One of you has a flight tomorrow morning.” And then she sidled away, turning into one big blur the further she was.

“Oh shit,” I said softly, realizing I had my flight. “I hope I’m not still drunk tomorrow.”

“You probably will be.” He let out a deep sigh in contentment. “It’s okay, I’ll be drunk with you at the family brunch.” He dropped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me. Sober me would have been anxious, probably even pushed him away, but drunk me laid my head on his shoulder and breathed him in.

“Why her?” I asked, grateful that multiple shots had dulled any inhibitions I had. I never would’ve asked him without a bit of liquid courage.

“Hmm?”

“Della.” Even saying her name made me want to spit it back up. “You know she’s crazy.”

Sam chuckled. “Oh yeah, she tried to run me over once. She got my foot only.”

“That’s funny?”

He shrugged, moving my head that rested on his pecs. “If I can’t laugh about it, then I’m not over it, right?”

I thought about how many times I’d heard he was over her, before he went right back to her again. “Why’d she run you over?”

“Because she thought I hooked up with her friend.”

“Gross. Did you?”

“I can’t remember. But if I did, it wasn’t while I was with her.”

“Still gross.”

“What?” he asked me.

Sitting up, I repeated myself. “Gross. Friends are a no-no, Sam. You don’t go there.”

He frowned and patted his chest, looking for something. “I need to take notes.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes at him again. “It should be common sense.”

“Well, common sense skipped over me. Obviously.”

“She got your foot?”

He lifted his left boot. “Yeah, she did. But that’s okay. The doctors fixed me up.” He turned to me, a smile on his face. “I’m good as new.”

“Did she even feel bad about it?”

“Oh, sure. She apologized a lot.”

“And then you went back to her?”

He sighed, and I could sense that he was pulling away from me—not in a physical sense, but deeper than that. “It’s complicated.”

I wanted to call him out on the bullshit of that statement, but I didn’t. “I mean, I get it. Humans, as a species, are pretty dumb sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“We love the people who hurt us,” I explained. “And hurt the ones who love us.” I looked him over for a moment. “If that second one describes anyone, it’s you and Della,” I said. “But if a guy ever ran over my foot, I’d never speak to him again.”

“You’re right, because he’d be dead if he ran over any part of your body.”

“You’d kill him or something?”

He shifted on the sofa, angling his body toward me. “Ames and I, yes, we would.”

“Why? Because I’m basically family to you, too?”

He didn’t reply immediately this time. “No.”

“No to what?”

He just looked at me, in our shadowed little corner of the pub. Once again, the silence between us filled my belly. I realized how much I’d wanted this, to be in his company—just him and me—and also cursed the timing. The night before I was to leave for another country, Samson finally noticed me.

Slowly, Sam leaned toward me.

I stayed still.

Sam lifted his hand to my face.

I sucked in a breath.

His eyes looked directly at my lips.

I looked at his.

His hand went to my hair and tangled in the ends again.

I didn’t think I could breathe.

“Here,” he whispered, his breath feathering my face as he abruptly pulled away.

Blinking, I tried to make sense of what had just happened. In his hand, he held one long white-blonde hair.

“It was falling out. Distracting me.” He gave me an odd little smile. “Want it back?”

My hair was starting to do that more often lately. I’d tried to stop myself from pulling, but occasionally I found myself tugging on my hair harder than necessary.

“No,” I whispered, the breath rushing back into my lungs now that he was a safe distance away.

When Sam had settled back against the cushions, he said something to me but was far too quiet for me to hear.

“What?” I asked, leaning toward him to hear him better.

“Want to know a secret?” he asked.

It caught me off guard. “Okay…sure.”

“There’s a price. If I tell you a secret, you have to tell me one.”

I was the keeper of dozens of secrets. This would be a piece of cake, depending on the secret I was willing to part with. I knew I’d gauge the seriousness of my secret on his, so I just waited.

“I didn’t really like that shot.”

Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. I burst out a laugh so loud that I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Really? Then why’d you drink it?”

“Because it seemed to make you happy.” He laughed along with me and lazily turned his head on the cushion to look at me. “Your turn.”

“Before, when I told you the number of shots I’d had was a secret?”

He nodded.

“It wasn’t a secret. I just forgot to count.”

He laughed, dimples carving deep lines into his cheeks. “I think you’ve had four or five more since then.”

I blinked. “I’ll definitely be drunk on the plane tomorrow, then.”

“Ah, then you’ll get to sleep.” He rubbed his knuckles gently on my forearm, which was laying between us on the sofa. “Okay. Ready for another mind-blowing secret?”

I shook my head yes. “Definitely.” It was so comfortable, being with him on the sofa. All my nerves were gone. I felt at home with him. And I hated a little that I got a taste of this right before I was about to leave it. Leave him.

“My sister, Eliza, broke my nose once.”

“Oh, I knew about that.” Visions of hearing Eliza mention it more than once at their family dinners flashed in my head.

“Okay, but do you know why?”

I shook my head.

“It was eight years ago. April Fool’s Day.” He laughed prematurely. “I put a chicken stock cube in the shower.” He laughed harder. “She was getting ready for a date. She reeked of chicken.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said on a laugh and covered my mouth. “So she punched you?”

“Well, it wasn’t after the shower—though we had a good row over it. It was the lager that was the final straw.”

“The lager?”

“I’d forgotten about it. I’d leaned a full glass of lager against a cupboard. When she opened the cupboard, the beer spilled all over herself.” He pursed his lips. “Yep, that’s probably what did her head in.”

“Oh, you’re mean, Samson.”

“She broke my nose.” He ran a finger down his nose, which showed no sign of injury at all. His features were perfectly symmetrical. Like I said, he was here on purpose.

“It looks perfectly fine,” I said, after staring at his face for far too long. “You know it does. You’re vain.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s your turn to tell me a secret, not to guess what mine are.”

“Oh, come on. You being vain is not a secret. If it is, it’s a poorly-kept one.”

“Your turn,” he whispered with a humored glint in his eyes.

“The studio was supposed to be my sister’s.”

He was quiet for a minute, staring at me. “But…” He rubbed his lips together in contemplation. “I thought the restaurant was your sister’s. The dance studio was yours.”

My head fell back to the sofa cushions. “My grandparents intended the studio for Mal—remember, I said she taught me to dance. But she fell in love with the pub and wanted something like that. So,” I ran my tongue over my teeth, “I got the studio instead while she got the restaurant. And now, thanks to the sale of my studio, Ames can finally fund the renovations for the restaurant. My sister’s dream, come to life.”

“So, are you telling me the studio wasn’t your dream then?”

I shook my head. I didn’t think this was a very good secret, mostly because it wasn’t much of a secret. If anyone had ever asked me point-blank if I wanted to inherit a dance studio, my answer would have been noncommittal. “I didn’t ask for it. But they gave it to me, and what was I supposed to do? Complain about being given a piece of real estate with no strings attached?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I lifted my head to look at him like he was crazy. “Are you serious right now?”

He adjusted so he was sitting up too, looking at me straight. “Dead serious. They gave you your sister’s dream. You didn’t have to accept it.”

“It’s not that easy,” I started before he interrupted me.

“It doesn’t have to always be easy, Lots. In fact, the best things aren’t easy.” He patted me on the knee and then didn’t remove his hand.

“It wasn’t easy selling it.”

“Exactly. And now you’re going to go off gallivanting to the States. Find adventure. Fall in love.”

“Why are you so hung up on this love business?” I asked him.

“I’m not hung up.”

I leaned against him, bumping into him. His arm came around my back, so I couldn’t pull away. “You keep bringing it up.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m doing a better job at keeping track of how many times you’ve brought it up versus how many shots I’ve had. Three. I think.”

“You’ve had more than three shots.” He squeezed me and I settled my head onto his shoulder.

“I’m not talking about the shots. You’ve told me, three times, that I’m going to fall in love in the States. And you’ve made it sound like the absolute worst each time.”

“Wouldn’t it be, though?” Though he said it aloud, it sounded like a thought he’d meant to keep to himself, especially when his jaw clenched immediately after, when he looked away from me.

I tried not to analyze his words too much—not that I could anyway, in my current situation of trying to make the floor stop spinning. It was a million times safer to be here, with Sam, than to try to focus on the world around us. But nothing about Sam was safe.

“Why?” I asked, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

His hand gripped my shoulder, jolting me to look at him. His gaze had grown more intense, more focused—and as he shifted his eyes to my lips, leaning in, I had to remind myself to breathe.

And then his lips were on mine. Warm, soft, open. It amazed me that alcohol could numb me to my surroundings, to my own fear of being in his presence. But nothing, absolutely nothing, anesthetized me to the feel of Sam’s lips pressing against mine.

I almost fought it—the wave of memory of our last kiss fell over me and threatened, like a riptide, to yank me from him. But his hands framed my cheeks, and I had no choice but to become compliant to him.

He tilted my head, deepening the kiss, as a moan came from his throat. His breath fanned over my lips and I clutched at his shirt, desperate for this moment to not be like our last, desperate for him to remember who he was kissing, to see me.

Which he did, when he pulled away and stared at me. “Lots,” he said softly, his fingers pressing me as if he wasn’t sure I was real.

I searched his eyes—for regret, for confusion—for everything except what I saw, plain as day: desire.

“Upstairs,” I whispered. This was my chance. Our chance. The last one we’d get.

I watched him swallow, steady his breathing, before he nodded in agreement.

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” he said, and then pressed his forehead to mine, closing his eyes briefly. My heart roared and my hands shook even as they still held his shirt. “What are we doing?”

“Shut up, Sam,” I whispered before I stood. It took a few seconds for me not to sway, and I walked away from him, toward the door that separated the pub from the kitchen, which led to the flat I shared with my family. Just before I passed through the door, I looked over my shoulder, seeing Sam sitting on the leather sofa, in between the throngs of people that still milled about the pub.

He was looking straight at me, not a smile on his lips. But there was something in his eyes, something that told me he’d follow me like he’d promise.

So, I gave him the smallest smile and disappeared upstairs before anyone could stop me.