Love in the Time of Serial Killers(61)

“Hey,” Sam said from next to me. His voice was low, and his thumb slid across my wristbone, sending a shiver through me. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re cool. And we don’t have to tell your brother or anything.”

Was it terrible that the first thing I felt was relief? But after that came confusion, because I really didn’t understand why Sam would be so chill about it all now when he’d seemed upset before. “But I was such a jerk,” I said. “I didn’t even tell you how good the sex was. Which I totally meant to do, by the way, because that whole night . . .”

I glanced over to see if Conner and Shani were paying any attention to us, but Conner seemed engrossed in feeding Shani more Brie. Reason number eighty-five why I thought it would’ve been better without me here.

“A-plus,” I finished. “Definitely.”

“A-plus-plus,” he said, but his gaze was on my face, as if searching for something there. Finally, he turned, giving me his profile. God, how I loved the imperfect bump of his nose, the soft curve of his lower lip. I wished we were here alone so we could just talk and make out or do whatever we wanted.

“I’m glad we can still be friends,” he said finally. “I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you this summer, Phoebe. It would be a shame to let one night wreck that.”

I heard his words like a record scratch in my head. They made me feel ridiculous—for going to Alison for advice, for waiting for his truck, for wearing my hair down in hopes he would come tonight.

“Right,” I said. “Totally.”

Suddenly I was as impatient as Conner for the fireworks to start so we could get this whole night over with. The air was heavy and humid, the way it always felt right before rain, and the mosquitoes were starting to come out. Or else they’d been out, and were only now starting to drive me crazy, which was probably more accurate.

The family next to us took another look at the sky and started packing up, which I could tell made Conner anxious. I cut my eyes from Sam to Shani, trying to send him a telepathic message to distract her with some conversation. Thankfully, he seemed to receive the message, because he turned to her and started asking polite questions about what her plans after nursing school were.

I grabbed the sleeve of Conner’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Listen, just tell yourself it’s not going to happen.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” I said. “Tell yourself right now, oh well, tonight’s not the night. I’m going to propose, but it’s not going to be during the fireworks.”

“But I set it all up,” he said. “I paid for it.”

“And we’ll get you your money back,” I said, “if I have to write a strongly worded letter to do it. Just say it after me. Tonight’s not the night.”

“Tonight’s not the night,” he said, sounding miserable.

“Great,” I said, letting go of his shirt. “So now, if it rains, it rains. We’ll grab the Brie—whatever’s left of it—and run. And on the very slim chance that the sky clears and the fireworks go off without a hitch, you can get down on one knee and still live out your fantasy clickbait romantic moment. But we’re going to treat that like a distant possibility and just enjoy the night for what it is, okay? You’re here with your girl and she loves cheese and loves you. Now, why don’t you take her for a walk down by the water while we wait to see if there are pyrotechnics or proposals in our future.”

Conner blinked at me, a little taken aback by the vehemence in my speech, but then he went over to lean down to Shani and say something in her ear. She beamed at him as he pulled her up, and they went walking off together toward the river.

Sam scooted a little closer to me. “Tough love?”

“Managing expectations,” I said, watching them until they disappeared behind the crowd. “If he’s smart he’ll propose to her right there by the water and get it over with.”

“Spoken like a true romantic.”

I glanced at him. He hadn’t said the words with any particular rancor, but given the recency of our own romantic conflicts, I couldn’t blame him if he had.

“I was straight with you the other day,” I said. “I do want to be with you, as more than friends. We don’t have to define it as anything yet, but I can be open-minded.”

Sam yanked a couple blades of grass from the ground, twisting them between his fingers. “I think I have to do some managing expectations of my own. You’re looking for something casual, which makes sense. I just don’t know that I can be casual about you.”

“So . . . no kissing?”

He gave me a sad smile. “Not unless you mean it.”

I’ve meant it every time, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. “You’ve always been a relationship guy, huh?”

“I guess so,” he said. “I didn’t have my first real girlfriend until college. I know, pathetic, right? But I was so shy in high school. I barely talked to anyone. I’ve dated a little, here and there, but mostly if I’m with someone it’s because I hope for a future with that person.”

A future. It was a nice idea, but I couldn’t even imagine what that would look like, with Sam or otherwise.

“Like Amanda,” I said.