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He nodded, solemn as a priest, a decidedly hot priest.
“What’s yours?”
With atut-tut, he said, “I could be wrong, but I’m fairly certain it’s my turn.” The trap he’d set snapped shut. “You first.”
“You’re seriously going to make me admit this?”
He raised his glass to his lips, not letting her out of his sight.
“Fine,” she said, relenting. “But before I embarrass myself with my heart’s favorite song, I’ll tell you my brain’s favorite. It’s ‘Just Like Heaven’ by the Cure.”
“Mmm. One of the best love songs ever written,” he agreed. “But now…” His fingers played a drumroll out on the table, her attention snagging so hard on how fast they moved she barely heard him ask, “What is your heart song?”
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” she said. “But my heart’s favorite song—”
“Your tears-in-the-shower song.”
“—is ‘Sailing.’ You know, that song from the seventies?”
A hand rising to cover his heart, he said, “The rousing and evocative Christopher Cross yacht rock classic? Yes, I know ‘Sailing.’”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I would never,” he said with complete sincerity. “Why is it your heart song?”
“It’s so hard to describe.” She raised her arm off the table, showing him her pebbled skin and raised hairs. “Look, just thinking about it gives me goose bumps.”
Reaching out, he brushed his fingers over her arm, settling her hairs back down, or at least trying to. “Tell me, Mira. Why do you love ‘Sailing’?”
Letting him lower her arm gently back to the table, struggling to form a single coherent thought while he did, she managed, “I think it’s the intro, the strings. Or maybe it’s his voice. It’s such a beautiful song, but it’s also so heartbreakingly sad somehow, so nostalgic. It’s like watching the sunset on your last day of vacation.”
“That’s very poetic.”
“And I’ve always wanted to sail.”
Bringing his hands back to his glass, he said, “I have a sailboat.”
She gave him a remorseful grin.
“But you already know that.” He tipped his glass toward her. “Because you’ve been on my Insta.”
“What did we do before we could stalk each other over the interwebs?”
She wasn’t sure if he’d realized his foot had slid forward, his shoe brushing up against the side of hers.
“Is that your next question for me?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not getting out of telling me what your heart song is.”
He snapped his fingers, and she realized that not only were they capable of moving at the speed of light, but they were also very, very long. “Worth a shot.”
“I’m waiting, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Okay, but don’t make fun of me either.”
She drew a crisscross over her heart.
Inhaling deeply as if bracing himself, he said, “It’s ‘I Will Always Love You.’”
