Page 32 of Sing For Me

“She runs the charity.” I nod at one of the framed posters on the nearest wall. “The Sunshine Foundation. My aunt and uncle started it years ago, to combat bullying. The whole family got involved, and it grew over the years. Now we support a bunch of youth-related causes we’re passionate about. My mom always wanted to work in philanthropy, she went to school for it. It made sense for her to take over the foundation.”

Eva is silent for a long moment before clearing her throat. When she speaks again, her voice is thick with emotion. “Your family’s foundation paid for my piano lessons when I was eleven.”

I stop, staring down at her. “Seriously?”

She nods. “It was just my mom, you know? She did a great job, always made sure we had enough. But there wasn’t usually much extra. I took lessons at the local rec center as much as I could, but when the teachers started recommending I get into serious training, there just wasn’t money for it.” She shrugs. “A social worker there helped me fill out a bunch of applications for aid. The Sunshine Foundation made it so I could take advanced lessons. Probably wouldn’t have got into a performing arts high school without those lessons.” She smiles. “So thank your mom for me, sometime, okay?”

I stare down at her, lost for words. The Sunshine Foundation has always been a family endeavor, something we’ve all engaged with and taken ownership of, even as little kids. One of my earliest memories was the day the foundation rented out Disneyland after hours for the kids of veterans who were serving overseas. I can’t remember a time when the foundation wasn’t organizing something like that.

The idea that something my family did years ago has had such a profound effect on Eva’s life makes me feel connected to her in a way I can’t quite explain.

“I will,” I finally manage. Our eyes are locked on each other, the heat of her skin a brand on my hand that still presses against her lower back. My fingers flex against her on instinct, every part of me wanting to get closer. To feel more.

As I stare down at her, Eva’s gaze drops to my mouth. Shit. The urge to kiss her is overwhelming. I start to tilt my head towards her—and then she’s pushed abruptly away as a passing partygoer rams into her.

She yelps, stumbling on her heels, and I grab her shoulders to steady her. The clumsy guest apologizes profusely and I wave him off. “You okay?”

“Sure.” But I can’t help but notice she looks a little off after that. There’s a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before and she’s holding her arms at an odd angle, stiff and hunched over the front of her body. Defensive. Like she’s trying to protect herself from the crowd around us.

“Hey, isn’t that your friend?” I ask, catching sight of the vaguely familiar short blonde who I’m pretty sure had been with Eva in my shop.

“That’s Marissa,” she agrees. But she doesn’t relax at all. If anything, she seems even more tense. “And now I know why she didn’t come back to find me.”

Marissa is talking to a man with slicked back hair and an unnaturally orange tan. Though talking isn’t really the right word—she looks close to screaming at the guy, waving her arms around animatedly, sloshing the liquid in the drinks she holds in each hand.

The guy must catch sight of us because he tries to dart around Marissa. She holds her ground though, planting herself directly in his way.

“Who is that?” I dislike him on sight. He looks slimy and pushy and I don’t like the way his too-tanned face is reddening while he argues with Marissa, obviously trying to get towards Eva.

“That’s my manager,” she says on a sigh. “He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight.” She hunches even further into herself. “I should probably go talk to him.” Her tone and body language make me like him even less—she’s clearly uncomfortable.

Before Eva can cross the room, Marissa points a finger in the guy’s face then turns and heads in our direction. The guy stays back but he obviously isn’t happy about his, his face red while he mutters to himself and glares over at us.

“Dennis is here,” Marissa says easily, as if we hadn’t just watched her arguing with him. “Don’t worry, I told him to keep his distance.”

“That’s gonna last,” Eva mutters. “Let me guess—he’s not pleased by my performance so far this evening?”

Marissa rolls her eyes. “He thinks you should be networking more. He can also go fuck himself.” Her eyes flick between the two of us, zeroing in on my hand still pressed against Eva’s lower back, and her lips curve up in a smile. “But I’mfarmore interested in what’s happening over here.”

Eva rolls her eyes. “Mar, you remember Will from the tattoo shop?” The woman passes one of the drinks out to Eva so she can shake my hand. “Will, this is my PA, Marissa.”

“PA,” Marissa scoffs. “I’m your BFF and everyone knows it.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Tattoo shop guy, huh? Fancy meeting you here.”

“Will’s mother runs this charity,” Eva explains.

“Is that right?” Marissa’s eyes scan me, appraising. “So why didn’t you call my friend, Tattoo Boy? That was pretty cold, you know.”

Eva groans. “Ignore her. She can’t survive if she’s not meddling in my life.”

“Hey, my meddling is the reason the douche canoe isn’t over here hounding you.”

“Dennis isn’t that bad.” But she tenses again. “And he’s probably right. I should get out there and remind some people that I still exist.”

The teasing glint immediately leaves Marissa’s eye, replaced by concern. “You don’t need to do that yet. You can relax for a while. Finish your drink.”

“Have you eaten yet?” I ask.

“No,” Eva admits. “But I think I should get this part over with first. Then I can relax later.” She shoots me a sheepish look. “I’m not great at the whole social-interaction-with-strangers thing these days.”