Page 57 of Sing For Me

“What are we doing?”

“Taking a selfie, duh. They showed us their party, we can show them ours.”

He shakes his head but his lips are still twitching, his jaw relaxed. “You have no idea the absolute furor this is going to cause.” But he rests his cheek against the top of my head and smiles for the picture, angling the phone to get our spread of Thai food and wine in the shot.

When he’s done, he shows me the screen and the image makes my breath catch. We look good together. Comfortable. We look happy.

“Send it.”

“You asked for it.” He clicks send. “That’s the group chat,” he warns. “Which means—” Immediately his phone starts buzzing as the texts come pouring in.

Presley:OMG.

Cade:Nice.

Santana:She’s so pretty! Omg! I want to be her. Please bring her over here, Will. PLEASE.

Silas:You look good, bro. Happy.

Everly:I’ll start planning the wedding immediately.

He rolls his eyes. “Told you they’re insane.”

“What’s this?” I ask, pointing at the screen where Vega’s response has just appeared.

Vega:Can you convince her to be on the show with us? The ratings would be INSANE.

Will’s expression turns sheepish. “Vega, um, has a YouTube channel. She makes cooking videos. Well, baking, mostly.”

But he won’t meet my eyes and he definitely looks a little shady. Probably similar to the way I looked when I realized he was going to see my cosplay photos. Like he’s embarrassed.

“She said withus.”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, like he has no idea what I’m talking about, moving to stash his phone in his pocket. I put my hand over it.

“She said with us. She didn’t say her show. She said us.”

He closes his eyes. “Fine. I may, occasionally, help her with the videos.”

I study his face. He looks way too uncomfortable for merely helping his little cousin. “Show me.”

His eyes widen. “What? No. Let’s clean up our dinner and—”

“No way. I want to see her channel. Pull it up.” He gives me a pleading look. “You had plenty of fun teasing me about my D&D pics,” I remind him. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Fine.” The petulant voice sounds so incongruous to the big, bearded man sitting next to me that I have to giggle. The giggle turns to a shriek of delight when he pushes the phone into my hand.

Will is standing in a kitchen, scowling, next to a little girl with the same jet-black curls I saw on his cousins Everly and Santana at the party. The kitchen is bright pink—pink cabinets, pink countertops. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even better? Will is wearing a bright pink polka-dotted apron. With ruffles.

“This is amazing,” I tell him, unable to stop laughing. “You lookadorable. Pink is really your color. Goes well with the beard and the tats.”

“It’s Vega’s show,” he insists. “I don’t really have any choice

I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t she like, thirteen?”

“She’s a little dictator,” he insists, eyes-wide. “It’s impossible to say no to her.”

On the screen, Will is showing Vega how to separate egg whites. She squeals about how slimy they are and Will laughs.