“Oh, look.” I reach up to tug on his hat. “It matches!”
Owen swats my hand away. “This is so nice of you.” And then, before I realize what’s happening, he’s reaching over to give Mrs. Kaminski’s shoulder a squeeze. She leans into him, and I stand corrected. Mrs. Kaminski is a hugger.
Owen’s gaze sweeps out around the café. “It’s so nice of you all to do this for me.” He swallows hard.
I look closely, and I swear his eyes are a little red. “Are you tearing up?”
“No,” he mutters, ducking his head and swiping at his eye with the back of his hand. “It’s allergies.”
“You are tearing up,” I say with glee.
He gives me an exaggerated glare. “I’m moved, okay? My friends are here, and you did all this for me, and… Jeez. Can’t I be a little sentimental on my thirtieth birthday?”
“Oh, Owen.” This time I give him the you know you love me grin. “You can be sentimental about what a great sister I am anytime you want.”
He laughs, bumping his shoulder into mine. I elbow him in the side in return. Zoe smiles, shaking her head at us, and excuses herself to go and help José Luis with the line that’s forming for drinks. Mrs. Kaminski follows.
Once they’re gone, Owen turns back to me. “Thanks for all of this,” he says.
“You know I love you.” I elbow him in the side. “Even though you’re gross.”
He jokingly pushes me away from him again.
Chapter 27
For the rest of the party, I alternate between mingling with Owen’s friends and restocking the pastry table. Everyone seems to be having a great time, and it’s well past midnight before the guests start trickling out. Eventually, only a small group remains, and we sit around a cluster of tables telling embarrassing stories about Owen. He’s glowing, surrounded by his friends and holding the hand of a cute red-haired girl named Nora who leans into him whenever she laughs.
Across the table, Paige shares a bench with Jacob and does a lot of leaning into him, too. I pour another drink and try not to think about the muscular arm she’s pressed up against, or how it felt when it was wrapped around me. I’m stupidly glad when Paige gets up to grab a bottle of wine, leaving Jacob alone on the bench.
On her way back to the table, Paige pauses in front of the stage. “You guys,” she says in that extra-loud tone of someone who’s a little tipsy. “We never sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Owen.” Her gaze settles on Jacob, and she gestures at the piano. “Jacob, come and play the piano for us!”
“Please no.” Owen shakes his head with a laugh. “I just turned thirty, not three.”
Paige cocks her head. “Okay, not ‘Happy Birthday.’ But play something for us.”
Jacob’s gaze swings in her direction, and I’m pretty sure his ears are turning red. “Oh…” He shakes his head.
Nora claps her hands. “Yes! Let’s hear you. Owen says you can play and sing. What songs do you know?”
The flush is making its way across Jacob’s face now. “This is Owen’s night. Nobody wants me to get up and perform.”
“Of course we do!” Paige says, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him in the direction of the stage. “Don’t we?” She turns to the guy on her left.
“Sure, let’s hear it,” the guy says with a shrug.
Jacob shifts in his seat and tugs his hand away from Paige. “I don’t think so. I’m not really a performer.”
“It’s just us, it’s not like it’s Carnegie Hall or anything! Besides, I can’t believe you’ve never so much as played ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ for me on that piano in your apartment. Please?”
Jacob drags his hand through his hair, and I can tell he’d rather cut off a finger than get up in front of everyone. But Paige is starting to get a little loud, and he probably doesn’t want to cause a scene. I glance at Owen. He must know this is mortifying to Jacob, but from the slight lack of focus in his eyes, I can tell he’s tipsy and not really paying attention. Oblivious, Nora leans over and whispers in his ear.
I’m tempted to snap at Paige to quit pushing, but I don’t want to embarrass Jacob with a scene, either. I look around the room, and my gaze settles on the bin full of empty liquor bottles next to the bar.
“We should take the recycling out to the alley,” I announce, jumping to my feet and making a show of walking over to the recycling bin. Bracing my feet and cringing like a powerlifter in my final heat at the Olympics, I bend to pick it up. “Oh, it’s too heavy to carry by myself.” I stand, stretching my back like maybe I pulled something. “Jacob, can you grab an end?”
He’s watching me, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sure.”
Before Jacob can stand, José Luis hops off his stool by the bar and waves me away. “Relax, Sadie. I’ve got it.” He lifts the bin without any effort and carries it under one arm toward the kitchen.
Sighing, I go back to the table and drop into my chair.
“Come on,” Paige says, still laser-focused on the idea of Jacob performing. “Play something. It’ll be fun.”
“Paige,” he says quietly, but firmly. “No.”
By now, I’ve had it. I take a sip of my mostly full cocktail, then put it back on the table, deliberately setting it at an angle. And—Oops! It tips over, sending green tea–infused vodka and cucumber garnish splashing across the table and dripping to the floor. I jump to my feet again. “Oh my gosh, I’m such a klutz.”
Owen shakes his head and tosses a handful of cocktail napkins in my direction. Jacob stands and hurries over to the bar to grab a couple of dish towels. Back at the table, he slides up beside me and hands me one. We lean in to mop up the mess at the same time, and our shoulders collide. His cinnamony scent drifts over, and a flush makes its way across my cheeks. I grab the overturned glass and carry it into the kitchen.
Jacob follows with the wet towels. The door swings shut behind him, and the conversation out in the café fades to the background. “Thanks for the diversion,” he murmurs.
I shrug. “Paige didn’t seem like she wanted to let that one go.”
Jacob glances through the small round window on the kitchen door to where Paige and the others sit. “I get it that people find out I’m a musician and can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to get up and play for everyone.” He shakes his head. “It’s probably a little strange.”
I set the glass in the sink and turn to face him. “It’s not strange. You share your music with millions of people. You’re not obligated to personally get up and sing a Tom Petty song for them.”
He gazes across the narrow space at me, and behind his glasses, his eyes are dark and intense. “It means a lot that you understand.”
It feels like someone turned the oven to a thousand degrees. I look away and busy myself with stacking the clean baking sheets lying in the dish drainer. When I reach over my head to put them on a shelf above the sink, they start to slide. Before I can react, Jacob moves behind me, taking the pans from my hands and placing them neatly on the shelf. I spin around and find myself encircled by his arms, my face inches from his chest.