“Twenty,” he corrected after filling our glasses, then he held his up. “To you, Giana,” he said, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “And to the music that fills our souls.”

I smiled, clinking my glass against his before I took a sip. The wine was almost too sweet, tasting more like grape juice than like anything that had alcohol in it. But I liked the bubbles dancing on my tongue as I looked around.

“I’ve missed you at my shows,” Shawn said, plating a pesto pasta onto his dish before passing the container to me.

“I’m surprised you ever realized I was there in the first place.”

“Why would that surprise you?” he asked genuinely. “Look at you.”

I arched a brow, looking down at my sloppy, large sweatshirt and joggers. “Yeah. A total babe.”

Shawn laughed. “You are. And you’re unique. You stand out in a way I’ve never seen any other girl do.”

Something about that wrinkled my nose — mostly because I absolutely loathed the you’re not like other girls line. It felt divisive and like more of an insult to womanhood than a compliment to me.

“You never seemed to notice before that night I saw you downtown,” I commented.

“I noticed every time.”

His words came swiftly, and he paused where he was plating a chicken cutlet.

“I saw you at the café all last year, watched as you sang along to every song — even my originals.”

I flushed.

“I watched you drink the same coffee order, some sort of large espresso foamy thing,” he added with a laugh. “Every evening when I was there. And I always wondered if you’d ever stick around, or come up and say hi, but you never did.”

I balked, unable to believe that he ever paid attention to me, but even more so that he was waiting for me to make a move. “You could have been the one to come break that barrier, you know,” I told him.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But every time my set ended, you would bolt. And when I had intermission, you would pick up your book.” He leveled his gaze with mine. “Do you know how intimidating it is to approach a girl when she’s reading a book? That’s like trying to pet a cat’s belly. It might work out great, but more than likely you’ll get claws to the face for assuming they wanted anything to do with you.”

The laugh that shot out of me surprised me, and the snort that followed brought a wide grin to Shawn’s face.

“Fair enough,” I said through my laughter, and then I sipped the sweet wine before taking my first bite of pasta.

“Can I ask you something?” Shawn inquired.

I nodded, and he paused a long moment with his fork hovering over his plate before he finally spoke again.

“Why are you dating Clay Johnson?”