Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Sam claimed this indie music festival was a personality test. So far, mine was “socially anxious with a popcorn addiction.”
She had begged me for weeks, claiming I was wasting my summer working instead of experiencing the few months a year Montana was hot enough to justify shorts and sunburns.
I’d resisted at first—because of crowds, noise, and the fact I preferred A/C over the eighty- to ninety-degree dry heat we had this time of year—but I caved when she bribed me with kettle corn, root beer floats, and the promise of uninterrupted indie music under the stars.
I was a sucker for good food and music.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Sam said, slipping her arm around mine as we wove through the food truck area. “Abby Walker, willingly at a festival. This is character growth.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” I said, putting on my sunglasses. “I came for the music and snacks. Not the socializing.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Her grin grew as she focused on something to my side. “Tell that to the guy checking you out by the kettle corn stand.”
I frowned and followed her gaze.
My heart felt like it slammed against my chest as my eyes landed on the guy in question.
Foster.
He was wearing a fitted navy blue T-shirt that clung in all the right places and a backward baseball hat that I knew had the Clark Fork Hockey logo on it because he’d worn it to tutoring a few times.
I’d nearly gone into cardiac arrest the first time he lifted it, ran his fingers through his hair, and then twisted it around so he was wearing it backward.
I don’t know why the move was so hot, but I was sure I was going to melt into a puddle when he did it.
The reaction my body had to him now wasn’t far off from that first response.
His aviators were hanging from his shirt collar since he was standing in the shadow of the food stand, and he had a long bag of popcorn in hand.
He was staring straight at me, and the corners of his lips lifted up as we made eye contact.
I froze. Sam squeezed my arm reassuringly as she whispered, “Stay cool.”
Foster walked toward us, a guy with pitch-black hair walking next to him.
His eyes were bright and his smile wide when he reached us. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echoed, trying to sound breezy, like my stomach hadn’t just done a somersault at that smile.
“I’m Sam,” my best friend said beside me when Foster and I had been staring at each other just a beat too long.
He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Before I could worry that he might find Sam attractive—because who wouldn’t?—he focused back on me. He gestured to the guy next to him. “This is Gordy.”
“Gordy? Is that your real name?” Sam asked.
“Harrison Gordon. Gordy is a nickname.”
Sam hummed softly beside me. “I think I’ll call you Harry.”
Gordy arched a brow and looked like he was preparing to be offended. “Like Harry Potter?”
Sam’s smile grew. “No, like Prince Harry. You’ve got that regal air about you.”
Gordy tilted his head, clearly weighing whether to be flattered or offended. “As long as it’s not Harry Potter, I’ll allow it.”
Sam grinned. “I mean, you do have the dark hair and tragic backstory look about you, but Prince Harry is hotter than Harry Potter.”
Foster chuckled, and I couldn’t help but smile as their banter eased the tension slightly.
“Are you guys headed anywhere specific?” Foster asked.
“Just wandering,” Sam replied. “We caught some of the earlier sets, but now we’re mostly hunting shade and snacks.”
“Same,” Gordy said.
“You want to walk together for a bit?” I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or not, but Foster asked the question as if my answer would determine whether or not he enjoyed the rest of the festival.
The question itself was casual, but the way he asked it—like it genuinely mattered to him what I said—made my heart stutter.
“Sure,” I said, looping my thumb through the strap of my crossbody purse because I needed something to do with my hands.
We fell into step, the four of us drifting toward the tree-lined edge of the field where a local band was setting up. The music had quieted during the changeover, and the air was full of low conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from larger groups.
Sam and Gordy walked ahead, and based on the snippets of their conversation, Sam was doing her best to make Gordy blush. But then she glanced back and gave me a subtle wink, and I caught on to exactly what she was doing—trying to give Foster and me a little space.
“This is a good look for you,” Foster said after a moment, pulling my attention away from Sam and Gordy.
I arched a brow. “Sweaty and borderline sunburnt?”
He smiled. “No. Relaxed.” He gripped the back of his neck, and the move showed off his biceps in a way that had my mouth watering. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. “You strike me as the type who’d rather spend a Saturday mining for gold than sweating through a music festival.”
I stared at him for a beat. “Did you just make a gaming reference?”
Normally, that’s exactly what I’d be doing in Stardew Valley along with teasing Bear about his failing crops. But there was no way Foster could know that unless he’d figured out how little of a social life I really had.
He laughed. “Maybe. You just strike me as the type. But I gotta admit, I like this version of you. The one that comes out in the sun and listens to sad indie ballads.”
“Only because Sam dragged me here.”
“I owe her a thank you then.”
That caught me off guard. “You owe her?”
“For convincing you to show up. Otherwise, I’d be stuck debating Gordy on whether or not banjos have a place in modern music instead of getting to know you better.”
I smiled despite myself. “And what’s the verdict on banjos?”
“He says no. Passionately. Like, full TED Talk-level opposition.”
I laughed—it was surprisingly easy to be around Foster like this.
It was the first time we’d really hung out—sober and without math tutoring as an excuse—and it was nice to feel so relaxed in his presence.
But it didn’t make my confusion about him and Bear any easier. If anything, seeing Foster like this was making me even more confused.
We kept walking without speaking, our feet crunching softly on the gravel path that curved through the booths and shaded tents. The band on stage started playing something soft with slow beats and smooth vocals that had me relaxing even more.
Maybe coming to this festival hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.