Chapter 4
FAYE
MORNING ASSESSMENT & COMPATIBILITY REVIEW
Priority Level: HIGH
Status: UNEXPECTEDLY INTIMATE
IMMEDIATE OBSERVATIONS:
Sam makes perfect coffee
Knows my breakfast preferences
Wearing my favourite hoodie
Domesticity level: Dangerous
Heart: Malfunctioning
THINGS TO DISCUSS:
1. Wedding night details
2. Boundaries during tour
3. PR strategy
4. Why my stomach flips when he smiles
Note: STRIKE LAST ITEM IMMEDIATELY
CURRENT CONCERNS:
A) How good Sam looks in morning
B) Personal/Professional lines blurring
Note: Focus on professional aspects ONLY
Threat Level: INCREASING
Personal Note: Stop noticing his dimples
Secondary Note: Stop making notes about Sam
Final Note: This is getting out of hand
D espite the concussion, my internal body clock woke me up at 5am. The bus hummed quietly beneath us as we rolled through the pre-dawn darkness, and for a moment, I forgot about marriages and media storms as I lay there, listening to the soft snores and sniffles of the sleeping people around me.
At least I did until I touched the bandage on my head.
Time to get to work.
Sliding from my bunk, I opened the small cupboard beside it, quietly pulling out some clothes before making my way to the full bathroom at the rear of the bus.
Dressed, I made my way downstairs and found Sam in the small kitchen area, his back to me as he worked the coffee maker with practiced movements. He wore low-slung sweatpants and a soft grey t-shirt that had seen better days, his dark hair still messy from sleep.
"Extra hot, triple shot," he said without turning. "Give me two minutes."
"How did you know it was me?"
He glanced over his shoulder, a soft smile playing at his lips. "You're the only one who gets up this early. Plus," his eyes tracked down my body, "I recognize the shuffle of those ridiculous unicorn slippers."
"Hey, don't mock Mr. Sparkles and Sir Glitter." I hoisted myself onto the counter, watching as he moved around the tiny kitchen with familiar ease. "They're very dignified."
"Keep telling yourself that, wife."
The title sent a shiver down my spine that I chose to blame on the early morning chill. "About that..."
"Breakfast first." He placed a steaming mug in my hands – the oversized one with music notes that had somehow become 'mine' over the years. "You're always grumpy before coffee."
"I am not—" I caught his knowing look and took a sip instead. Perfect, as always. "Fine. Feed me."
His laugh was quiet in deference to our sleeping bandmates. "The usual?"
"Please.”
He pulled eggs and a loaf of bread from the mini-fridge and began to crack eggs into a pan with practiced ease.
"Did you sleep well?”
I raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It was fine.”
He cocked an eyebrow in question.
“The bus movement was a little much,” I admitted. “Sometimes it was okay, sometimes I rolled and felt a little nausea.”
“I’ll make sure we stop for tonight and the guys lock the bus down extra tight. Unless you want a hotel?”
“No, don’t I’ll be fine.”
“Faye.” He stopped whisking the eggs to glare at me. “Let me do this.”
I hid a smile behind my mug. “Fine. But I don’t need a hotel. The extra straps on the bus will be fine.”
Sam poured my eggs into the pan, spinning it until the mess covered the bottom. “Is that why you’re stressed?”
“I’m not stressed.”
“No? Then why are you stealing my hoodie?"
I glanced down at the worn fabric drowning my frame – definitely his. I hated that he knew one of my stress tells. "This isn’t yours."
"It has my name on the back."
I kicked him with one of my slippers. "...shut up and cook my eggs."
His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he worked. I sipped my coffee, watching the way his muscles moved under his shirt, how his hands stayed steady even as the bus swayed beneath us.
"So," he said after a moment. "Should we talk about it?"
I breathed out a sigh. "The wedding or the aftermath?"
"Both?" He slid a perfect omelette onto a plate, adding a touch of salt and cracked pepper. He handed it to me then leaned one hip against the counter as he crossed his arms, looking far too comfortable. “For two people who supposedly got married, we haven’t really talked about the actual event. Only what came after.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly planned, ” I replied, breaking off a piece of the omelette with my fork. “One minute, I was dancing. The next, I’m standing at an altar holding your hand while some Urma the Unicorn impersonator is trying not to laugh.”
He chuckled, turning back to the bench as the toaster popped with his toast. “I think it was your idea.”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, tossing it to me. “Look.”
Sure enough, there I was on his lock screen, crouched in the snow as I proposed to him.
“Tequila and I do not mix,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I must have lost my goddamned mind.”
We were quiet for a minute as I watched him bustle about the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to go through with it, you know.” I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “So why did you?”
He paused as he buttered his toast, his expression thoughtful. “Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want to see you walk away.”
The words hung between us, warm and unexpected. I wasn’t ready to unpack that, wasn’t ready to examine exactly what that meant.
He turned back to his toast, resuming spreading the butter. “Or maybe I just wanted the right to steal your clothes as well.” He looked pointedly at his hoodie. “Do you think that red dress would match my colouring?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“You love it,” he murmured, picking up his plate as he moved back to lean against the counter.
We ate side by side in silence, watching each other with gazes that lingered, as if we’d somehow crossed into new territory without realizing it.
"I have an idea." He said after swallowing. "Twenty questions. Anything we want to know about the wedding night or each other. Complete honesty."
"That sounds..."
"Terrifying?"
"I was going to say efficient." I forked another piece of egg. "You go first."
He grinned. "I'll start easy. What's my coffee order?"
"Well, firstly, you don’t drink coffee. You’re a black tea, two sugars before noon, or a black tea with honey after shows because your throat gets scratchy. Though you also secretly love those caramel milkshake monstrosities Justice gets but won't admit it because you think it ruins your image."
His eyebrows rose. "I’m unsurprised but still impressed. And I only like those caramel things cause of the cream. The actual drink is trash."
I stabbed my fork in his direction. "My turn. What do you remember about the wedding?"
"Snippets. The unicorn guy. You laughing at his jokes. Dancing to 'Brown Eyed Girl' in the parking lot." His smile turned thoughtful. "You looked happy."
"I was drunk."
"Yeah, we both were." Something flickered in his expression. "But it was nice, seeing you let go for once."
I ducked my head. "Your turn."
"Why haven’t you dated since Alex?”
Oof.
I sucked in a breath, focussing on my plate to buy time. "I’ve been busy."
“Hmmm.”
"What?" I looked up at him. "What’s with the ‘hmmm’?"
He tilted his head, studying me. "I don’t know. Feels like there’s more to it than that."
I shrugged, deflecting. "Alright, my question. Was I really the one who suggested the wedding?"
He laughed, tipping his head back. "Oh, absolutely. You leaned over, grabbed my hand, and said something about ‘making memories’ or maybe it was ‘making a mess.’ Hard to tell with all the tequila."
I groaned. "Fantastic. Remind me to stay far, far away from spirits."
“My turn.” He tapped a finger against his lip. “Okay, what’s my best quality?"
I pretended to think it over, spearing the final bite of my omelette. "Definitely your ability to fix breakfast."
He snorted. "Glad I’m useful."
"But," I added, jabbing him with a toe. "You’re loyal. Fiercely loyal. Once you care about someone, you’re all in."
He looked away for a second, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "Your turn."
"Kids? See them in your future?”
He shrugged. “I’m undecided which I guess is a no. I’m of the opinion that unless you’re a hundred percent in, then you shouldn’t be bringing kids into the world.”
I winced. “I didn’t think before asking that question. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know what it’s like to grow up with a parent who didn’t want you—just thought they might once upon a time. And I know what it’s like to grow up with a parent who actually wants you.”
“Will,” I said, referring to Sam’s adopted dad.
“Yeah.” He reached behind him, lifting the coffee pot to top me up. “He’s a good guy. Having him for a dad cemented it for me. I won’t bring kids into the world unless I have zero doubts. The fact I’m undecided means I’m a no. And I don’t see that changing any time soon.”
I hesitated. “I don’t want kids. I mean, I love being Auntie Faye and will always be on call, but when I think about my life, I don’t envision kids for me.”
“What about a partner?”
I placed my empty plate to the side, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug and taking a sip before answering. “I hope so but I’m also happy alone. Another person needs to enhance my life, not improve it.”
“Oof, deep thoughts for this early in the morning.” Sam placed his mug in the sink. “Last question.”
I hesitated. "What do you think will happen after the tour? With… us."
He was quiet for a long time, his gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. Finally, he straightened, placing one hand on either side of the bench as he leaned into me.
Our gazes locked as he leaned in.
“After the tour, I hope we’ll?—”
"Sam! Faye!" Justice's voice boomed from upstairs. "Emergency band meeting!"
I startled, nearly spilling my coffee. Sam caught it smoothly, his hands encompassing mine around the mug.
"Saved by the bellowing idiot," he murmured.
"Sam—" I wanted to break the tension, but the words died as his fingers lingered on mine, warm and steady. His touch held a quiet promise, as if he could feel the unsteady beat of tension humming under my skin.
"We're not done with this conversation." He squeezed my hands. "But this is a conversation for when we’re alone." His thumb brushed over my knuckles, soft, teasing, gentle, before he gently tugged the cup from my hand.
As I watched him head upstairs, carrying my coffee as if he hadn’t just scrambled my emotions. I wrapped my arms around my middle, willing myself to push him back into the box in which he’d dwelled. Friends. We were friends.
But his parting words left me to wonder exactly what he hoped we might be.