Chapter 36 Tom
Chapter thirty-six
Tom
The terrace overlooks the water. I pause, frame the shot with my hands—force of habit, checking composition without the camera.
"You're already planning tonight, aren't you?" Sam stops beside me.
I drop my hands. "What?"
"Mapping the space. Figuring out where people will gather, where the light will be." She tilts her head. "How it'll feel when it's full."
I shrug. "Habit. But the real moment's usually not the one you planned for."
She's quiet for a second. Then she nods. "I needed to hear that."
"Why?"
"Because I hold on too tight." She looks out at the water. "Plans, timelines, control. You don't. You adapt. And somehow you still get where you need to go."
I glance at her. "You're getting better at it."
"At what?"
"Letting go. Yesterday, when the model didn't show—you could've panicked. But you didn't."
She laughs. "I was so self-conscious."
"I know. But you did it anyway."
We walk back toward the hotel. The sun's lower now, casting long shadows across the gardens. Neither of us says much. We don't need to.
***
It's five o'clock when we get back to the room. Sam sets her bag on the desk, unzips the garment bag hanging on the closet door.
"I'm going to start getting ready," she says.
I check my watch. "Now? It's two hours away."
"I need time."
"For what?"
"Hair. Makeup. Making sure the dress doesn't wrinkle." She pulls the garment bag free, drapes it over her arm. "You wouldn't understand."
I grin. "I'll just put on the suit ten minutes before we leave."
"Of course you will."
She disappears into the bathroom with the dress, her makeup bag, and a curling iron. The door clicks shut.
I sit on my bed, pull out my phone. The screen fills with yesterday's contact sheets. I scroll past the styled shots—the ones where she was performing, posing, doing what I asked.
Then I stop.
Sam at the water's edge. Hair down, wind pulling it across her shoulders. Looking out at the horizon. Completely unguarded.
I stare at the image for a long moment.
I want to be the person she feels safe enough to be that way with.
I test it as my wallpaper. Unlock the screen. Her face fills the display.
Too much. Too soon.
I change it back to the default black screen. Lock the phone. Set it face down on the bed.
But I don't delete the photo.
The bathroom door opens.
The click is quiet. I glance up.
Sam steps out.
My fingers stop halfway to my phone. The room goes quiet—no hum from the air conditioner, no muffled voices from the hallway. Just her, standing in the doorway.
She's wearing an emerald green dress. Elegant. Fitted without being tight, just enough to show her shape. Her hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders. Minimal jewelry. Makeup subtle but polished.
One hand rests on the doorframe.
I forget how to breathe.
The scent of her perfume reaches me—something clean, faintly floral. Jasmine, maybe.
She shifts her weight. "What? Is it too much?"
I swallow. My throat is dry. "No."
"Not enough?"
"Sam." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "You look incredible."
Her cheeks flush. "It's just a dress."
"It's not just a dress."
We stand there.
Neither of us moves.
She clears her throat. "You should probably get ready."
"Yeah." I grab my suit off the chair. The fabric crumples in my hand. "Right."
I disappear into the bathroom before I say something I can't take back.
Five minutes later I step out in the navy suit, white shirt, tie knotted but already feeling too tight. I tug at the collar.
Sam turns. Stops.
"Wow," she says quietly.
I pull at the tie again. "I hate wearing these."
She steps closer. Her hands reach for the knot, fingers brushing my throat as she straightens it, smooths the lapels. The silk of her dress whispers when she moves.
"You look really good," she says.
I can smell her perfume. Her hands are still on my chest.
I clear my throat. "You ready?"
She takes a slow breath. "Not really."
I laugh. The sound breaks the tension just enough.
I open the door, gesture for her to go first.
"Thank you," she says.
I take her hand. Her fingers curl around mine.
We walk out together.
Downstairs, the hotel has been completely transformed. String lights are draped through the trees, glowing soft against the darkening sky. The ballroom is already full—guests in formal wear, champagne glasses catching the light, a quartet playing something slow and classical in the corner.
We move through the crowd. My arm settles around Sam's waist. Her hand rests on my shoulder. It feels instinctive. Like we've been doing this for years.
"This way," I murmur, guiding her toward the terrace doors.
She follows without question.
***
A slow song starts.
I pull her toward the dance floor instead.
"Tom—"
"Come on." My hand settles at the small of her back. "One dance."
She steps into me.
Her palm presses against my shoulder. Her fingers, pale against the dark navy of my suit, curl into the fabric. My hand slides over the bright emerald green silk at her waist.
We sway.
The silk of her dress is warm under my hand. I can feel each breath she takes. The rise and fall of her ribs.
The music softens around us. The crowd blurs.
Her fingers slide up to the back of my neck. Thread into my hair.
"I'm more used to your hair being a bit wilder," she says. Her voice is low. "But I have to admit, this version of you is growing on me."
I tighten my hand at her waist.
Pull her closer.
Our temples brush, close enough that her next breath warms my cheek.
The heat of her palm burns through my jacket. My thumb presses into the fabric at her back.
"Normally I'm not a big fan of lipstick," I say. My eyes drop to her mouth. "But that shade... it looks good on you."
The crowd closes around us, but she’s the only thing I can focus on.
I pull her closer still. Close enough that I can feel her heartbeat against my chest.
I press a small kiss just above her temple.
"I like seeing you with your hair down like this," I murmur.
She pulls back. Just enough to look at me.
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Literally or figuratively?"
"Both."
I don't give her a chance to answer. I slide my hand from her waist to the center of her spine, pulling her flush against me. She lets out a soft, surprised breath, her eyes fluttering shut just before my mouth finds hers.
The kiss is slow. Deliberate. I'm hyper-aware of the crowded room, the string lights, the hundred people who could be watching us. Her lips are soft, warm.
She inhales sharply against my mouth. One hand tightens in my hair, pulling me closer, while the other slides up my chest, her fingers curling tightly into the lapel of my jacket as she kisses me back.
The music swells around us. I angle my head, deepening the pressure just enough to feel her lean into it, before the reality of the room forces me to pull back.
Her eyes are still closed. She opens them slowly, her gaze dark and entirely focused on me.
The slow song ends. The applause from the crowd breaks the spell.
We move off the dance floor, my hand still resting lightly at the small of her back. An older couple approaches near the hors d'oeuvres table.
"You two make a lovely pair," the woman says, smiling warmly. "How long have you been together?"
Sam doesn't miss a beat. "Six months."
I slide my arm around her waist, pull her a little closer. "Best six months of my life."
Sam's head turns. She looks at me.
I smile back. I mean it.
The older woman's smile deepens. "You can always tell when it's real. The way you look at each other."
She's right.
The couple moves on. Sam and I stand there, neither of us speaking.
"It's getting warm in here," I say finally.
She glances at me. "Yeah. It is."
"We should probably do one loop outside. You know, work stuff."
Her smile is small. "Right. Work stuff."
We walk toward the terrace doors. The night air hits us the moment we step outside—cool, sharp, carrying the scent of salt water. The property stretches out below, terraced gardens leading down toward the ocean. String lights glow soft in the trees.
I slip my arm around her shoulders.
She looks up at me.
"It's cooler out here," I say. "I don't want you to be cold."
"Thank you." Her voice is quiet. "Is that the only reason?"
I smile. "No."
She leans into me. "I'm not complaining."
We walk to the edge of the terrace—an overlook with a view of the water, string lights overhead, the sound of the waves below.
Sam stops. Turns to face me.
"This," she whispers. "Us. What happened inside. It's all real?"
I meet her eyes. "This is all real."
"Tom—"
"You're real for me."
Her hands press against my chest. I feel my heartbeat under her palms.
"Well," she says softly. "I can't pretend I don't want to kiss you again."
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
Then she closes the distance and kisses me.
I respond immediately, bringing both hands up to cup her face before sliding them deep into her hair.
I angle her head back, kissing her harder.
She answers by wrapping her arms around me, her hands tracking up my spine.
One hand presses between my shoulder blades; the other curls tightly over my shoulder, pulling me down until there is absolutely zero space left between us.
I lose track of time. There is only the heat of her mouth, the heavy rise and fall of her chest against mine, and the frantic thud of her heart. The cool night air, the string lights, the muffled music from inside—all of it fades into nothing.
When we pull apart, we're both breathing hard.
I rest my forehead against hers. "We should probably head back inside."
She laughs. The sound is breathless. "Yeah. Probably."
I offer my hand. She takes it.
We walk back toward the hotel in silence. The air between us is thick, charged. Neither of us speaks. We don't need to.
***
We reach room 314. I unlock the door.
Sam steps inside. "I'm calling dibs on the bathroom first."
I grin. "Of course you are. Fine. I'll just be here. Behind the wall of clothes."
She laughs, disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut.
I sit on my bed. Pull out my phone. Unlock the screen.
The ocean photo fills the display. Sam at the water's edge, hair down, completely herself.
I set it as my wallpaper.
Lock the screen.
Set the phone face down on the bed.
And leave it.