Song Remains the Same

Chapter 116: What Happens In Vegas

"Goodbye reality, hello Vegas."

- Unknown

...Of all the libraries in all the world, why did he have to walk into mine?

Huddled on top of a toilet (not her most dignified moment), Molly hid as she tried to accept reality: Sam from Vegas. SAM FROM VEGAS.

Nice, considerate, smart, funny, kind, hot... sexy... strong... ahem, passionate Sam from Vegas.

Sometimes she thought she made up that impossible night. She still didn't understand why anyone like him would ever be interested in a dorky, self-conscious, awkward person such as herself. She had no idea what was wrong with Sam or why he had decided on her that night, but she couldn't face him again.

Before his reappearance today, Sam had been just a safe memory in the privacy of her own mind. He was absolutely real now... and in her library. And worse still, he'd seen her for who she really was: a plain, stressed out, bumbling mess. She'd told him a little about herself that night, obviously—he knew she was into reading and probably got the general idea that she was different than her appearance could lead someone to believe—but yeah, this chance re-encounter today had to be humiliating for Sam... seeing the bookish wallflower he'd spent the night with.

The bookish wallflower who ran away in the middle of the night without a word...

She chewed her nails anxiously. This was not how she'd pictured running into Sam again. And believe you me, she had pictured it, just not in realistic terms. Over and over again, she had imagined tall, handsome, emotionally available Sam showing up out of the blue and him being the one who was surprised to see her. In these fantasies, her makeup had been perfect and her glossy hair had been blowing in the wind and she'd been wearing her favorite navy dress and she'd been confident, put-together, and even awe-inducing. In reality, she was wearing a dowdy tan knee-length skirt, socks yanked to her knees, penny loafers and her least favorite green sweater (it itched and the sleeves were too long). Her frizzy blonde hair was in a ponytail and she wore no makeup to speak of. In contrast to her, Sam looked like he'd stepped out of some fancy men's magazine.

With a boiling stomach full of acid, Molly checked her wristwatch and decided thirty minutes would probably be enough time—he would hopefully be gone by then—and then and only then she'd venture out to save what little face she had left. If Mr. Jones decided to fire her for disappearing on the job, she would accept it. That was how much she refused to face the music: she was okay with getting sacked. As she waited with ears that winced at any sound nearby at all (she was convinced someone would come in the bathroom and drag her out), she remembered the most un-Molly night of her life that had ever been and probably ever would be...

A Year and a Half Ago
Las Vegas, Nevada

In a noisy, dark casino bar on the strip in Vegas, two people sat at the quietest booth toward the back... but it still wasn't really that quiet.

Music thumped and lights blared in changing patterns and colors, and it was hard to see really well, so... was it any wonder there had been an accident? Either way, Molly wanted to implode. She was pink like a rose petal, muttering under her breath. "Dämlich, sorry..." Across the table from her, Sam was blotting away the beer she'd knocked over all across his lap. "I'm so sorry," she apologized profusely, muttering a hybrid of German and English under her breath in humiliated frustration. Stress tended to unconsciously make her shift between the two languages she spoke—since growing up she'd been raised bilingual.