Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love) (29 page)

“We’d have to see, wouldn’t we?” he countered. “Give us the time to get there.”

“It’ll also get expensive,” she said.

He shrugged dismissively. “That’s not an issue for me. Next.”

Her eyes rounded. “Next, huh? How about the big one: I haven't even been divorced for a week,” she reminded him.

“Fully aware of that. And so what? You said it was what you wanted, the divorce was your idea, and you haven't lived together in months. You're not cheating on your almost ex-husband, you're officially single. So what's the problem? If you don’t care, why should I?”

“You don’t care?” she scoffed. “Your family sure does.”

“I care even less what they think about this,” he said flatly. “This is
my
life.”

Lydia merely raised her eyebrows at him.

“Tell me honestly,” he pressed. “When you got the papers, did you sign them the day you got them?”

A scathing, scornful sound slipped out of her mouth. “Try the
minute
I got them.”

“Okay. So you had no qualms, no doubts. You signed the papers immediately. You closed that door. So there’s only one more thing,” Sam said. “Do you still love him?”

“Who? Matt?” Lydia released a dry, acidic snort. “No. Not at all. I fell out of love with him a long time ago.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugged. “So, again: what’s the problem?”

She nodded slowly as that sunk in. “Alright, so my divorce isn't much of a problem after all. Fine. But I do have a son, Sam. That's not a problem, but it's… a really big thing.” She gave him a level look and said with quiet resolve, “If you wanted to see me again… do anything beyond this weekend… Andy will be part of the equation. Outside of this one getaway weekend, I'm not a separate entity. I'm a package deal.”

“You're right. That's true…” Sam tried to jest with her. “Luckily, I like kids. Unless you’re worried Andy won’t like me.”

Lydia frowned, hard. “Sam…
please
don’t take this the wrong way. But even if we did this somehow, even if you came to New York… you wouldn’t meet him. I wouldn’t introduce you to him unless I knew that… well, it’s not just
you
, I won’t introduce
anyone
to him unless I get really serious with someone. Andy’s very young, and I’m not going to toy with his emotions that way. Not in
any
way. Can you understand?”

Sam nodded. “Of course I understand, completely. It’s duly noted. And admirable.” Before she could say another word, he reached for her, pulled her to him, and kissed her. “But that doesn't put me off, if that's what you're thinking. Yes, we'd have some things to consider. But I still think it's worth going for. Why not? Lydia, the bottom line is, I want to see you again.”

He kissed her over and over, slowly, deeply, until he felt her gradually give in and soften in his arms. Once she had, he pulled back to tell her in a velvety but determined voice, “Hey. We’re both tired. This is something we should continue to discuss further in the morning, with fresh heads, when we’re not exhausted. And maybe not half dressed and on top of each other.”

She smiled at him gently and nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.” Her lids suddenly looked very heavy, and she tried but failed to suppress a yawn.

“Okay then.” Sam got out of bed and turned off the light on the desk. The room went dark, the only source of illumination the bluish white streams of moonlight from the windows.

He got back into bed, found her in the blackness, and pulled her close to him. He kissed her a few more times before settling back into the pillows. “I don’t think I snore,” he joked, his deep voice almost a whisper. “But I’m usually asleep, so I really don’t know. How about you? Do you snore? Or drool a lot?”

“I hope not.” She giggled softly. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He nuzzled her hair. “I’m really glad you stayed. This is nice. Feels good. Perfect way to end a fantastic day.”

Her insides seized up, did the churning flip flops she’d been experiencing with him all weekend. She ignored it; she snuggled into him, laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arm around his waist, and slipped one of her feet in between his. It felt totally natural. Lying in his arms, in his bed, felt totally natural. Everything about him felt… right. It couldn’t be that easy. There had to be a catch. She couldn’t just click so easily with someone so fast, it was impossible.
Isn’t it?
she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to will her brain into a state of calm, to just go blank.

He yawned. “Oh my God. Now that it’s dark in here, and I’m lying still, I’m gonna just pass right out.”

She smiled against his chest. “Me too. I feel like once I laid down and settled in, all the last bits of energy just seeped right out of me. I'm a puddle.”

“Well then, before we pass out, one more thing…” Sam lightly tipped her chin up to kiss her lips. They exchanged a few sweet kisses, then he stopped gently. He held her against him and caressed her back in long, slow strokes. She again wrapped her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. She was so tired, she literally couldn’t keep her eyes open any more.

“Good night, Lydia,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Mmm,” was all she could manage before she fell asleep.

He heard the even pattern of her deep breathing within seconds, and knew she was out. He stroked the soft skin of her forearm as he thought about her, about the whole night, about what had happened between them. He replayed some of the steamier moments in his mind and smiled. She had been so passionate, so sensual… he thought of the way she'd burst into open laughter at his revelation about his financial status and his now seemingly ridiculous concerns, how she'd been unable to hold back her surprise and then kissed him and flattered him, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

He kissed the top of her head, breathed in her scent. He had downplayed it for her earlier; he was beyond merely feeling enchanted by her—he was genuinely interested, hooked, and he knew it.

He recalled the astonished look on her face when he’d told her he wanted to see her again, replayed their whole conversation in his mind, and sighed. People couldn’t get to their mid-thirties and not have some sort of baggage, he knew that. Everyone had something they were lugging around with them, be it big or small. Life progressed, things happened to people, and they carried those things with them. Sometimes, those things became a part of them, interweaving stealthily into the fabric of their core, shaping them and changing them irrevocably for better or for worse. Sam knew this better than most.

He thought back on his own life, his own baggage.
Trunk-sized alligator bags
, he thought wryly. He'd watched his first great love, his young and vibrant wife, die a long, drawn out, miserably slow and painful death. After Chelsea died, he’d travelled extensively, then eventually went back to Chicago to be near his family. Feeling like a shell of a man, he’d completely thrown himself into his career; he’d worked, worked, and worked some more. It got him through the days, the months, and the soul-crushing pain, until he’d eventually pushed through to the other side and gradually thawed out from having been completely shut down.

When he'd turned thirty, he’d finally made a determined, conscious effort to jettison his baggage, or at least stow it safely away. He’d gotten sick of bowing under its weight, tired of tripping over it. He finally was ready to put the past in the past and try things again; he wanted more out of life. But it had taken him years to get to that point: he’d carried the heavy baggage around with him for a long time before he’d been able to put it away—until he’d even been able to take the actions honestly required to do so.

He was in a really good place now—his career was stellar, he owned a great apartment in a great part of town, he had a busy life between work and friends, and occasionally went on dates with attractive women. But only a week before, on his 35th birthday, he had laid in bed at the end of the night and pondered his life… and when he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit he was a little lonely. He’d realized he was ready to find someone, settle down, possibly start a family of his own one way or another…

He looked down at Lydia and sighed. She was fantastic. She had sparked him immediately, in a way other women hadn't for whatever reason. But she was in a very different emotional place than he was. She was hip deep in the most painful chapter of her life, was watching her own family unravel and change, was trying to forge a new path for herself; she was trying valiantly to stay upright under the weight of her baggage and not always succeeding. He recognized that. He was experienced, intuitive, and far from naïve.

Sam briefly recalled Alec’s cutting remarks about finding someone more uncomplicated to get involved with, his need to fix broken people, and his white knight complex; he recalled his mother's questioning remarks about whether Lydia was right now emotionally. He privately considered the possibility of his family being right about Lydia’s state of mind, or about his own, or even of Lydia's own words being correct: finding the right person at the wrong time. In the dark, he stared at the ceiling as he mulled it all over.

Maybe, in the privacy of his own head, he could concede that Alec had a few valid points. Maybe it was, partially, his infamous white knight syndrome kicking in, maybe he pursued challenges more than he should, maybe he got too much satisfaction out of simply proving people wrong.

All he knew was that he genuinely liked Lydia. He enjoyed talking with her, he was extremely attracted to her… she made him laugh and think and relax, all at the same time. She made him feel good. He felt drawn to her, had from the start. Just because it almost didn't make sense didn't make the feeling any less real. Some things in life couldn't be easily explained—they just
were
.

If she lived in Chicago, he'd absolutely pursue her with everything he had. So why couldn't he pursue her anyway? It wasn't about getting her to change her mind and sleep with him. He could get laid whenever he wanted to; Chicago hadn’t been lacking in that respect. But he hadn’t found someone there whom he had an emotional connection with that was this immediate and this powerful, and that wasn’t something to dismiss just because she lived in New York, or that it might not be easy going to follow up on it.

Sam decisively chose to brush aside the concerns for the time being. After all, he’d been in a much worse emotional place and come back from it. While Lydia’s tumult and shaky sense of self were real—he wasn’t downplaying that—he saw it as of a more temporary thing. Workable. He was a patient man, had never been afraid of hard work, and certainly liked challenges, as Alec had been all too happy to point out.

Sam exhaled slowly. The bottom line was, he liked her more than any woman he’d come across in a very long time, so to him, as he'd said to her, it was worth exploring. He had the freedom, the funds, and the urge to go for it, so why not? If anything, the minor obstacles made it a little more interesting for him. He could admit that much to himself.

When they woke up in the morning, refreshed, in the light of day, they’d talk some more. Nothing was impossible. Improbable, maybe, but Sam liked those odds. He gave Lydia a gentle squeeze, just to feel a bit of extra contact, and kissed her forehead once more.

His eyes felt like there were weights on them, and he suddenly realized he was beyond exhausted, rapidly flowing away into unconsciousness. The last thought he had before sleep overtook him was one of amused disbelief. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself, on so many levels, so completely, as he had on this long day. He was both elated and content. He fell asleep with the hint of a smile on his lips and holding Lydia in his arms.

LYDIA WOKE UP
slowly, her body functioning a step ahead of her brain. She felt like she was lost in a fog, and had a bad taste in her dry mouth. Eyes still closed, still half asleep, she took stock of her faculties. Headache, yes, but not pounding. Not nauseous, thank God; in fact, she was a little hungry. Parched mouth, dry throat—nothing a tall glass of water couldn’t cure. All in all, pretty tolerable, considering how much alcohol she’d consumed the night before.

The night before…

The events of the night before flashed through her head in a jumble, assaulting her mind like scenes in a video game: quick, bright, vivid, one after another, overlapping. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around.

She was in Sam’s hotel room. She was in Sam’s bed. She was wearing his black T-shirt that just reached her mid-thigh. Slowly, she lifted her head from the pillow and sat up. The room was quiet. Silent. A glance over at the clock told her it was 9:03 a.m. Then she noticed the note that lay on Sam’s pillow, only a few inches away.

It was written on hotel stationery, in clear, neat handwriting:

Good morning, Lydia—You looked so peaceful, I didn’t
want to wake you. If you’re reading this, I’m still out for my morning run. Be back soon. I’d love for us to go to the brunch
together. I think it’s at 10:00.—Sam

A vision of him—shirtless, rearing over her on the bed, moonlight shining on the muscles in his shoulders, his mouth hot and demanding on her skin—blazed through her mind and made her stomach do a slow flip. Dropping the note onto the pillow, she closed her eyes and sank back down into the pillows. She pulled the heavy comforter up over her head. “Oh my Goood,” she groaned, cocooning herself.

She tried to figure out what she should do. Stay in bed? Stay in his room? Wait there for him? The note sounded lovely, like he was looking forward to seeing her when she woke up. But what if when they actually looked at each other in the harsh light of the morning after… and he regretted it? She'd enjoyed being with him so much that if he rejected her now, if she saw even a hint of that on his face, she might shrivel up and die from humiliation.

Face things or flee? She curled up into a ball as her mind sorted through options.