He twiddled his thumbs, suddenly feeling very juvenile. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the opportunity. There just hadn’t been anyone . . . kiss-worthy. “Not yet.” He watched the moonlight twinkle on the surface of the water.
“Scott tried to kiss me tonight.”
He looked at her then. Her head was cradled in her arms, the moonlight caressing the elegant curves of her face. “Tried?”
“I turned away. Like I didn’t realize he was about to kiss me.”
Now, there was the best news he’d heard all week. He worked to stop the smile. A stab of guilt tweaked his conscience. Scott was his friend, after all. “Why?”
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you must know something, or you wouldn’t have turned away.”
She pulled her feet up from the water, her square knees poking skyward, her stomach flat.
He looked away.
“I guess I was afraid.”
He looked back at Sam. If Scott had done anything to hurt Sam, the guy was in for it. “Afraid of what?’
She sat up rabbit-quick, facing him and folding her legs beneath her. “What if I did it wrong?”
“Did what wrong?”
“Kissed. What if I’m bad?” Her eyes softened, their vulnerability tugging at him.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re not gonna be bad, Sam.”
“How do you know? I’ve never kissed anyone, not even in grade school.” She pulled at her lip with her teeth. “What if I do it wrong and he laughs at me?”
“Scott wouldn’t do that.”
Are you trying to talk her into kissing the
guy, Reed?
“But what if he stops liking me? I don’t want to make an idiot of myself.”
A good one-liner popped into his mind, but he knew better than to tease at a moment like this. Besides, she was looking at him with those fawn-brown eyes, and he forgot what he was going to say. She was normally so self-assured, he didn’t know what to think of this insecure Sam except that it made him want to protect her.
“I’m sure you’ll be—”
“Will you do me a favor?” She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “I wouldn’t ask, but . . .”
“You know I’d do anything for you.” For a fearful moment, he realized how true it was.
She breathed a laugh. “This is kind of above and beyond.” Her gaze ricocheted off his.
“Name it.” Maybe she wanted him to talk to Scott. Tell him she was sorry or something. He could do that.
“Will you help me practice?”
She couldn’t possibly mean it the way it sounded. “Practice?”
She gave a wry laugh and lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “I know it’s stupid and weird and everything, but I just thought . . .” She wet her lips, looking away.
He caught a whiff of her perfume, something light and fresh smelling, not sickeningly sweet like the perfumes other girls wore. “It’s not like I’m an expert or anything.”
“You have more experience than I do.” She looked at him. “I wouldn’t ask, except—I’m really worried about it.” She looked afraid, her eyes wide, her shoulders stiff. She straightened and rubbed the back of her neck.
His heart clawed its way up his throat and throbbed there. He could do this. It was just a kiss between friends. No big deal. He shrugged. “I’m all yours.” Somehow the words came out level even though his insides rocked like a rowboat in a gale.
Her shoulders drooped. “Okay.” She wet her lips again. “Okay. What if you just kind of leaned over, you know, like you’re Scott and you’re kissing me good night.”
He couldn’t believe this was happening. “All right.” He looked down at her lips, awaiting his. She closed her eyes. He leaned forward.
“Wait.” She pulled back, her eyes popping open.
He wondered if his heart was going to stop then and there.
She folded her feet under her. “Let’s stand up. I’m not sure what to do with my hands.”
He stood, wondering if he’d lost his mind. “Just put them on his waist or his shoulders. If the kiss lasts long enough.”
She stood inches from him, his shadow hiding her expression. “How will I know if it’s going to last long enough?”
“You’ll know.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
His mouth went dry. “You might not want to say that to him.”
“I won’t, you doofus. I was just saying it to you.” Her face had lost that fearful look, and her hands hung casually at her side.
Before he lost his nerve, he took a tiny step forward and leaned in until her breath tickled his face. His lips closed on hers, touching gently.
He felt her timid response and cupped her jaw with his fingers. Her lips danced with his, slowly, softly. Excruciatingly.
Her hands settled at his waist, just above his belt. He deepened the kiss. His other hand found her waist, and he pulled her closer until he could feel the heat of her body through his T-shirt.
She was soft and pliable, and he feared she could feel his heart thudding through his shirt. He pulled back, ending the kiss.
Her eyes opened, and her mouth, still moist from his lips, curved slowly. “How was that?”
About an eleven on the Richter scale. Maybe a twelve.
“Not bad.” He cleared his throat.
“Not bad?” She lifted her chin. “I rocked and you know it.” She was practically glowing.
“You were adequate.”
She waggled her head. “I was awesome. And Scott’s going to beg for more.”
It was probably true. “I liked you better when you were unsure of yourself,” he teased.
“Bull. You probably like me more now. After my fabulous kiss.” Her smile was infectious. “Don’t go getting the hots for me now.” She shoved his shoulder.
Too late
. “You wish.”
She laughed and backed away as the wind tousled her hair. “It’s getting late. I’m going in now.”
Landon tucked his hands into his shorts pockets. “See ya.”
She turned and walked down the length of the pier. When she reached the grass, she turned. “Hey, Landon?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.” She smiled, then turned and disappeared into the yard’s shadows.
No problem
. Except that he was quivering from the inside out.
Now, Max curled up at his feet, nudging his leg. He leaned down and petted the dog, the memory of that kiss still on his lips. It was the first time he admitted to himself that his feelings for Sam had completely evolved. Somehow he managed to keep it a secret from Sam—until the summer before he went to college.
He looked out the window toward her cottage and realized afresh that she wouldn’t be around long. Once she went back to Boston, his chance would be gone. And the thought of life without her wasn’t a possibility he wanted to entertain.
T
he next day, Sam and Caden bought flowers and bushes to place in the beds. Back at the cottage, they dug in the soft, loamy dirt. Brightly colored flowers were heaped around them, their perfume mingling with the decaying smell of the soil. They’d picked purple phlox, yellow primrose, and lady’s mantle, more for their ease of care than their beauty. Their cost had been a factor as well, since the bills were piling high on Sam’s credit card.
“I’ll plant this one,” Caden announced, picking up a hosta. After she placed it in the soil and packed dirt around it, she stood and brushed the bits of soil and twigs from her denim shorts.
“Get the hose,” Sam told her.
By the time they stood back to admire their work, it was nearly time for Landon to get off work. Melanie had invited Caden over to spend some time with Amber for the evening, and Sam wanted to be inside by the time Landon got home.
She fixed an early supper, then Melanie and Amber picked up Caden, leaving her alone in the house. She saw Landon pull into his driveway, so she worked inside, thinking he wouldn’t come over if he didn’t see her outside.
Cleaning out the attic was the job at hand, but on first glance at the piles of dusty boxes and old furniture, she was tempted to change her mind.
The heat chased her down the rickety stairs, her arms loaded with the first box. She went back for several more before she sat on the living room rug and opened them. Old football awards and war memorabilia filled the first two boxes—Emmett’s things. She set them by the door to be thrown out with Wednesday morning’s garbage. The next box contained yearbooks and old cards and letters. She nearly set it by the door, but the small stack of cards, yellowed and crackling with age, captured her attention. Sam lifted them out, and dust mites danced up her nose, provoking a sneeze. Her eyes watered, and she told herself it had nothing to do with the memories that played hide-and-seek in the corners of her mind.
The card on top of the stack read “Congratulations on the arrival of your new baby.” She opened it and saw Miss Biddle’s name scrawled at the bottom of the card. Why had her mom saved these? Or maybe her dad was responsible.
Sam didn’t remember him very well, as she was only eight when he died. He’d shown her how to repair a hole in a bike tire, and he’d fished with her on the end of the pier. He smelled like leather and peppermint and made her feel important and secure. She remembered feeling lost and scared when he died. Months after his death, she couldn’t recall what he looked like, and she rooted through her mom’s photo album until she found a photo of the two of them together on the front porch. The photo sat on her nightstand until her mom married Emmett. One night she came into her room to find the photo missing, and she never saw it again.
Darkness enveloped the room as she sat sorting through the boxes. Not an absence of light, but an absence of peace.
The phone rang, and she punched it on.
“Mom, Amber wants me to spend the night,” Caden said. “Her mom says it’s okay.”
Sam wanted to demand Caden come home. The house echoed with emptiness, and memories taunted her. Even as she agreed to let Caden stay, her mind raced to find a solution. No way was she sticking around here all evening.
She stood and grabbed her purse, banging open the door. Her weary legs protested as she straddled the bike and took off, but she welcomed the breeze that blew the dust of the past off her shoulders. With the wind at her back and her purse in the basket, she was free as she pedaled down the road. The scent of the ocean blew in off the bay, fresh and welcomed after the dankness of the attic.
Sam didn’t know where she was headed until she pulled alongside Cap’n Tully’s Tavern, and suddenly the idea of losing herself in a cold beer held more appeal than she could refuse.
Neon lights flashed on and off, and the rumble of laughter was more intoxicating than any liquor. No one seemed to notice her walk across the peanut-strewn floor and make herself comfortable at the bar. Moments later, the bartender, a Brad Pitt look-alike, set a bottle of Bud Light in front of her.
“You look familiar,” he said with a flirty smile that made her sit up straighter.
Sam took a swig. She hadn’t drunk a beer in ages, and the yeasty flavor stung her taste buds. “Grew up here. I’ve been gone for a decade, though.”
A middle-aged man slid onto the stool beside her and started small talk while the bartender made a mixed drink for a woman with bottle-blond hair and too much mascara. She laughed at something the bartender said, and he winked as he set the drink down in front of her.
Sam sipped while she talked to the man beside her. Phil was peeved with his wife, and the more he imbibed, the more peeved he was.
By the time she finished her third beer, she was feeling mellower herself. The alcohol was a welcome anesthetic, numbing her pain. This place felt more like home than the old cottage.
When Phil left, the bartender opened a new bottle for her and leaned against the distressed wooden countertop. “So what’s your name, gorgeous?”
She was far from gorgeous, but who was she to argue? It felt good to have the attention of an attractive man. Someone who was less threatening than Landon.
“Samantha.” The name sounded more feminine than its shorter version, and she wanted to feel feminine just then.
“I’m Anthony, but everyone calls me Tully.” His smile was contagious.
“As in Cap’n Tully?”
“One and the same. What brings you back to the island?”
For a moment she wondered how he knew, then she remembered telling him earlier. Sam figured she’d better make this beer her last tonight if she wanted to keep her wits. “I’m getting my house ready to put on the market . . . you know, painting and stuff.” Her words came out with effort, but her tongue was loose. “I live in Boston with my daughter. It’s a good place to live. Lots to do, and there’s always the Red Sox.”
They talked about baseball and Boston, and every so often Tully stepped away to wait on a customer. But he always came back, planting his elbows near her beer bottle. Once when Tully stepped away, a kid barely old enough to be in the bar hit on her. Tully came back and told the kid to take a hike.
Sam’s third bottle was empty, and she knew she’d had enough, so she set her chin in her palm and talked. Tully’s humor and charm made the darkness of the cottage and her anxiety over Landon seem so far away, she wasn’t sure they were real. For a moment, Landon’s face flashed in her mind, but she focused on Tully. Thinking about Landon was confusing.