Proxy Bride (The Lindstroms Book 1)

by Katy Paige

  Few people passed him: one on a bike and later two joggers. It wasn’t an ideal day for exercise—the sun hid behind murky, undecided clouds, and until it made a solid appearance warming the air, only the most intrepid athletes—or confused insomniacs—would venture out. He kept his pace up, and his body felt warm despite the unforgiving wind. At some point, Sam realized his brain was keeping rhythm with his pace by verbalizing the beat in his head, and it frustrated him when he acknowledged the sound his brain had chosen, like a pulse with each stride:

  Jen-ny. Jen-ny. Jen-ny. Jen-ny.

  Jenny. He slowed down until he stopped, staring out at the lake, lacing his hands behind his neck, as the wind scraped and buffed his cheeks until his eyes shone.

  Here, in his sacred place, in his favorite place, his mind could not turn away from her. And suddenly, it occurred to him that the trail—where every important decision of his early adulthood had been made, where every problem found a solution, where every trouble was soothed—was part of his past. His weekend in Gardiner was acting as a cornerstone, and his life now existed in two parts: an older, outdated part that included everything he loved about Chicago on one side, and a newer, more vibrant, more visceral part that included Jenny on the other.

  It wasn’t that the Lakefront Trail was any less beautiful or meaningful to Sam, but in the blink of an eye, its meaning went from actual to sentimental. The soothing place where he had solved his life’s conundrums was nothing more than a picturesque snow-covered trail beside a cold, gray lake where a man could run and run and run, but couldn’t run away.

  He turned his eyes to the sky.

  Make. It. Stop. Or tell me how to make it stop! How do I get over her? How do I move on? Tell me, because I don’t want to feel like this anymore! I don’t want to miss her like this every second of the day! Please!

  His answer was the muffled sound of cold winter waves and the crackle of wind in his ears.

  He closed his eyes and let his head drop to his chest. The place that always held neat and tidy answers to tough questions had none to offer today. He shook his head in heavy-hearted frustration before starting back to his apartment.

  ***

  Ron stuck his head in Sam’s office, rapping lightly on the door. “Sammy-boy!”

  “Hey, Ron.” Sam squinted and rubbed his eyes. He’d been working for eight or nine straight hours, only breaking for a bag of chips and bottle of water from the vending machine.

  Ron plopped down in one of the guest chairs. “Heading to the old family homestead for Christmas?”

  “Yep. Thinking about leaving tomorrow.”

  He was hoping that his suburban childhood home and the company of his family would give him some clarity and help him not feel so lonesome.

  “So, duuuude…you were missed at the Christmas party! What happened?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Sounded out of control.”

  Instead of heading to the annual party, Sam had opted, instead, to stay at the office and work late. Work was the only thing left that seemed to distract him from Jenny, so he had been burning the midnight oil lately. Although he was efficient and thorough, the usual satisfaction he derived from working hard was absent, unbalanced as it was by the missing “playing hard” component. It was more like drudgery, but at least it kept him busy until his feelings for Jenny faded.

  Please fade soon. I can’t take much more of this.

  “Oh brother, you have no idea. Sandra from accounting brought a friend, and afterward, we went to her place. Suffice it to say, the party continued.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, putting his palm up. “High five, man!”

  Sam sighed, gesturing to his computer, leaving Ron hanging. “Ron, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Do you need something?”

  “Just came to say hey,” he said dejectedly, lowering his abandoned hand. “So, listen, Sandra and her friend Kiki wanted to get some drinks tonight, and I know you and Pepper are ancient history, so I thought you might want to…”

  Sam shook his head. “Buried in work.”

  Ron sighed. “Dude, what happened to you? You used to be party central. You’re turning down drinks and a sure thing for…for work? Did I mention the friend is suh-mokin’?”

  Sam looked up at Ron and cocked his head to the side.

  He was sick and tired of missing Jenny.

  Give it a try, man. You’re not with Jenny; you’re here. You’ve got to move on. Maybe you’ll like this girl. Anyway, you’ve got nothing to lose, Sammy.

  He forced himself to smile at his friend, reaching for his mouse to shut down his computer. “You know what, Ron? Sure. Count me in. I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten.”

  Ron jumped up and drummed his hands on Sam’s desk. “And he’s baaaaaaaack!”

  Sam watched Ron go, then turned in his chair to look out the window at Chicago. I never got back, he thought ruefully.

  ***

  Ron had chosen a small, classy bistro, but the girls were running late, so Sam sat at the small table with Ron, knocking back a scotch, hoping it would numb him into a pleasant state before Sandra and Kiki arrived.

  Ron was yammering on about how much easier girls were during the holidays.

  “It’s a smorgasbord out there, man, and I’m not kidding. They all want some chump lined up for the New Year’s kiss. So it’s all low-hanging fruit. Some rotten, some luscious, but all easy picking.” He downed his beer and signaled to the waitress to bring another, drumming on the table in his version of holiday cheer. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy! What happened to you?!”

  Sam looked up from his drink and smirked. “What do you mean?”

  “So serious. So brooding. Where’s the funeral, dude?”

  Sam leaned his head to the side, regarding his friend. Ron was a pig, yes, but it had never really bothered Sam before. They’d partied hard, met some pretty cute girls, and had a good time together. So it wasn’t necessarily fair that Sam felt a quick spike of disgust for his friend. Ron hadn’t changed, just like Chicago hadn’t changed. But Sam had changed, and he wasn’t sure his life would ever go back to the way it was before meeting Jenny.

  “You know, Ron,” started Sam, unaccustomed to speaking seriously to his friend, “there are some girls out there that you can’t just forget abou—”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.” Ron put his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes. His beer came, and he took a long draw, wiping the foam from his lip with the back of his hand. “She was quite a girl. I get it.”

  How did Ron know about Jenny?

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Pepper Pettway. Sex-on-a-Stick. She was one hot piece of ass. And don’t get me wrong, classy too. You actually consider the shackles for a chick like that.” He licked his finger and pretended to touch something hot. “Zzzz!”

  Sam couldn’t have been more surprised. Ron thought he was missing Pepper? Wow. It made Sam’s head spin to realize how off the mark Ron’s assumption was.

  But he had to hand it to Ron…Sam couldn’t think of a more complete prison than a marriage to Pepper. Shackles. Yep. His friend had inadvertently nailed it.

  “Yeah.” Sam gave a short, cynical snort. “Better you than me, brother.”

  Ron rubbed his index finger on his chin like he was trying to figure something out. Then he pointed at Sam. “She dumped you, right? That’s why you’ve been so mopey?”

  Sam shook his head slowly at Ron.

  “You dumped her? I don’t get you, Sammy. You had that, and you let it go? You cut it loose?”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, Ron.”

  Ron’s expression brightened when he saw the girls make their way into the bistro over Sam’s shoulder. He stood halfway out of his seat and waved them over.

  Sam stood up and fixed an engaging smile on his face. At least try.

  “Sammy, this is Sandra,” Ron said, gesturing to a grinning, blonde woman whom Sam recognized from his office building. “And this is Kiki.”

&nbs
p; Kiki smiled, offering her hand to Sam. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” He enveloped her hand, irrationally hating the fact that the last woman whose hand he’d held was Jenny’s. Now it was Kiki’s. He released her hand gently, telling himself not to be an ass…which just reminded him of Jenny all over again.

  This must be what it feels like to go utterly crazy.

  Sam raised his eyebrows, gesturing to Kiki’s raincoat, but she slipped out of it easily and took the seat next to Sam. He noticed it was a Burberry, possibly custom fitted, and it probably cost a fortune. He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d look in a puffy parka with white fur around the hood framing her face.

  “Cozy foursome,” observed Ron. Sandra giggled and looked up adoringly at him.

  Sam turned to Kiki. “So, Kiki, what are you drinking?”

  “Champagne,” she answered with a brief, refined smile, assessing the small bistro with a calculated glance.

  “Sandra?”

  “Same! Why not? It’s Christmastime!” She giggled again, and Ron asked her about her day. She leaned in closer, and they continued an intimate conversation dotted with several gasps and giggles.

  Sam called the waitress over and placed their drink orders. He turned back to find Kiki’s elbow on the table, her chin rested on her hand, as she looked him over. Her glossy red nails caught the dim light of the café as they tapped lightly on her cheek. She was pretty. She had almost-black hair and bright-green eyes she made up expertly; she was very thin, and her black blouse set off her pale skin and dark hair. A few weeks ago, he’d have felt eternal gratitude to Ron for suggesting he be the fourth for a setup date with such a beautiful girl.

  “So, Sam, Sandra told me you used to date that weather girl? Pepper Pettway?”

  He nodded. “We broke up a couple months ago.”

  “I like that, though.”

  “You like it that I dated Pepper?”

  “Well…she’s a nine. And I’m a nine.” She chuckled, and it was a throaty sound, likely due to smoking. “You’ve been, you know, vetted.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t play innocent. You rate us just like we rate you!”

  “Rate?”

  Kiki cleared her throat. “Ummm, lovebirds! Atencion, s’il vous plaît!” Sandra and Ron looked up. Kiki flashed Ron a runway smile. “Ron, one to ten, what am I?”

  Ron smiled back at her teasingly, raising his eyebrows. “What do I get if I say eleven?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

  “I would like to know.”

  “It’s illegal in several countries,” she volleyed back, licking her finger, then touching the space between her cleavage, throwing her head back, moaning lightly.

  Ron narrowed his eyes dramatically and breathed in loudly, assessing her. “Ummmm…nine.”

  Kiki turned back to Sam, victory bright in her eyes. “See?”

  “I see,” he answered, wondering how in the hell he was going to make it through dinner.

  “Oh, come on!” Kiki cajoled, noting his sour expression. “Everyone’s doing it! Want me to do you?”

  He stared at her like she was an alien life-form. She took that as a yes.

  “Brown eyes…not bad. Hmmm…what is that? Reddish-blond hair? Huh. One point off. Ginger’s not ‘in’ right now.” She let her glance sweep suggestively, brazenly up and down his seated body, letting her eyes rest for a long moment on his lap. When she returned to his eyes, she smiled sexily, wetting her lips and pursing them together. “Clearly fit. What else? Vice president, right? But not partner yet. I give you…an eight. And a half, ’cause you’re cute. Dye your hair or come find me when you’re a partner, then I’ll give you a nine.”

  “Kiki, is it? Right?” She nodded eagerly, wetting her lips again.

  It wasn’t her fault. It was the sort of flirty game that he would have engaged in a month ago. It would have led to sexy banter and thinly veiled innuendo throughout the meal. By the end of dinner, she’d be trailing her slick red nails up and down his arm, and an hour after that, they’d be skin to skin in his bed.

  Again, it wasn’t her fault. The thing is…Sam had already found the most fascinating, surprising, sexy girl the world had to offer. He’d found her, and he’d lost her, and it was breaking his heart every second of every day he spent away from her.

  “No offense, Kiki, but I can’t do this.”

  Sam stood up, placing his napkin on the table.

  He took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and dropped it on top of his napkin. Then he picked up his coat, tossed it over his arm, and walked out of the bistro without another word.

  ***

  When he got home, he took the elevator up to the top floor of his apartment building and walked up the steep flight of gray concrete stairs to the roof. He turned his eyes to the night sky, looking for the stars, and was rewarded with cloud cover and a pinkish-gray city sky. No Cassiopeia, no North Star to “help him find his way,” as Jenny had promised. No stars at all.

  He had bought a C. S. Lewis book impulsively on a lunch break and found a passage in it that resonated with him. He couldn’t shake it now that he’d read it. After the death of his wife, Lewis had written,

  Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.

  That’s how Sam felt too. There was no respite from his feelings for Jenny, no matter how far away he was from her.

  He held onto the railing that surrounded the perimeter of the roof, remembering Jenny at the arch when he had asked her to come to Chicago. She had placed her hand on his arm—I’m not ready to say good-bye either. I’ve never felt like this. Never in my life. And how had he responded to that gift? He had pressured her, judged her, criticized her, called her a coward, and tried to force her hand. For what? For a place he could barely stand anymore.

  He hated himself.

  He hated that he had been wrong: going back to his old life was impossible. Knowing Jenny and leaving her had made it impossible. The hold she had on his heart was unyielding. Even from fifteen hundred miles away, his eyes searched for her in clubs, at church, in throngs of people. Places that used to hold a special energy for him were hopelessly colorless, good for little but useless sentimentality. His hands yearned to touch her, simultaneously resenting and worshipping the imprint of her laced fingers through his. Regardless of the distractions everywhere—work, parties, clubs, girls—his heart ached for her alone with a throbbing, unceasing longing.

  And standing on that roof under a pitiable, starless sky, several simple truths became evident to a very changed Sam Kelley.

  The first was that he wasn’t going to be able to resume his old life in Chicago.

  The second was that what he had with Jenny hadn’t been infatuation.

  The final one, which his heart had known for some time and his mind was finally obligated to accept with breathtaking clarity:

  I am totally and completely in love with Jenny Lindstrom.

  ***

  When Sam told his boss he wanted two extra days at Christmas to spend with his family, Thomas had given him a hard look.

  “First it’s a day in Montana that turns into three. Then you don’t show up to the Christmas party. Lots of clients were looking for you there, Sammy. Frankly, you’ve been a little moody lately. Your work’s solid, but your attitude sucks. How about you take the whole week and make sure you want to come back after New Year’s, huh?”

  It was like slap in the face. In a good way. A bucket of ice-cold water, a loud alarm clock, the screech of brakes. A wake-up call. Sam nodded at him, eyes growing wide and hopeful as a liberating awareness flooded him, making synapses fire like crazy in his head, putting together the very beginnings of a plan. Was it really that easy?

  “You know what, Thomas? I’ll do just that.” He started breathing faster, excitement building.

  Thomas had narrowed his eyes, probably realizing he had overplayed his hand, because Sam’s face had all the
signs of a man who just realized he wouldn’t drown if he jumped ship. “Sammy! Don’t be rash. Just get your priorities straight.”

  Sam had chuckled and nodded at his boss with a lucidity—with a hope—he hadn’t had in two weeks. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Thomas.”

  He started to leave his boss’s office when he turned around, smiling broadly, excitedly, for the first time since he returned from Montana.

  “Merry Christmas, Thomas! Thank you, sir!”

  ***

  He had enjoyed spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family.

  More than he had in years. Not that being with his family had necessarily helped him figure out what to do about Jenny, but it was somehow comforting to spend a few days with them. Colleen had arrived with her husband and the girls on Christmas Eve morning and greeted Sam with a shocked and elated hello. Muirin arrived a few hours later with her husband and baby Colin, who was deposited in his uncle’s lap and proceeded to take a two-hour nap in Sam’s arms.

  His sisters had married good men: stable, loving men who doted on their wives and children. Sam found that watching the couples soothed a deep ache inside of him, even as it increased his own personal yearning. Surprisingly, he also found that he was more comfortable with his brothers-in-law than he’d been with Ron or Joe or any of the other single guys he hung out with in Chicago.

  He peeked out his mother’s kitchen window as Ned followed his daughters outside to make snow angels. At the kitchen table, Scott looked up at Sam, giving him a hard time.

  “When’s it your turn, Sammy?”

  Sam had given his brother-in-law a tight smile, recalling his blunder when he had blurted out “Someday. With you” to Jenny.

  His gut twisted with regret, remembering Jenny rush out of the courthouse after he’d yelled unforgivable things at her. He’d never apologized to her, and it had been weeks since their emotional farewell. He’d probably have a better chance at converting Ron to the priesthood than having another chance with Jenny at this point.