“The little things, yes,” Cara murmured, hiding a smile as she pictured Sam making her coffee every morning.
“He’s just a big clumsy puppy. He doesn’t always know how he’s supposed to behave, but he’s eager to please. Plus, he’s had a rough life. I shouldn’t judge him so harshly. You know his parents died when he was a teenager, right? He never talks about it, but you know that affected him.”
“I was not aware of that.” Sam’s parents weren’t dead, were they? She could swear he told her they lived in California. Sam always said they had a terrible relationship, but surely he would have mentioned it if they died?
“It’s a tragic story, so I’m not surprised he hasn’t shared the details with his coworkers. Don’t tell him I told you, but yes, they passed away when he was sixteen. It was a dreadful situation. He was at his junior prom having the time of his life, and his parents went out for the evening and ended up killed by a drunk driver running a red light. The worst part was he knew the drunk driver—it was a boy from his school who had been kicked out of the prom for smuggling in a flask. Poor Samuel had to change schools and go live with his older brother.”
Cara felt a cold hand clench her heart. Her vision darkened for a second. That was her story, word for word. That was the accident that killed her mother and hospitalized her father. Had Sam stolen her personal tragedy? Why would anyone do such a thing? She kneaded her hands together, trying to force feeling back into her numb fingertips. She was going to have a few words to exchange with Sam when she got back to the inn.
Lizbet didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have followed him here,” she mused, indifferent to Cara’s expression. “He would have come home in a few months, and I probably would have taken him back. It’s just hard, you know, being with someone who is so closed off emotionally. And the inability to communicate while he’s here, it’s like the dark ages. I don’t understand how your employees put up with it. Last summer he only managed to call me a few times, always collect from a payphone. I didn’t even know those existed anymore.”
“Ummm …” Cara paused for a second to clear her head. She would deal with Sam later, but for now she needed to keep her focus on Lizbet, and maybe try to learn what other lies Sam had told. “I don’t mean to upset you, but that’s not quite true. We’ve got two staff phones, including one in our house. Plus, last year, the inn finally got Wi-Fi. The signal doesn’t reach our living quarters, but we share an office behind the front desk with a computer that our employees can use anytime.”
Lizbet’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You mean all that time, he could have called? He lied to me all last summer? He . . . oh, he’s an awful man. If I didn’t have a ticket for the next ferry, I’d go back up there and stab him or something.”
“I’m going to object to you stabbing our chef right before the dinner service, but I’m happy to drive you back up, if you want to yell at him some more, maybe slap him across the face.” Cara smiled. “He certainly deserves it.” Or maybe I’ll do that myself.
“Does he ever talk about me?” Lizbet asked suddenly. “I’m just wondering if he ever cared at all. Did anyone out here even know that he had a girlfriend?”
“He did.” Cara tried to decide how much to say, settling on, “He said you’re a demon on the slopes.”
“And between the sheets, probably. I know what’s important to him. Is that it? He said I could ski?”
Cara hesitated. Sam hadn’t had many good things to say about Lizbet. He never described their relationship as serious; rather, she was a ski friend with benefits. In fact, he’d even said he could never be committed to a woman who was such a picky eater. To him, a man whose life revolved around food, that was the greatest sin of all.
“He said you were generous, and kind, and you do a lot of volunteer work.” That was true, and she was glad she remembered because it got Lizbet to produce a real smile.
“Thanks. And thanks for the coffee and for listening. I should head to the docks now, right? Hey, next time you see Sam, go ahead and slap him for me, as hard as you can, right across the face. And tell him I’ll mail him his cookbooks. I won’t really throw them out.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Quite an interesting scene yesterday,” Cara commented to Sam as she sipped her coffee in the staff house kitchen.
“Yeah, that was weird.” He cast his eyes down at the table and shook his head. He wished he could avoid this conversation, though he supposed it was inevitable. “I don’t know why she did that. Came all the way here, I mean. What was she thinking?”
Sam had been embarrassed by Lizbet’s appearance. It didn’t help that his kitchen staff had felt the need to tease him about it. He didn’t mind a little good-natured ribbing, but it got more annoying once he heard a rumor that Cara had been spotted at the coffee shop with Lizbet while she waited for the ferry. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they talked about.
“I suspect she thought she was visiting her boyfriend,” Cara suggested. She appeared to be enjoying his discomfort. “After all, they were madly in love and planning on moving in together. I think she heard wedding bells in her future.”
“Yeah, well, I think we had different outlooks on our future,” Sam muttered.
“Oh, I know, it’s hard for an orphan like you to get close to people and express your emotions.”
This snapped Sam to attention. He stopped staring down into his tea and looked at Cara. “An orphan?” he asked carefully, wondering exactly how much Lizbet had said.
“Yes, an orphan. Oh, Samuel, I do wish you’d told me about your heartbreaking past. I could have empathized. I mean, apparently your parents died the exact same way as my mother. Why didn’t you confide in me? We are friends, aren’t we?” The way she pronounced ‘friends’ made it sound like the word had been dipped in acid.
“Shit,” Sam swore. “Oh, shit. Please don’t be mad. Shit. Listen, I just told her that to get her off my back. I met her folks, and she wanted to meet mine, and she’s not the kind of person who understands these things. She would have insisted on visiting them or something, and I broke off all contact with my parents for a reason. I couldn’t let myself be drawn back in. I couldn’t. So I sort of borrowed your story.” Even talking about seeing his parents caused a sense of panic. He knew he shouldn’t have lied to Lizbet, but it had been the only way he could think of to keep her from insisting on an introduction.
“You used my mother’s death. That’s the worst thing that ever happened to me, and you treated it like a joke because you didn’t want your girlfriend to meet your actual living parents. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?” The catch in her voice made him realize she wasn’t angry, she was hurt, which was much worse.
“Oh no, oh Cara, I am so sorry. Honestly, I only used your story because it was one thing I could think of that made me genuinely sad. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and so I thought about you and what you went through, and it’s so fucking tragic. I knew it was the only thing that I could put enough emotion in to make it sound truthful. If I lied and said my parents died in a fire or something, she never would have believed me because I wouldn’t have sounded sad telling it.”
“Sam, you can’t steal bits of other people’s lives,” she informed him. She was doing that awful thing where she didn’t move a muscle, just stared straight into his eyes as though she could see deep down inside him to the smallest ugliest parts. It made him feel worthless and weak.
“Cara . . .” He reached across the table and took her hand, relieved that she didn’t immediately pull away. “You’re right, I should have been honest with Lizbet about my parents. I just . . . I’ve been working so hard at breaking free from my childhood. I knew if I had to introduce her to them, it would bring all that negativity back. . .” He trailed off, focused down at her hand in his. There had to be a way to explain.
“You know,” he started over. “You’re the one that set me on that p
ath.”
“What path? You’re blaming me for you hijacking my past for your own benefit?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Don’t you remember my first summer out here, when you and Paddy were trying to decide if you should promote me to executive chef, and you had a little chat with me about my behavior?”
A tiny smile finally cracked her lips. “We must remember that differently. I thought it was more of a lecture.”
“Right, that’s probably more accurate. Well, I took it to heart, and I took your advice and decided to take steps to improve my life. For me, a big part of that was leaving my past behind. I guess I went about it the wrong way in this case. I should have thought about how using your story would have made you feel, and I didn’t. I really am truly sorry for that. Please forgive me?” He looked her in the eyes as he spoke, hoping she could see how deeply he meant everything he said.
“Oh, Sam,” she sighed. “I’m sure I will forgive you eventually. For using my past, I mean. I’m not sure, though, I’m ever going to get over the fact that I had to take Lizbet out for coffee. No offense, but I found her a bit insufferable. I’m starting to think you have appalling taste in women.”
“I don’t know about that, Cara.” He smiled, but cautiously. As much as he wanted to, he refrained from saying, My taste has improved. I’m only interested in you.
No, cheesy lines would have to wait for later, when she wouldn’t think he was just flirting to get himself out of trouble. Someday soon, he hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Whispering Pines, September 2010
It is nearing the end of Sam’s first season on Whispering Pines Island, and he’s hoping to be invited back next year. His boss Geoffrey has been talking about retirement and refers to Sam as the “heir apparent” often enough that it doesn’t seem to be a joke. Truthfully, he hopes it isn’t—coming back as executive chef would be his dream job.
When Cara O’Connell asks him to meet with her in the owner’s office, he agrees enthusiastically. Although he’s seen her around, he doesn’t know her very well. She’s the inn’s general manager, and while technically his supervisor, she doesn’t spend any time in the kitchen. He’s run into her out at the bar though, and they’ve chatted a little, but she’s really not his type. She’s a little too serious, a little too reserved. He prefers her cousin Amy, who is much more fun.
“Sam, have a seat.” She sits down behind her uncle’s desk. “We need to have a talk.”
“Oh?” he asks, smiling because he’s sure he knows the reason for the meeting.
“It’s time for your performance evaluation,” she says, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She consults paperwork in front of her. “Geoffrey says you’re the best sous chef he’s ever worked with. He says you are talented and creative, you have an excellent palate, and you are the neatest person he’s ever seen in a kitchen. He believes you’ve never dropped a crumb, and you clean while you work, which impresses him more than it probably should. He seems to think that you should be hired on as his successor, if he retires.”
Sam starts to feel the excitement building, but then he realizes Cara said if.
She continues with her assessment. “From what Paddy has seen, you have the cooking chops to pull it off. We’ve noticed that you follow food trends and are constantly looking for new ideas, and some of the meals you’ve created this summer have been really innovative. Paddy likes that a lot. He likes to be cutting edge. He wants to bring in larger crowds. As the executive chef, you’d have pretty free rein. That’s the joy of a prix fixe restaurant—you can change things up all the time and do experiments. Plus, I guess this would be a good job for you since you could keep up your winter work in Aspen. You’d be salaried rather than hourly, and you could live in the staff house for free.”
“That would be great,” Sam tells her. “I’ll take it! Really, I’m excited about it.” He has never felt better than he has this past summer. Whispering Pines is a relaxed, laid-back community. It feels like home, not the home he grew up in but the home he has always been looking for. There’s something in the air here that agrees with him. As an added benefit, the kitchen is amazing, and he can save a lot of money if he lives in staff housing. This summer he’s been renting a bed in a hostel in the village that is full of seasonal workers, and it would be nice to be able to live in quieter accommodations in the future. He’s getting a little old for sharing a bunkbed and keeping his things in a locker.
Cara shakes her head. “I haven’t offered you the job, and I don’t honestly know if we’re going to or not.”
His heart sinks. Why was she talking about the chef position like it was his for the taking if she isn’t making an offer?
“Look, Sam, you’re fantastic in the kitchen. You make delicious food. Your direct boss respects you. But here’s the thing—you haven’t figured out what it means to live in a small town. You aren’t as well regarded among the locals, and that does matter to Paddy. As far as he’s concerned, the residents and the other business owners are practically family. This is a tight-knit community, and you haven’t been impressing them.”
“I haven’t? Have they tried my food?” Sam doesn’t know what to say. His head is spinning. He thought things were going so well. Why wouldn’t people like him? He’s made friends down at the bar, he has friends at the gym, and his buddy Matteo is on the village council. That should count for something.
“It’s not about your food, Sam. It’s about your actions. I’m going to guess you’ve never lived in a tiny place like this before, so perhaps you didn’t realize the main topic of conversation is whatever scandal happens to be going on, and you’ve been involved in a few of them. Like the situation with Olivia.” She stops and watches his face. It takes him a little while to figure out who she is talking about.
“Olivia from the Village Hotel? What about her?”
“You know you got her fired, right?”
This is news to him. He knew she moved out of the hostel and someone said she went back to the mainland. Sam had assumed she quit. She didn’t like her job, he remembers that much about her.
Cara continues. “And Bernie called up here all pissed off and demanded that Paddy fire you too. You can’t have sex with the night clerk behind the desk without horrifying some hotel guests, you know. And Paddy wouldn’t fire you because you didn’t do it here. If he ever found out about you doing something like, oh, I don’t know, banging some random woman in the restaurant kitchen, you would be either on the next ferry or swimming behind it.”
“I would never do that,” Sam promises solemnly, but his heart is racing and his mouth is suddenly dry. She stares at him without moving a muscle for what feels like a long time, but is probably only about fifteen seconds.
“Don’t lie to me, Sam.” Her voice is flat. “First, you’d be a terrible poker player because you have an obvious tell. Second, Amy walked in on you. She couldn’t identify your partner, but she did say you have a very nice ass. And she checked twenty minutes later, and you were sanitizing the surface, so kudos to you on not leaving bodily fluids everywhere. She told me, not Paddy or Geoff, and that’s why you still work here. Also, the cleaning up after yourself thing. That matters.”
Sam is terribly embarrassed, but he knows enough to keep his mouth shut. Technically, Amy hadn’t walked in on him, but he doesn’t want to correct Cara. She doesn’t need to know what really happened. Maybe he should quit right now, just walk out the door and never come back. That’s what he’s always done in the past.
But something keeps him seated in his chair, thinking. He’s not sure why it happened, but when he stepped off the ferry on his first day on the island, he felt a sense of homecoming, which grew into an internal peace he has never experienced anyplace else. For the first time in his life, he feels like he belongs somewhere, and he can’t imagine just walking away.
“How can I fix this?” he finally asks, and he can’t quite bring himself to look at Cara. “I want to stay.
I want to come back next year, and I want to take over for Geoff. What can I do? How can I show you that I can do this?”
“You need to start being concerned about other people. You need to think about how your actions affect others. Can I speak frankly to you? Not as your employer, but as a friend?”
He nods, still not quite meeting her eyes. They aren’t friends, not yet at least, but he’s willing to listen to her.
“Sam, I’ve seen you around here, and I see how you interact with others. You’re a friendly guy, but it’s all surface. You don’t seem to connect on an emotional level, and you don’t think about how your actions affect other people.”
“That’s not true,” he protests. But it is, and he is surprised she is able to read him so clearly. She barely knows him.
“Work on it, Sam. Do some self-reflection. I think you’re a good guy, really. I think there’s a part of you that cares deeply about others. You cook for everybody; you like to share your food. I think that’s your way of reaching out. What else do you have to offer? If Paddy gives you the job, you need to come back willing to actually be a real member of this community, to participate on a level other than just, well, sleeping with everyone.”
She is right, and he knows it. He thinks about the therapist he started seeing in Aspen. He left after his first few sessions, but maybe that was a mistake. Maybe he should go back. He can do this; he can work on himself. He can be better.
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 10