She felt her breath catch in her chest. Sam’s gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again. This was it! This was their moment!
Phil’s voice tried to intrude. Maybe I should just kill myself so you can fuck on my grave. She forced it into silence. Not today, Phil. She would not let his voice overpower her again.
She started to lean in for the kiss. But then, damn it, another, louder voice stopped her.
“What are y’all doing?” Amy’s voice cut through. She somehow always managed to show up at exactly the wrong time.
Sam suddenly blushed and stood up. “Just showing Cara something. Umm, I’ll just take this back down to the house for you. Have fun yoga-ing.” He picked up the backpack and walked away.
....................
When Sam had gotten far enough down the path to be out of earshot, Cara turned to Amy. “You are such a cockblock.”
“Are you kidding?” Amy shook her head. “Yuck. You’re welcome. Hey, you ready to begin?” She spread her yoga mat on the ground.
“What do you mean ‘you’re welcome’? Sam was about to kiss me. You couldn’t hang back just five more minutes?”
Amy squinted at her. “You’re joking right? Gross, Cara. I know I said you need to get laid, but you can do a lot better.”
“What’s wrong with Sam? Even you said you wouldn’t mind giving him a try. Summer of Sam, remember?”
“I was making a hilarious joke, not a real suggestion. You can’t be seriously considering doing anything with him. He’s a philanderer. And you, well, you’re past the point in your life where you play around with guys like that. You want someone more stable, and you know it.”
Cara hesitated. In some ways, Amy was right. But then again, Amy didn’t understand Sam the way she did. Sam wasn’t some foolish playboy, he was serious and stable, and he made her feel safe. She reminded herself what her therapist had said. If you can’t talk to your own cousin, why not? What are you so afraid to hear?
“You don’t know him like I do,” Cara said. “And to be honest, I think we’ve both been kind of into each other for a long time. But he’s been hesitating to make a move on me, and I . . . I still have Phil’s voice in my head stopping me from making a move on him. But just now, he brought me a present, and I thought he was about to kiss me when you walked up.”
“Oh, Cara, come on. No. He’s not into you. He just sees you as a challenge. He’s a predator, and you’re his prey.”
“Last summer he told me he was in love with me.” At the shocked expression on Amy’s face, Cara went on to finally tell her about that moment in the rain. Even thinking about it made her pulse quicken and heat rise in her cheeks, but Amy didn’t respond the way she’d hoped.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Let me get this straight: Last summer, when you were engaged to someone else, Sam tried to get with you. When you rejected him, he stopped speaking to you and totally quit his job, and dropped off the face of the earth. All of that petty stupid bullshit was because you wouldn’t cheat on your fiancé? Yeah, he sounds like a real winner. And might I remind you that he had a girlfriend, too? Remember, you met her, since he didn’t break up with her this summer either.”
Cara had deliberately put all of those details out of her mind. “Look, Amy, I didn’t necessarily expect you to understand.”
“He tried to get you to cheat with him, what’s to understand? And now, what, he’s buying you stuff? Is that his seduction attempt? Is he tired of the tourists already?”
“It’s not like that,” Cara protested. “Maybe you’d get it if you’d ever been in a real relationship.”
“I’ve been in real relationships!”
“Your Italian puppy doesn’t count!”
“What I have with Fabio is more real than anything you’ve ever had with anyone, and I don’t care that you can’t see it.”
“And I don’t understand what your problem is with Sam. He’s not a bad guy. He’s very sweet and caring, and easy to talk to, and he makes me coffee every morning. You’re always telling me it’s time to move on from Phil, so why are you stopping me?”
Amy took a deep breath. “Because I slept with him, ok? I slept with him, and he never even mentioned it to me again. He’s a user, Cara, and you deserve better.”
Cara was floored by this revelation. When? When could this have happened? And then she realized exactly what Amy was talking about. “That first summer, when you said you walked in on him in the kitchen?”
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly walk in on him. I was kind of an active participant.”
“Amy! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to get fired. You caught me erasing the security tape, so I had to say something. I mean, once I knew Paddy wasn’t going to find out about it and fire us both, I thought about telling you. But since nothing else happened between us, I figured it didn’t matter. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.”
A mix of jealousy and anger warred within Cara. She couldn’t hold it in.
“How many names have you checked off your islanders list? You have quite a collection. Sam, Matteo, who else? Is there something you want to admit about Sato? Or the ferry brothers? Do you hang out by the docks and pick up fishermen?”
“Don’t get nasty, Cara. You can’t slut-shame me. I’ve known you forever. Your number is way higher than mine. Look, I’m sorry you found out this way. I should have told you before. The fact is, you deserve better, and we both know it. There are millions of men in this world; you deserve a good one.”
“We’re done here.” Cara didn’t bother rolling up her yoga mat. She bundled it in her arms and strode off down the path. Amy had just destroyed the fragile hope she’d been building up.
I told you so, whispered Phil’s voice. You’ll never find anyone to love you like I do.
Chapter Forty-Five
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
I’m done. I am so f-ing done. I’m done dealing with my stupid cousin and her stupid bullshit. You know I’ve done everything I can to help her get through this terrible depression she’s been in since Phil died.
Well, we got into an argument today because she’s being stupid, and I won’t tell you exactly what she said to me, but she was rude and nasty. Maybe I said some awful things back, but mostly I was dropping truth bombs, and she was responding with hate.
And now I’m regretting it. She’s all worked up about our argument, and she’s not speaking to me. She’s acting all mopey and hurt, too. I feel bad, because she’s still so f-ing fragile about everything. I know, I know. She’s grieving, and I have to give her time. But how much time does a person need? How do I fix this?
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
YES I ALREADY APOLOGIZED!!!! Really, you think that’s great advice, just tell her I’m sorry? Like I didn’t think of that?
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
All good now. Cara and I went down to The Digs with Ty and got hammered and cried and hugged and made up. Now I’m hungover, but that’s ok. I wasn’t the one who had to get up at five o’clock this morning.
Chapter Forty-Six
Whispering Pines, August 2013
Sam couldn’t quite figure out what to do about Cara. Sometimes, she seemed so open to his advances, and sometimes so distant and cold. Last week, in the grove, she had been so close to kissing him; he was sure of it. But then afterwards, she’d been standoffish and careful, as though she was worried he would overstep his bounds. He needed time to have a long, private talk with her and tell her how he felt. If he could just find the right words, he was sure she’d be receptive.
The best plan he could come up with involved food, of course. The stars had aligned tonight—Sam and Cara were both off work, Ty would be at the desk, and, earlier, Amy mentioned she was going to a small party at Matteo’s. Since the two of them would have the house to themselves, Sam would cook Cara a meal he knew she’d love, they’d open up a good bottle of w
ine, and then they’d have the kind of intimate conversation that two people can share when they’re full of food and drink and sitting on a cozy couch together listening to the rain outside. He’d confess that he still had feelings for her, and tell her he was willing to wait until she was ready to date someone again. Ideally, she would say something like, “But Sam, I’m ready now,” then they would make out for a while. Ideally.
Of course, Sam’s plans never seemed to work out. When he went down to raid the restaurant kitchen for supplies, Amy was doing the same thing.
“I thought you stuck to sandwiches on your days off,” she said. “Are you actually cooking tonight? What are you making?”
“Chicken and dumplings,” he told her and added, “The weather is so cool and drizzly it put me in the mood for comfort food.” He opened the fridge to pull out the bird he’d roasted earlier in the day and then realized she was staring at him.
She gave him a suspicious and appraising look. “You’re making Cara’s favorite meal.”
“Am I? I didn’t know.” He tried to sound casual and returned her stare, willing her to drop her gaze first. She didn’t. Her eyes bored into him until he turned away uncomfortably, then she took her armful of leftovers and walked out. Hopefully, she was on her way to Matteo’s.
When he got back to the staff house, Cara was sitting on the couch reading a book. “I brought supplies for making dinner,” he announced, holding up the bag. He still needed to get the wine from his room. Maybe he’d pour her a glass and she’d come sit on the kitchen counter and watch him cook?
God, she looked sexy tonight. He imagined walking over to her, taking her book and throwing it across the room, pulling her to her feet and . . . no, he wouldn’t do that, of course, he’s not a monster. He would mark her page and set the book down gently, pull her to her feet, and say something suave like ‘let’s stop ignoring this attraction between us.’ And he’d kiss her, and she would jump into his arms and wrap her legs around his waist, and they’d just start going at it. The first time would be rough and fast and urgent. And when they finished, he’d lift her from the floor (because, obviously, that’s where they’d end up) and carry her off to his bed, where they would do it again, slower this time, and he’d finally be able to act on a few of his fantasies.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face or elsewhere because Cara’s cheeks turned pink and she bit her lower lip. He started to take a step towards her—maybe they could eat dinner afterwards instead? If he could just . . . and then his careful plans were shattered. Amy came out of the bedroom door, holding the cordless phone.
“Oh, hey, is there enough for three? It’s raining, so Matteo moved the party indoors, and you know I’m allergic to dogs. Of all kinds. So I guess I’m staying in tonight.” She stared Sam directly in the eyes as she spoke, and he knew she changed her plans on purpose.
Damn it, Amy.
“Yeah, that’s fine, there’s enough,” he told her, trying to hide his annoyance. Was it his imagination, or did Cara look disappointed too? Was she, perhaps, also regretting her cousin’s presence?
Of course, Amy wasn’t the only problem. Sam barely started cooking when the front door opened.
“What are you doing here? Who’s covering the desk?” he heard Amy ask in surprise.
“Oh, Sato and I traded shifts so he can go with Margaux to a doctor’s appointment on the mainland tomorrow morning,” Tyrell replied. “And since that means getting up at five, I figured I’d avoid The Digs tonight so I can go to bed early. I thought about going into town for dinner though. What are you guys up to?”
“Sam’s cooking for us,” Cara told him. “Hey, Sam, Ty’s here too. Is that okay? Do we need to go scavenging in the restaurant kitchen again?”
Sam stepped into the living room. “I’ve got plenty of food for everyone.” He could swear Amy muttered something about how she should have gone to Matteo’s after all, but he wasn’t certain.
“This will be fun.” Cara sounded cautiously optimistic. “Nice cozy night staying in. This is the first time we’ve all spent an evening together since before we opened, isn’t it?”
“We can make it fun.” That came from Amy. “But I think we’ll need some drinks.”
“In that case, I can contribute something interesting.” Ty went into the bedroom he shared with Sam and emerged a few minutes later on crutches and carrying a bottle. “Here, Sam, can we do anything with this? Tim was experimenting with infusions and he made this for me—it’s pepper vodka. The flavor is a bit strong. Do we have any mixers?”
“Mixers? Y’all know we always start with shots, right?” Amy followed him into the kitchen and started rummaging for shot glasses.
Sam shook his head, resigned. This night was definitely not going according to plan. At least he hadn’t opened the good wine yet. He could save it for another occasion. Someday he and Cara would find some time to be alone.
Later, after dinner—which, in Sam’s professional opinion, should never have been paired with pepper vodka, no matter what it was mixed with—they moved back to the living room. Ty sprawled across one end of the couch with Amy at the other end. Cara curled up on the only armchair, so Sam casually seated himself at her feet.
“There’s still room on the couch,” Amy offered rather sharply.
“I’m fine,” Sam said.
Behind him, Cara let out a long sigh. He wasn’t sure what that sound meant, but he hoped it was directed at Amy.
“Now what?” Sam asked everyone. His plans might have been ruined, but he was still enjoying himself. He was still spending time hanging out with Cara after all.
“Hopefully, now we drink something else.” Cara tipped her glass and studied the contents. “No offense Ty, but this vodka is kinda gross.”
Ty laughed. “Why do you think Tim gave it to me? He couldn’t serve it in his bar, but he figured we could make use of it. Not all of his infusions work. I think I have some brandy in my room, and there’s some Bailey’s in the cupboard. That’s all I got.”
“I didn’t picture you as a brandy drinker,” Sam told him. “You seem more like a craft beer kind of guy.”
Ty shrugged. “I’m a man of mystery. And I like a snifter of brandy on a cold night.”
“Ohhhh, you know what brandy goes well in?” Amy said. “Coffee. It’s like a cheap knock-off version of a caffè corretto. We have decaf, don’t we, Sam?”
“Amy likes her coffee like she likes her men,” Cara teased.
“Please don’t say black,” Ty begged.
“No, weak and Italian.”
“Not funny.” Amy glared at her, and Sam sensed an argument brewing. He stood up abruptly.
“Make a pot of decaf and add alcohol. No problem, that’s exactly what I went to culinary school for.”
When he returned a few minutes later with mugs and a bottle, he was gratified that not only did Cara still sit in the chair, she had shifted position to let a leg dangle in front of it. When he sat back down, he found his arm resting against her calf, and she didn’t withdraw it. He grinned up at her and thought he saw her cheeks flush. So, it was intentional. That was a good sign.
Amy flashed him a dirty look, then she surveyed the room and smiled. “Anyone up for truth or dare?”
Cara immediately started laughing. “No, no, no! Guys, say no. Amy plays competitively and she comes up with the worst dares. Unless you want to end up running naked through the inn, you’d better say no.”
“Why don’t we bring back truth or chores?” Sam suggested. They invented the game last summer when someone (Sam always suspected Amy) had failed to put a lid on the blender and did not cleanup the resulting smoothie explosion before it turned into a hard paste. The game continued for several rounds, with Amy asking increasingly raunchy questions, until Sato finally gave up and cleaned the mess.
“Yes! I love that game.” Amy turned to Ty. “Here are the rules: we go around the room asking whatever we want, and if you refuse to answer, you h
ave to do some cleaning. Sound fair?”
Ty nodded.
“Alright, let’s go clockwise.” Amy rubbed her hands together with glee. “Cara, you start. Ask Tyrell anything.”
“Anything?” Cara grinned wickedly and raised an eyebrow at her cousin. Sam sensed the look that passed between them and experienced a moment’s pity for Ty. “This is going to be awesome. Okay, Ty, there is something Amy and I are just dying to know. If you don’t want to wash the dinner dishes, tell the truth—how’s Timmy . . . in bed?” Sam almost choked on his drink.
“What the hell, Cara?” Sam immediately felt the need to defend his roommate, who appeared rather annoyed.
“That’s not a fair question,” Ty protested. He glared at the other end of the couch. “Amy, I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t discuss my sex life.”
Amy shrugged. “Cara’s the one who asked, not me. And there are an awful lot of dishes . . .”
“Wait, what? You and Timmy? Really?” Sam couldn’t contain his surprise. He knew Tim was gay, but Ty? And when had this happened? “Oh, shit, wait a minute. That time Tim brought your sweatshirt to the gym for me to give back to you . . . you didn’t leave it at the bar, did you? You left it in his apartment.”
“You seriously didn’t know?” Tyrell looked amused. “So why exactly do you think I go to The Digs every single night?”
“I don’t know, I thought maybe you were an alcoholic . . . shit, I’m sorry, Ty.” What else had he been missing?
“Ignore Sam. He’s an idiot. Let’s get back to the game. You have to give us a little bit. Some hint, please. Stop me when I get to it.” Amy held her hands a couple of inches apart and slowly began to spread them further. “Seriously, stop me. Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Now I don’t believe you.” Her hands were a foot apart when she gave up.
“No, it’s fine, he doesn’t need to answer. I withdraw the question,” Cara said over Amy’s protests. “That wasn’t fair to ask. Obviously, Timmy is fantastic in bed, otherwise Ty wouldn’t keep going back for more. New question: Are you in love?”
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 19