They said goodbye and Sara returned to the kitchen, where her sister and Murphy were still standing.
“Now,” she said, “Let’s get back to fun facts about Jennifer.”
****
As promised, Sam was back that evening to pick Sara up for dinner. She knew she’d still be getting ready, so she’d left the door open. When Sara finished and walked into the living room, she found Sam standing on the back deck, looking out over the water. Sara stepped out and locked the door, but when she turned around, she stopped in her tracks.
“Someone parked their boat at my dock,” she said, turning to Sam. “Is that legal?”
Parking space at the community docks was a rare find on the weekends, even in late summer, and she’d heard some people just park at random docks and walk in to town. They walked down for a closer look. It didn’t look like the boat that would belong to someone that would steal parking. It was gorgeous, and looked straight out of a boating magazine. When they got there, Sam climbed in and held her hand out for Sara.
“Wait…This your boat?”
Sam handed Sara a pair of sunglasses. “Yeah. I thought we’d take mine this time.”
“Wow,” Sara said, turning around and taking it in, “It’s beautiful.”
The outside was a dark shimmering gray, with a polished mahogany control panel and steering wheel. The interior was covered in the softest pale gray leather and chrome, and there was a wide seat in the back with a built in refrigerator.
“Do you want to drive?” Sam held out the keys.
“Absolutely not,” Sara said, still running her hand over the buttery leather seat back. “Not even a little bit.”
Sam smiled and backed up the ski boat, turning smoothly into the open water and putting on her sunglasses as they headed into the glare of the afternoon sun on the water. She headed to the western side of the lake, past town and the community docks, to a part of the lakeshore Sara had never seen. Sara got up from the passenger’s seat and stepped in front of Sam at the wheel, sliding her hand under hers on the throttle. She wasn’t learning how to drive a boat anymore, but it was her favorite place to be. Sam leaned down and kissed her neck, and Sara leaned back against her chest.
Sam slowed, then cut the engine as they got closer to a weathered gray dock, outstretched like a silver wing over the water. She pulled into a slip and tied her boat off, offering her hand to Sara as she got out.
“What is this place?” Sara said, looking up the winding stone path beyond the docks.
A beautiful slate gray house with brilliant white shutters sat at the top of the path and seemed to have light spilling out of the windows, even in the late afternoon sun. Sam led her to the house and onto a deck. The deck overlooked the lake and sat above a natural stone fountain that splashed into a turquoise ceramic pool. Climbing freesia and fig vines were draped over an arbor overhead, and a lone weathered wood table was waiting, set with four chairs and simple terra-cotta plates.
“There’s only one table here,” said Sara, as Sam pulled her chair out for her. “Is this a restaurant?”
“Not exactly,” Sam said, sitting across from her and pouring her a glass of Chardonnay from the bottle on the table.
“You are here!” A short round man with a heavy French accent and a white apron stepped onto the porch and greeted Sam with genuine affection, setting a cold beer on the table for her and pulling her into a tight hug. “Excellent! And this must be your Sara,” he said, taking her in before kissing both of her cheeks and turning to Sam to whisper, “You are right; she is very beautiful.”
He scurried off as quickly as he’d appeared, mumbling something about the oven.
“I’ll introduce you when he comes back,” Sam said. “His name is Maurice; he’s a chef from Marseille in the south of France. His partner passed away years ago and he retired here early to be close to his daughter; she teaches at the elementary school in McCall.”
“So this is his home? It’s gorgeous,” Sara said, looking around at the lush lavender wisteria and vines dripping from the arbor towards the deck. “And whatever he’s cooking smells amazing.”
“Well, I could hardly expect to impress you with my cooking, so I asked Maurice to lend a hand.”
“Well, it worked; I’m officially impressed,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice to a whisper. “And he’s adorable.”
“Somehow he and my dad became instant best friends when Maurice moved to McCall years ago. They hung out in the diner every day for breakfast, and Dad and I ate here a lot too.” Sam smiled at the memory, looking back to the door he’d disappeared into.
“They’d usually get in the kitchen together and argue about the perfect way to cook this or that and forget to actually plate any food. Eventually I’d just have to come into the kitchen and start getting into things.”
Just then, Maurice burst through the door again with a tiny dish in each hand.
“Sara,” he said, in his charming French accent, “I make this especially for you. It is an amuse bouche, a foie gras bonbon with bitter chocolate, pistachios, and Rainier cherry.”
He set a dish in front of each of them and smiled at Sara’s excitement.
“Samantha tells me you are a chef?”
“I am,” Sara said. “I trained in Memphis and owned a restaurant in Savannah before I moved here.”
“I’m so jealous!” Maurice said, closing his eyes and clasping a hand over his heart for emphasis. “All that beautiful seafood right at your door.”
“Literally right at my door.” Sara laughed. “They brought the live seafood delivery to the kitchen at seven every morning.”
“You know, that is just how they do it on the Cote D’Azure,” Maurice said, excited at the memory. “I worked there as an apprentice when I was a young boy and I remember the boxes of squid on the doorstep every morning.”
After that, it didn’t take long for them to start chattering away about the French obsession with squid ink. Watching them, Sam realized how important it was to her that Maurice like Sara, which he clearly did. It was as close as she could get to introducing Sara to family.
Afternoon turned to evening, and course by course, a tasting menu of classic French cuisine appeared on the table. Maurice somehow managed not to venture too far from Sam’s tastes while still appealing to Sara’s more refined palate. He brought a traditional dessert plate of cheeses at the end of the meal and Sara insisted he join them. He poured them both a glass of petite Syrah and pulled up a chair, chatting to Sara as if he’d known her forever. He spread some questionable looking soft cheese on a baguette slice and handed it to Sam, who immediately passed it on to Sara. Maurice rolled his eyes.
“Not only does she turn up her nose at French wine, she has no appreciation for beautiful cheese.”
“Is this D’affinois…with white truffles?” She brought it to her nose and closed her eyes. “Oh my God, I haven’t had this in years; I’m in heaven!”
Maurice smiled, his round cheeks beaming with happiness at having someone to share his favorite things.
It was well into the evening before they finished, and Maurice hugged Sara goodbye with the promise of a wine and cheese evening the following week. She thanked him again and promised to bring him some special Malbec with a long French name that Sam didn’t understand, but seemed to thrill Maurice. He held Sam in a long hug as well, whispering something in her ear that Sara didn’t hear, but she caught the tears in Sam’s eyes as they walked back to the boat.
“Thank you,” Sara said as they walked back down the path to the dock. “This was beyond amazing.”
“Thank you for being so sweet to him,” Sam said, squeezing Sara’s hand as she stepped into the boat. “You made him so happy.”
Sam started the boat and Sara stepped into her spot between her and the steering wheel, Sam’s strong arms on either side of her.
“Where to?” Sam said into her ear as the boat picked up speed and the wind whipped the words from her mouth.
>
“Home,” Sara said, “Yours.”
Sam steered toward the north shore, holding Sara a little tighter than she ever had.
****
When they arrived at Sam’s house, Sara went inside to get the hoodie, which by now she’d claimed as her own, out of the bedroom while Sam got water, two glasses, and the bottle of scotch and went out to the deck. Sara walked outside to the deck barefoot, wrapped in the hoodie, and curled up in the chair beside her, looking out towards the dark, mirrored surface of the water. Sam handed her the scotch, which she downed in one gulp.
Sam refilled her glass and arched an eyebrow. “How are you feeling over there?”
“A tiny bit drunk,” Sara said, “But I want to ask you something.” She paused. “I’ve wanted to for a while, actually.”
Sara turned toward Sam in her chair and stretched her legs out so her feet were in Sam’s lap. Sam curled her fingers over Sara’s toes to keep them warm and took a sip of her scotch.
“Is there anything…” Sara said, hesitating, “That you’ve wanted to do in bed that you haven’t done yet?”
Sam put her glass down and laughed, pulling Sara’s legs closer. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I just…” Sara bit her lip and dropped her eyes, her voice trailing off.
“Tell me,” Sam said, running her palm over Sara’s leg. “I want to know everything about you.”
“There’s something I’ve always thought about, but it’s never really been the right time. Or maybe it just wasn’t the right person.” Sara pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down over her fingers and tucked them in her lap. Sam just waited; Sara would tell her if she wanted her to know.
“Wait,” Sara said suddenly, looking up. “I asked you first.”
Sam paused. “There’s not too much I haven’t done, to be honest, maybe one thing.”
Sara nodded and reached for her scotch, which Sam lifted gracefully out of her grasp.
“I can tell this might be hard for you to talk about, but you’re a little tipsy already, and I want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of you later.”
“Okay.” Sara took a deep breath and tucked her feet underneath her in the chair. “I’ve always wanted to do this but never found the person I trusted enough, I guess.”
“Just tell me.” Sam smiled, her hand on Sara’s thigh. “I’m not exactly easy to shock.”
Sara paused, trying to find the right words. “I’ve never had sex with someone that used a strap-on.”
Now it was Sam’s turn to be surprised. “Seriously?” She said. “Never?”
Sara shook her head. “I know it’s weird, everybody does it, I just never felt comfortable enough until now.”
“First of all,” Sam said, “Not everyone does it, not even close, and I’m honored you trust me enough to talk about it.”
“What about you?’ She asked, reaching for the water Sam brought out with the scotch.
Sam raised her glass and turned it to catch the moonlight. “I had a harness made for me about twenty years ago, when I first came out, by a lesbian leather-smith I knew in Boise.”
“Wow,” Sara said, “She made it to fit just you?”
Sam nodded.
“And…what do you use with it?”
“Honestly, it depends who I’m with,” Sam said, “And what they need. Everyone’s different.”
“What do you think I need?” Sara’s voice was almost a whisper.
“Well,” Sam said, “I’m in love with you, so this is new territory, but I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“Will you show me?”
Sam got up and turned out the lights, then picked Sara up in her arms and walked into the house, kicking the door shut behind her.
“Not tonight,” she said, her breath warm against Sara’s ear. “I want to make sure we remember it.”
“When?” Sara whispered back, melting into her arms.
“Soon, baby,” Sam said, laying her back on her bed and pulling the duvet up over both of them.
Sam pulled Sara back against her body and wrapped her up in her arms.
“Sam?” Sara whispered into the dark, “Thank you for tonight, with Maurice. No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”
“Shhh,” Sam soothed, stroking Sara’s hair as she laid in her arms. “Someday you’ll believe me. It only gets better.”
Chapter Seventeen
For the rest of that week, Sara was buried in work at the diner. The kitchen staff ended up doing an excellent job through training, which was a relief. Sara knew from experience they could make or break a restaurant. By the end, they knew the menu backwards and forwards, in addition to making every dish several times. Sara relished the thought of not having to be in the kitchen constantly, and with a good staff, that was possible.
By Friday, the new sign was finally applied to the front of the diner, which Sara promptly covered with paper to keep it under wraps for the opening. The new menus arrived next, and the framer delivered seventeen brown paper wrapped pictures for the walls, all different sizes. Sara slowly peeled the paper from each when she was finally alone in the diner. She’d done an excellent job restoring and re-mounting all the pictures of Gus and the locals through the years that were left behind when Sara bought the building. She spent the rest of that afternoon on a ladder attempting to hang them so they looked straight from every angle, which proved to be impossible. Around five, she just gave up and went across the street to see of Mary could help her before she lost her mind.
It turned out Mary was closing up anyway and looking for an excuse to not the mop the floors of the drugstore. Sara had left the diner unlocked, so they walked in and Mary turned slowly around, walking over to peer at some of the small photos and handwritten recipes.
“This is incredible, Sara,” she said, “Where in the world did you get all this?”
“Most of them were actually already on the kitchen walls unframed, I’d seen them when you brought me over the first time, but when I was cleaning out the office, I found a stack of photos that hadn’t made it onto the walls.”
Mary continued to look, occasionally laughing out loud or stopping to tell a story about someone in one of the pictures.
“So what do you think?” Sara said, her hands on her hips. “I’m afraid it will upset Sam.”
“Has she still not been in here?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. Every time I bring up even the smallest detail about the diner, she refuses to discuss it. I don’t know what to do to make it easier if we can’t talk.”
“Sara,” Mary said, hand on hip. “It’s not your job to make anything easy. It’s Samantha’s job to pull her head out of her ass.”
Sara laughed, thankful that she had at least one person to talk to about the diner. It opened in six days, and the person she loved most wouldn’t be there to support her.
“And how are you feeling about all this?” Mary said. “It must be stressful.”
Sara nodded and motioned her back to the kitchen, where she put on oven gloves and retrieved a pot roast surrounded by tender vegetables and the start of a beautiful brown gravy. When Sara pulled the meat lightly with a fork, it fell off the bone, so she turned the oven off and took off her gloves.
“How do I feel?” Sara said, going back to Mary’s question. “I know it’s selfish, but the fact that she’s shutting herself out of this part of my life completely is frustrating. She won’t even try.”
“You couldn’t be more right,” Mary said, shaking her head, “And I don’t blame you for being upset.”
“I’m completely in love with her, so we have to find a way to work it out. Do you think she’ll ever want to be a part of it?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said, “She’s as stubborn as they come, and I wish I could say yes, but I just don’t know.”
Sara dished up two bowls of steaming pot roast and vegetables and tore some bread for each of them off a crusty loaf she’d made earlier that day.
> “Oh my God,” Mary said with her mouth full, “Please tell me this is on your menu.”
“It is,” Sara said. “I’m planning on serving it on Sundays. I love it too.”
Sara reached into the cooler and brought out two bottles of porter. “Want a beer?”
“Hell, yes,” Mary said, the bottle opener on her key ring already in her hand.
****
The next day was Saturday and Sam went into the office around seven to get some paperwork done before she took off for the day. Sam had plans with Sara later that evening, but she had to get some of her paperwork off her desk. She been distracted lately and if she let it build up any more she’d never catch up on Monday.
But, she thought, first things first.
Moxie Java opened at seven, and they made cream cheese muffins on Saturdays, so she parked her truck at the station and walked up the hill, following the scent of roasted coffee beans to the door.
Double espresso and muffin in hand, she was almost to the door when Mary walked in. She stopped Sam in her tracks and told her to have a seat, stopping at the counter to get whatever coffee goes with twelve packs of sugar. Mary slid into the booth with Sam and started ripping the tops off packets.
“Mary, what can I help you with?” Sam said, looking at her watch. “I don’t mean to rush off, but I’ve got a stack of paperwork on my desk that’s taller than you.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Samantha.” Mary stared her down while she slowly stirred each pack of sugar into her coffee, one packet at a time. “You and I are going to have a little conversation about your dad’s diner.”
Sam leaned her head back on the back of the booth. “That’s a little bit of a sore subject right now. Can it wait?” Sam knew as the words came out of her mouth she shouldn’t have even bothered.
“Well, too bad, it’s past time to get this shit sorted out, so you’re not going anywhere.”
Mary counted the empty packets in front of her and pushed the basket she’d emptied toward Sam, who sighed and grabbed her a new one off the next booth over. They looked at each other for a while in tense silence before Mary spoke.
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