by Grace Palmer
Suddenly, Georgia leaned across the space between them and laid a hand on Stella’s knee. “Just have fun, darling. Don’t overthink things. It will all work out.”
None of those statements had ever been among Stella’s guiding principles. As fun as it was to raise Jace, she couldn’t just cross her fingers and hope things would work out. She had to make plans, overthink everything, and often do the hard work instead of having fun.
“Easier said than done.”
Georgia smiled and then glanced up, her eyes brightening at something over Stella’s shoulder. It looked like she was going to say something, but her mouth fell open slightly in shock, and she just shook her head.
Stella turned around, curious what caused such a reaction…
And saw Sam standing in the doorway. In slacks.
Not blue jeans—honest-to-goodness slacks.
“Wow, Sam. You sure look nice,” Georgia said, a note of teasing in her voice. Stella imagined Georgia was remembering the story the girls had told earlier where she’d had to force Sam unwillingly into dress pants. Now, he was wearing them by choice.
He tipped his head. “Thank you. I knew I’d have to work if I was going to keep up with our out-of-towner here. Turns out I was right.” Sam looked at Stella and everything about his face softened. “You look beautiful.”
“She does,” Georgia agreed. “You both look amazing, and I will get back to my book and let you get on with your date. Have fun!” She gave Stella a small push before reclaiming her spot on the couch and aggressively burying her nose in her book.
Stella didn’t actually say anything until they were outside and she realized she hadn’t given him a compliment yet. “Oh, you look great, too.”
“I can clean up all right,” he admitted, holding open the passenger side door of his truck. He held her hand as he helped her inside, and Stella watched him walk around the front of the truck with a giddy kind of awe. He really did look very handsome.
“Well, where to?” she asked as he pulled down the gravel road away from the inn. “This is our first date, after all. I assume you have something very elaborate planned.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
Stella’s heart lodged in her throat. Oh no.
What if she got everything wrong? What if this wasn’t a date?
Embarrassment burned at the back of her throat, and her brain went haywire trying to figure out how to backtrack.
Could she laugh it off and claim it was all a joke? Of course, I know this isn’t a date. It’s only an expression. Perhaps, but not until her tongue shrank down to normal size and she was capable of formulating full sentences.
“According to a few helpful ladies in town,” Sam continued, “this is actually our second date.”
All at once the warning bells in Stella’s head quieted. Bless those three nosy theater ladies. She let out an exhale on a laugh and nodded. “I heard something similar. Apparently, picnics in the park are considered dates.”
“Apparently.” Sam glanced over at Stella out of the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, though, I already knew that. It’s why I asked you to go eat with me.”
Sam’s silence at their picnic lunch made slightly more sense now. One flirtatious remark from Sam, and Stella felt out of her depth. Gladly so, though. She was treading unknown waters, but boy oh boy, did she love the view.
13
Stella expected Sam to head down the gravel road, turn onto Main Street, and take her to Romano’s. She’d already looked up the restaurant menu online and planned what she would order in an attempt to assuage some of her nerves.
Instead, he turned left before they reach the main road, taking a side road instead.
A shortcut, she thought. But when he pulled into a driveway in front of a navy-blue bungalow with white trim in the middle of a residential block, she knew this couldn’t be the Italian restaurant.
When he killed the engine, she frowned. “Are we stopping here?”
“Is that okay?” Sam was already standing outside of the truck, talking to her through the open door. His easy smile melted into worry. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first, right? Crap.”
“No, it’s okay.” It was okay; Stella just had to quickly rearrange her expectations of the evening. She’d had it all mapped out in her head, and now she needed to reroute.
“This town is small, and if they see me out on a date, they’ll pester us all night,” he said. “As it is, everyone will still know by morning, but at least they won’t be interrupting us all evening. Are you okay with that? Because I’ll gladly deal with the nosiness if you’re uncomfortable.”
“This is perfect,” Stella said gently, touched by his obvious concern for her comfort. “Let’s go inside.”
Stella hadn’t lived with a man—Jace didn’t count—since she lived with her parents, so she didn’t know what to expect walking into Sam’s place. Sitcoms had her fearing the worst as they walked in: pizza boxes, beer cans, a stench foul enough to burn her nostrils.
But she was pleasantly surprised. His house was clean. And organized. The air smelled like a lemon cleaner with something richer underneath—the same warm smell from his truck. It was pure him. The walls were mostly bare, but his couch was modern, the fabric a deep blue. Splashes of the same shade of blue were present in the curtains, the checkered tablecloth draped over the dining-room table, and the kitchen cabinets. All-metal hardware had been painted gold, and all of the wood was dark. Some thought clearly had gone into the color palette and overall design.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Sam walked ahead of her through the dining room and into the kitchen, giving her space to take in her surroundings. “Do you like wine?”
“Who doesn’t?” Stella laughed as she did a slow circuit of the living room. “You have a real eye for decorating.”
Sam returned holding two glasses of red wine. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I’m sorry, do I?” She lowered her head in embarrassment as she accepted the wine and took a long sip. “I could tell from the body shop that you were organized, but seeing that you have a design language is a nice surprise.”
“You’re a graphic designer yourself, aren’t you?”
“I am, but all design is kind of similar in that you want things to meld properly. You can’t design a room or a poster with clashing colors and fonts and styles. Things need to work together, and you’ve done a great job of that in your house.”
Sam looked around his house as though seeing it for the first time. He smiled at Stella and raised his glass. “To working together.”
They clinked glasses. Stella had a feeling they were toasting to more than house décor.
Sam led Stella to the table, which had been set with white plates and crisp white cloth napkins, and then went into the kitchen, returning with two takeout containers.
“I wanted to avoid my neighbors at a restaurant, but my cooking can’t compare to Romano’s. I put in a carry-out order just before I came to pick you up and paid one of the waiters twenty bucks to leave it on the back step. Hopefully it’s still hot.” He pulled back the Styrofoam lid to reveal a massive square of steaming lasagna as big as Stella’s head. The other box was full of breadsticks.
Stella’s mouth watered as Sam dished out the food, and she tried her best to remain ladylike. But when she finally took a bite, she could barely hold back a moan. “This is incredible.”
The noodles were perfectly al dente with creamy layers of ricotta cheese and marinara seasoned with garlic and oregano. The parmesan cheese on top was browned and caramelized. It was, hands down, the best bite of pasta Stella had ever had.
Sam nodded while Stella gushed over the food. Then, conversation flowed easily from talk of Romano’s to talk of the Duke Saloon and Alma. Sam went hunting with Alma’s husband every fall, though he never actually caught anything.
“I like being out there with him, but I’m a lousy shot. I mostly just help him carry supp
lies, and he rewards me with some of his deer jerky.”
When Georgia and the Baldwins came up in conversation, for the first time, Stella didn’t feel even a flicker of jealousy. Everyone in the family had done everything in their power to make this date happen, and it was clear Sam was happy to be here, too. If there were ever romantic feelings between him and Georgia, they’d long since dissipated, and there was no sense in being upset about them now.
Sam had a warmth in his voice when he talked about all of the Baldwin kids—a warmth that evaporated at even the hint of Richard Baldwin’s name. It was clear that Richard’s betrayal of Georgia had affected more people than just his immediate family, but Stella was still too nervous to press Sam to talk about it more. So, they talked about Tasha’s play instead.
“I still think Meet Me in St. Louis should be a Christmas play.”
Sam shook his head and held up his hands. “I refuse to get into it.”
“Are you afraid of Tasha Baldwin?”
“Yes!” Sam laughed. “If you were smart, you would be too. That woman is determined. Once she sets her mind on something, nothing can stop her. So, I won’t be the one to stand between her and doing this play in the fall. Plus, I’ve never even seen it.”
Stella’s mouth fell open. “What?”
He shrugged. “I’m not much for musicals.”
Her mouth opened further, and she was surprised it wasn’t dragging on the ground. “You don’t like musicals? Like, any?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen very many.”
“Singin’ In the Rain?”
He shook his head.
“An American in Paris? Seven Wives for Seven Brothers? Oklahoma?”
Movie after movie, Sam shook his head, and Stella stared on in horror. “Please tell me you’ve seen The Wizard of Oz.”
Sam snapped his finger and pointed, a triumphant grin across his face. “Yes, I’ve seen that one. Tasha loved it as a kid, and it was on the television every time I went over to the house to see Richard.”
Again, the mention of Richard dimmed some of Sam’s shine, but the memory of Tasha forcing Melanie and Drew to dance around the room with her as Dorothy and the two of them as the Scarecrow and the Lion made him smile again.
“Who played the Tin Man?”
He smirked and pointed at himself. “Every time I was at the house, it was me. She said it was because I was tall, but I think it’s because my dance moves were stilted and robotic.”
The image sent Stella into a fit of laughter, and she begged to no avail for him to reprise his performance.
As they finished their entrees, the conversation circled back around to the delicious food.
“Giuseppi’s family is from Turin, Italy. His mom taught him everything she knows.”
“Bless her,” Stella said between bites. When she finally ate her breadstick, she shook her head in disbelief. It had a chewy crust on the outside with a light texture inside, and it was coated in decadent garlic butter and salt. “I’ve never been to Turin, but now I don’t think I need to go.”
“I’ve never been out of the country,” Sam admitted. “Matter of fact, I haven’t left Maine in years. It’s hard to get away from the shop.”
“Well, how could you get away when you have tourists breaking down on the highway and requiring your immediate help?” Stella teased. “What would all the damsels in distress do without their white knight?”
Stella couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought Sam might be blushing. He asked, “Do all white knights wear greasy coveralls?”
“Only the best ones.” She was being forward, but the combination of the food and the wine was going to her head, even though she certainly hadn’t had enough to even be tipsy. It was just all so delicious and perfect that she couldn’t help but feel swept up.
“Well, in case it isn’t already obvious, I don’t usually treat the other damsels to dinner.” Sam glanced up from his plate, and the way his lashes brushed against his cheeks made him look much younger than he really was. He shrugged. “Actually, you could say that I’ve never treated any of them to dinner. Until now.”
Stella already knew Sam didn’t date, but him admitting it confirmed her theory that tonight meant something to Sam. It wasn’t just a way to kill time; it was an admission of his feelings. Before, the thought had filled Stella with dread, but looking into his eyes now, she couldn’t feel anything besides the butterflies flitting around in her stomach.
“Car repair and dinner? It sounds like I’m getting the royal treatment, then.”
Sam’s expression shifted for a moment. His eyes turned downcast, and he wriggled in his seat before taking another large bite of lasagna.
As he chewed, Stella worried she had said something wrong again. That she’d spooked him the way she did at their picnic on Saturday. But before she could be consumed by her worries, Sam swallowed and pushed his chair away from the table. “You think this is royal treatment? Wait until you see what else I have.”
He went into the kitchen and pulled another takeaway container out of the fridge. This one had a clear plastic top, and Stella could see the perfectly golden cannoli shells with white, fluffy cream coming out of both ends before he even set the box down.
“I’ve heard so much about these that I’m almost afraid to try them. What if they don’t live up to my expectations?”
Sam shook his head and popped the lid. “Impossible. Trust me.”
Stella did, and she reached for the delicate treat. It was small—fitting comfortably in her hand—but big enough that she wasn’t sure how to eat it.
“Don’t worry about being delicate.” Sam shoved an entire cannoli into his mouth to prove his point. His cheeks were puffed out, and it clearly took a concerted effort to chew, but Stella could tell he was smiling. So, she pushed aside her worries and followed suit.
The cannoli barely fit in her mouth, and she had to hold a hand over her lips to keep crumbs from spilling out, but holy cow, it was delicious. The filling inside was sweet, but not overly so because there was a natural balance to the sweetness in how complex and full-bodied the cream was. Then, the crispy shell was buttery with a kick of cinnamon. It was the perfect dessert.
“Tell me that isn’t the best thing you’ve ever eaten.” Sam watched her expectantly, eyes bright with excitement. Stella could finally understand why everyone had been so adamant about her needing to try one of these cannolis.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” she admitted easily. “Followed closely by the lasagna. How have I never heard of Romano’s before? Or Willow Beach for that matter?”
He arched his brows. “Does that mean your car breaking down maybe isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to your vacation?”
Stella was taken aback by his question. Mostly because she realized for the first time in three days that she wasn’t thinking about leaving.
Every activity she had participated in had felt like a countdown. Going to dinner at the Duke Saloon and dancing with Sam was one evening closer to leaving for Boston. Then, she painted at the theater, and that was another day gone. Even tonight was supposed to be a way to burn some time before heading out for the big city. Yet, the entire time she’d been with Sam, she hadn’t thought about Boston once. She hadn’t been counting the hours in her head, wondering when she’d be leaving.
She’d been…having fun.
In fact, the thought of driving away from Willow Beach now left her with a hollow feeling. What could Boston possibly have to offer that would be better than the community this town had built? How likely was it she’d arrive in Boston and meet people who were willing to embrace her as warmly as the people in this town had? What museums or restaurants or tourist sites could be more important than genuine human connection?
“I can safely say my car breaking down is not the worst thing that could have happened to me.”
Stella and Sam locked eyes over the table, and the unspoken words between were obvious and ever-present,
but Stella was still too nervous to say them.
Regardless of how she felt tonight, she would have to leave Willow Beach. Boston or not, this week was just a vacation, and nothing could change that. There was no reason to make leaving hurt more than it already would.
Sam seemed to reach a similar conclusion. His brow wrinkled for a second before he smoothed his expression into a smile. “Are you too full to move, or are you ready for an adventure?”
“An adventure? I thought you didn’t want anyone to see us out on a date?”
“Who said anything about anyone else being there?” He wagged his eyebrows playfully. “Are you intrigued yet?”
“Immensely,” Stella admitted.
Sam walked around the table and extended a hand. Stella placed hers gently in his and let him pull her to her feet. “Then come along, my lady. Your chariot awaits.”
She laughed. “Now I’m getting the full royal treatment. Lead the way, kind sir.”
Sam tucked her forearm around his arm and escorted her back into the warm night.
14
When Stella realized Sam was driving back towards the Willow Beach Inn, her face fell. She wasn’t ready for the date to be over. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Though, she had to remind herself that she was on vacation and Sam wasn’t. He probably had to get up early for work tomorrow morning, so she shouldn’t keep him out late.
Still, it was hard to care about any of that. Being with Sam had been easy. Fun.
Their conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to another, and despite having met him just a few days ago, she felt like she knew him. He was warm and friendly. He cared about the people in his life deeply and was loyal to a fault. He didn’t walk into anything with half of his heart. He gave his whole self to everything he did and every person he met. All in all, Stella had never met anyone like him.
Occasionally, his expression shifted, or he averted his eyes. Stella didn’t know what it meant exactly, but she could read him well enough by now to know it was something. Something she’d probably be privy to eventually, once she earned his trust.