by Ev Bishop
Good grief, Charlie thought, wasn’t Sam going to formally introduce herself? What was she thinking?
Jo was up from the table and moving toward Callum. “What’s wrong with the bookings?”
Callum’s mouth opened, but it was Aisha who spoke first. “You told us not to book Silver, that you wanted it held because you knew, uh . . . ”
“That Sam, your birth mom, was coming. Right—oh, right. Shoot.” Jo motioned toward Aisha and Aisha let herself be led over to Sam. “I’m sorry it’s in the middle of some crisis, but let me introduce you guys. Sam, meet Aisha. Aisha, this is—”
“Sam,” Sam said, holding out her hand. It trembled a little and Charlie wondered if Aisha noticed too.
“I’m sorry to take away from the big moment,” Callum interrupted, “but we really have to deal with this.”
Aisha broke contact with Sam, almost like she was relieved to have something else to focus on. “Yeah, sorry. Like I said, I knew she, Sam, was coming, but I didn’t know when or I forgot, and I was so excited because at two hundred bucks a night—”
Jo held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter who booked it or why. When’s the conflict?”
Callum and Aisha exchanged anguished looks.
“When?” Jo repeated.
Charles shifted uncomfortably, watching their non-verbal communication. Jo, Callum, and Aisha—they already related in a completely familiar, family-esque way. Almost unconsciously, his gaze brushed over Sam. She looked as tortured and out of the loop as he felt. For a split second he thought, Sam’s like me, she’s my ally—then common sense overwrote his wishful thinking. He was alone. In a battle not to lose his only child—and sole living link he had to his wife—to the ridiculously, apparently perfect family. Things were awkward between Sam and Aisha right now, but they wouldn’t always be and then that’d be that.
“Today,” Aisha said. “But they arranged it last week.”
Callum winced. “Yeah, they know check in time is three p.m., and they just called to say they’d be arriving a little late, sometime after eleven tonight, and wanted to make sure we held the room and to confirm there’d be someone here to meet them, give them keys, etc. Aisha didn’t tell them it was already occupied. She just said she’d find out what the procedure was for late arrivals and we’d get right back to them.”
For a moment the room was absolutely silent.
“We booked them in advance, and they’re expecting Silver cabin tonight?” Jo’s voice was steady, but her tightly clasped hands revealed her stress.
“Sorry, hon.” Callum winced again.
“I’m sorry too.” Aisha full on grimaced.
“It’s okay.” Jo scrubbed her face with both hands. “There’s an easy solution. We’ll just have to apologize, explain there was a double booking, and eat a little crow. I’ll call around and find another room for them, somewhere in town—”
“You’re right,” Samantha said, stepping out from behind Jo. “There is an easy solution, but not the one you’re suggesting.”
“So what then?” Jo asked while Callum and Aisha stared hopefully.
“Well, it’s definitely not giving away your booking and burning bridges with a new-to-you customer,” Sam said. “I’ll move on. No worries. And the room’s very clean. It won’t take a lot housekeeping-wise to get it ready for someone else.”
“No.” Jo’s brow furrowed. “You just got here.”
“I’m sure we can think of something else. You don’t need to leave,” Callum said.
“Wait, say what?” Aisha’s voice was a touch shrill. “We’ve barely met, and you’re already taking off?”
Charlie reacted to the pain in Aisha’s tone without properly thinking it through. “No one’s going anywhere. I have two bedrooms. Sam can stay with me.” Every head in the room turned toward him.
Jo shook her head. “Absolutely not. Sam’s a paying guest. She won’t even let me give her a discount—and Silver’s the type of room she would book. Rainbow isn’t her style at all.”
“But Rainbow’s amazing. So what if it’s not ritzy? It’s not like it’s a dump or anything.” Aisha gave Sam a withering glare like she, not Jo, had been the one to imply Rainbow was somehow beneath her, and Charlie almost felt sorry for her—then steeled himself against that emotion. Sam had been thrilled by the opulence of Silver, and she dressed like a princess, sat apart from everyone at breakfast. . . . It was good for Aisha to see her as the aloof, cash-conscious diva she obviously was. Aisha could ask whatever questions she had that Charlie couldn’t answer, and then she and he could move on with their lives and let Samantha Kendall move on with hers, the way she’d planned to right from the time she’d given birth.
Jo took a deep breath, Aisha looked like she was holding in further biting comments, and Callum waved the cordless phone. “Aisha said we’d call right back. What should I say?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “That the room is theirs, of course. You guys aren’t allowed to do anything that might hurt business or cause bad word of mouth on my account. They’ll love Silver and rave about it to everyone they know—exactly what you need. You don’t need to woo me. You already know I’ll be a repeat visitor. Maybe anyway.”
Jo sighed and nodded, Callum headed out of the room to make his call, and Sam’s gaze rested on Charlie.
Like a moron he felt himself blush. Again. You’d think he’d never seen a woman before. “I appreciate the offer, Charles, but thanks but no thanks. I’ll take a place in town. The set up here’s already a little too cozy for me.”
Charlie nodded, and Sam turned to Aisha. “I’m sorry our first meeting wasn’t a little more special or something.”
Aisha shrugged.
“And please don’t think by not staying at Rainbow I’m somehow criticizing it. I’m sure the cabin’s grand. I just have personal space issues. We’ll connect though. Don’t worry. Let me get settled, and we’ll make a coffee date.”
Aisha studied Sam’s face for a long moment and Charlie, knowing how the scrutiny of the young felt, wondered how Sam was taking it. “That’d be great,” Aisha finally said softly. “I . . . appreciate it.”
Sam nodded and cleared her throat. “Of course. No problem.”
“Are you really sure you don’t mind?” Jo’s tone said she wasn’t happy with the solution, no matter that Sam suggested it or not.
Sam stepped back from the group again, yet her smile remained warm enough. She was hard to read, Charlie thought. Very hard. “One hundred percent,” she said.
“I’ll start calling around for you.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“God, Jo. Enough already.” Sam strode across the room, but stopped and turned at the doorway. “I am going to miss that gorgeous tub though. I think I spent all night in it.”
Sam’s eyes met Charlie’s, almost like she was, what? Directing the bathtub comment at him? Flirting? He wished.
Jo smiled. “I thought you’d like it.”
Sam left and the room felt really big with just him, Jo and Aisha in it.
“So what are your plans today?” Jo asked.
“I thought I’d work for as long as Aisha’s needed here, then maybe she and I would go for dinner?”
“Sounds great, Dad. I’m off at four.”
“Do you need anything? There’s Wi-Fi in the room. The password’s—”
“No, no, don’t tell me,” Charlie interrupted her.
“The Internet’s his nemesis,” Aisha said dryly. “Or one of his many.”
“Hey!” Charlie put a hand over his heart as if stabbed. “It’s not just my enemy, I’ll have you know. Many a writer—”
“Is a whiny, procrastinating wimp?”
“Ouch,” said Jo, brown eyes twinkling—her only feature that didn’t remind him of Aisha.
“So give an old whiner a kiss and get to work already.”
Aisha laughed, plunked a kiss on his cheek, and left. Jo waved
as she headed out of the dining room too. “Just holler if you need anything.”
Charlie decided to borrow one of the still-full coffee carafes, but as he approached the island where they sat, he glanced out the window and paused. Samantha was standing in the parking lot, unaware anyone was watching her, he guessed. She stretched her arms over her head, smiled up at the sky, and appeared to take a long, deep breath. Charlie would’ve given anything at that minute to know what she was thinking about.
Chapter 7
There was a hint of heat in the bright sunlight and the energizing scent of sap filled the fresh, chilly air. Sam was surprised that she recognized the smell and even more surprised that it triggered a happy memory. Once, a long, long time ago, she had loved to take meandering walks around her Uncle Ray’s property, watching for signs that the dismal winter was over and spring was actually coming.
She returned to her senses abruptly, and darted a quick glance around to make sure no one had seen her acting like a lunatic. “February is not spring in this hellhole,” she muttered, yanking the tendril of hope out by its root. “It’s probably not even done snowing yet.”
Shortly, however, she had a bigger source of angst than the prospect of more winter. She stood on Silver’s porch, repacked suitcases beside her, facing a crossroads of sorts.
After her big bold, “I’ll just stay somewhere else, no problem,” promise, she was stuck. Every single place in town, even a couple nasty little dives she didn’t think she could actually bring herself to stay at, was booked solid because of some stupid sports tournament. Leave it to Crotch-itch, oh, sorry, Greenridge, to not have enough hotels to support its events. Good news for Jo and Callum’s business though.
Her gut said this was a sign, that she should snag Aisha for a couple hours this afternoon, take her shopping for anything she needed, exchange a few words and hit the road. But remembering Aisha’s expression, when she’d first suggested that she might leave early, stopped her.
Jo had said the girl didn’t have any expectations, but Jo was obviously overly optimistic and slightly delusional, as usual. Aisha’s face looked just like Jo’s, and it was just as readable. She absolutely had expectations and hopes of Sam. In fact, maybe that was the real reason, lack of a place to stay or not, Sam’s whole mind and body were on the same page: flee.
Still . . . she had a plan. She was supposed to hang out here until she figured out what she was tackling next. And while it used to be lovely to flit from one city to the next, country-to-country—she couldn’t believe she was thinking this—now the prospect felt a little old. Maybe the “new” thing she should try for a while was staying put. Not in Brain-glitch, of course, but somewhere.
So the question was what to do. . . . If she told Jo what was up, Jo would go into fix-it mode and drive her nuts until she found a solution—one that would no doubt be hideous, like suggesting she “bunk down” (that was a Jo phrase all right!) with her and Callum or something equally awful. Barf. The last thing she needed was to have her nose rubbed in how happy her ex-lawyer—the traitor!—and her little sister had ended up. Pleased for them or not, it was still completely nauseating.
Yet if Sam turned that idea down, Jo might call and cancel her clients, which would be stupid, kindly intentioned or not. Or she wouldn’t turn them down, Sam would depart, and Jo would waste time feeling badly and/or Aisha would feel bad, too—and Sam would feel even more like a bitch than she usually did.
No, there was only one viable option that stood out as perfectly clear. If it was still on the table, that is. Damn, damn, triple damn—if only it had been her suggestion in the first place, then taking him up on it wouldn’t make him the hero. Ah, well. It couldn’t be helped.
Sam left her suitcases and made her way carefully down the walkway and around the cedar trees, keeping her weight on the balls of her shoes in the hopes of sparing her heels too much damage from the sharp stones.
A snuffling-grunt came from the hedge in front of Rainbow cabin. She froze. Were there bears around here? Good grief. That’s exactly how she did not want to die: eaten by some mangy bear.
“Hello?” she called.
No answer. Of course. Just what she needed on top of everything else. To go insane.
She took the three stairs to Rainbow cabin’s porch. A wind chime of copper wire and bright bits of colored glass and antique spoons caught her eye. It was much prettier than you’d think something made of junk would be, and though it tinkled and sang in her wake, no one stirred inside the small house.
She walked the length of the porch and caught a glimpse of Charles sitting on the couch, laptop resting on his legs, typing feverishly. Mad at herself for the unintentional Peeping Tom behavior, Sam zipped back to the door. Yet quick as her glimpse had been, she’d have to be blind to miss the intense focus and pleasure on his face. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed the satisfaction and absorption that came with a project you believed in? She stamped her foot. Great—now she was not only slightly attracted to Charles, she was jealous of him too?
No, you’re neither of those things, she reprimanded herself. Not even close. You don’t find him attractive because he’s not your type, plus he’s self-righteous and annoying. And what’s to envy? Some Mr. Mom who writes drivel and puts his life on hold to follow his pregnant daughter on her freaky hormone-driven journey around the province? The guy probably had more estrogen than she did. She thought of Charlie’s chest and arms and recanted the last thought, but didn’t feel any less incensed. Why the heck was she tiptoeing about? This had been his brilliant idea in the first place.
She rapped on the door before she could change her mind.
Chapter 8
Gil stood and stretched, then padded barefoot to the kitchen. He considered putting on a shirt, but hanging out in your boxers all day was about the only perk of permanent bachelorhood. And despite his incredibly stupid decision last night in regards to Simone, that’s what he was: a committed bachelor.
He’d done the relationship thing and what had it ever brought him besides pain and more pain? Whoever first penned the line, “Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all” was a blooming idiot. Even now the thought of Gina made him want to simultaneously weep and blow something up. The kind of love they’d shared was a once in a lifetime gift, the kind of thing that couldn’t be repeated. It didn’t matter if he was lonely as hell sometimes. He’d had the best once and could never—would never—settle for less.
“Ugh,” Charles muttered. He checked his word count, sighed, and continued on. He’d find his groove eventually. He just had to persevere. The story, whatever it actually was, would reveal itself soon. He just had to keep putting crumbs of words out until there was a path he could follow.
Gil opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and popped the top—so wait, make that two perks: drinking beer with breakfast was also pretty great. He settled back on the couch and against his will, despite all his newly thought thoughts—
“‘Newly thought thoughts?’ Are you kidding me?” It was all Charlie could do to not throw his laptop against the wall in disgust.
Simone walked into Gil’s mind in all her glory, those sad, haunting eyes of hers at war with her slightly mocking smile.
“It was a moment of weakness,” he muttered aloud, but before he could finish the thought there was a knock at the door. Expecting a parcel from Cymax, he got up.
It wasn’t the delivery guy. It was Simone. And fully dressed or not—his body remembered her. Even worse. So did his heart. How brutal—but how wonderful—those brief moments of forgetting had been. Of laughing and talking. Of not being alone.
A sharp rap on the door made Charlie jump—talk about the power of imagination—no, wait, there really was someone knocking. Shoot, for the first time since he’d started working that afternoon, he actually wanted to know what was going to happen next.
He walked across the living room, opened the door, expecting Aisha, thinking maybe she was done
early.
His mouth fell open and he could only gawk. Samantha stood at his threshold, unfit for the elements as usual, in a light-knit jersey dress. From the looks of it, the weather was nippy—
Stop it, he commanded himself and met her eyes. “Ah, Sam. Hey. What’s up?”
She raised an eyebrow and grinned, and he noticed she really did have a lovely mouth—oh, shit. Shit! How could he not have realized it until now? He’d based Gil’s Simone on Samantha. He had to change that. Like immediately. He just had to get her to leave first. Not that anyone here likely read his books or would ever put two and two together, but it was too humiliating—even in his own mind.
“Soooo,” she said. “This is kind of awkward, but I was wondering . . . were you serious when you said I could stay with you for a bit?”
Charlie’s heart pounded. He did a quick scan of the porch behind Sam, but it was empty. She was alone. Was this some kind of game she was playing? Why the change of mind all of a sudden? She’d been right on all counts back in the dining room: the set up was already a little too cozy.
A shadow crossed her eyes, darkening her sea green irises to gray, but her smile remained in place. She shifted her weight foot to foot—another pair of heels again, a lush deep purple this time. He wanted to write them off as ridiculous, but couldn’t quite. They were, even if he’d only admit it to himself, smashing on her.
For some reason he couldn’t articulate he found himself worried. Really worried. He shook his head.
“Okay,” she said. “I understand. I get it.” She turned toward the steps.
“No, no, you don’t. I was just, never mind. It’s fine, of course. I offered and I meant it.”
Samantha’s eyes fixed on his and seemed to see much deeper into him than he was comfortable with. “Okay then,” she said. “Thanks, and don’t worry. I won’t stay long.”
He held back a sigh. That she’d stay on was exactly what he was afraid of—but also, he realized, exactly what he hoped. It would be nice if he could get on the same page with his own thoughts.