Wild Love

by Lauren Accardo

  “I can’t take your money.” His steady gaze dared her to continue.

  “Okay. That would be amazing. All of it.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Thank you. You’re kind of solving all my problems tonight.”

  He snorted a laugh. “If I can’t solve my own, might as well solve somebody else’s.”

  She licked her lips. Maybe now was the moment to ask about Olivia. In her mind, she’d run through all sorts of scenarios. Olivia was terminally ill, but they were still in love and she’d begged Sam to move on with his life. She was Sam’s green card wife and was currently overseas figuring out her visa. She was a man transitioning to be a woman and was having treatments in California. Whatever the truth, if Sydney didn’t hear it soon, she’d crawl out of her skin.

  The shrill ring of the shop phone broke through her thoughts. “That’s weird,” she said. “Who would call here this late?”

  “It’s probably a wrong number,” he said.

  With visions of her mother in some sort of emergency, unable to get through to Sydney’s unreliable cell phone, she reached for the receiver hanging on the office wall and said hello.

  “Hi.” The voice came on a breath. Crank call?

  “Hi, who’s calling?”

  “It’s me, Syd.” Recognition hit her like a punch to the jaw. Connor.

  “Hi.” Her eyes flickered over to where Sam was still standing against the wall, his thoughtful gaze trained on her. He didn’t move. “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to talk. I can’t stop thinking about you, baby. I miss you so much.”

  Her hands curled into fists. How dare he.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I haven’t been able to get through to your cell, so I thought maybe you blocked me. I called your mom’s apartment, and she told me it might’ve been the bad cell service and that I should try you at the store.”

  “She knew it was you?” She couldn’t believe her mother would give her up like that.

  “Yeah, I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I think so?” Connor had never sounded so insecure.

  She looked back at Sam, who still hadn’t moved. While she didn’t necessarily want to have a long, drawn-out conversation with Connor, she knew she couldn’t say anything definitive with Sam standing two feet away.

  “Can you hang on a second?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Connor said. She placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and turned to Sam.

  “This is not going to be a pleasant phone call,” she said, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

  A tendon in Sam’s neck flexed, and he cracked his knuckles as if preparing for a fistfight. “He’s not here, is he?”

  “What? No, he’s not here. How did you know who it was?”

  He pressed his lips together and shifted on his feet. If Connor was actually here, what would Sam do about it? How much did he know about her relationship? And where did he find out?

  “I heard you got cheated on,” he said. “Figured from the sound of your voice that it had to be him. Some asshole calling trying to get you back.”

  A lump formed in her throat. He was jealous. Or angry. Or both. And damned if the idea of that had her wanting to drop the phone, rip his clothes off, and taste every inch of his skin. The heat radiating from him hit her in the chest and ran through her limbs like hot oil.

  “I’ll leave you alone.” He squeezed past the desk chair and stepped out into the store, holding his coat to his chest, pausing only to confirm. “He’s definitely not here, right? I don’t have to wait out front for some tiny dick mobile to pull up with your ex inside?”

  The combination of his serious face and the ridiculous sentiment forced laughter to bubble up and out of her like a waterfall. She clutched her stomach as peals of laughter carried through the store and echoed off the walls. When she finally came up for air, tears streamed down her cheeks, and Sam grinned.

  “Damn,” he said. “I was right, huh? Tiny dick?”

  “You’re awful,” she said, wiping at her damp face. “And you’re wrong.”

  “Eh, he’s overcompensating for something. He’s gotta be.”

  She let her head fall back, wishing he didn’t have to leave. Whenever she was with him, everything felt easy. Even silence was easy.

  “Let me know if you can hook anything up with the radio station,” she said. “That would be a huge help.”

  “It’s done.” Before he turned to walk away, he raised his eyebrows. She wanted more. But she wasn’t going to get it tonight.

  chapter thirteen

  Don’t be strangers, you hear? Just because your mom isn’t around anymore doesn’t mean we’re not family. We love you boys like our own.”

  Aunt Nancy kissed Sam’s cheek, her sticky red lipstick leaving a gummy mark on his jaw. When she pulled away from Jared, he had one, too. As if the emotional and mental scars she’d left on them wasn’t enough, she had to brand them physically.

  “Okay, Aunt Nancy,” Jared said in a voice reserved for the very young. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  “Anytime, boys. Anytime.” She watched and waved until the brothers were in the cab of Sam’s pickup and halfway down the block.

  “Ho-lee shit,” Jared said once they’d turned the bend. He pinched the bridge of his nose and released an animal yelp. “That was hands down the worst Thanksgiving dinner ever. Ever. Worse than the year Cousin Amber showed up with our old gym teacher and told everybody they were banging. Worse than the year Dad accidentally turned the oven off and we didn’t have a cooked turkey until midnight.”

  “I get it,” Sam grumbled. The tension headache pressed at his temples. He hoped he had the presence of mind to get them back home in one piece.

  “What was that weird orange stuff? I put some on my plate, but there was no way in hell I was eating it. It smelled like fish.”

  “I don’t know, man. I didn’t touch it, either. I only ate the rolls because I saw her pull them out of a package.”

  “When she said she made most of the meal in her microwave, I loaded up on peanuts. I’m fucking starving.”

  “Me, too. Everything’s closed, though.”

  “I say we crash Jorie’s.” Jared had a devious glint in his eyes. “You know even if they’re done eating, they’ll have tons of leftovers, and her crazy-ass family will party until dawn.”

  “Good point.” Sam tried to hide his smile. Sydney and her mom would be there, too. Karen always spent Thanksgiving with the McDonaghs, and he couldn’t imagine this would be the year they’d break tradition.

  Over the past couple of weeks, Sam had been finding excuses to swing by the Loving Page. He’d have an idea for a promotion, a friend who could help out, or a stain or paint sample for the reading nook. Simply being in the same room as Sydney soothed his soul, and if he could manage to get her laughing to the point of tears, he found he slept better that night.

  The brothers pulled up to the McDonaghs’ modest ranch home to find the driveway filled to capacity, cars parked in the street, and light pouring from every window. It looked like the fake party scene from Home Alone, only this party was very real and very loud.

  “I hope Insane Cousin Mary doesn’t try to jump me this year,” Jared said, climbing out of the truck. “I shouldn’t have worn this sweater. I look way too good in this sweater.”

  “Would you shut up?” Sam slapped the back of his brother’s head as they made their way up the icy front walk. Their shoes crunched over rock salt. “If you’re really that concerned, let me mess up your hair. That’ll definitely turn her off.”

  He reached for Jared’s perfectly combed and gelled hair, but Jared swatted his hand away. “I’ll ruin you.”

  Sam pressed the doorbell, but after an unanswered minute, the brothers let themselves in. Sam couldn’t wait any longer to surround himself w
ith the familiar faces of his surrogate family after the stilted, awkward afternoon with his blood relatives.

  “Kirklands!” Jorie squealed. She stood on the bottom step of the staircase and raised her arms over her head. Her mouth was rimmed with purple.

  “Hey, drunky,” Jared said, squeezing her in a hug. “Is that wine, or were you making out with Barney?”

  “Oh, ha-ha,” Jorie said, rolling her eyes. She turned to Sam and hugged him, lingering just a moment too long. It was only seven o’clock, and he could already tell Jorie had mere minutes until she was passed out cold somewhere. He’d learned to accept the rampant drinking in this town, but he’d never be okay with it.

  People milled about in each corner of the house, and Sam knew every single face. He made his way past the tiny entryway into the living room and said hello. A cluster of elderly aunts chatted on the couch; babies slobbered over piles of plastic blocks while their young mothers looked on; ruddy-faced men chugged icy beers in the kitchen; and still seated at the dining room table were Mrs. McDonagh, Insane Cousin Mary, Karen Walsh, and Sydney.

  “Sammy!” Mrs. McDonagh said, leaping up from the table. She stood five feet tall but managed to hug Sam around the neck and squeeze him until he choked. “I’m so glad you’re here! Have you eaten? We just finished up, but we’ve all got bets going on what time somebody says they’re hungry and we’re busy making turkey sandwiches.”

  “We’re here for the grub,” Sam said, leaving an arm wrapped tightly around Mrs. McDonagh’s shoulders. “And the company, I guess.”

  He tried to give everyone in the room equal attention, but his gaze returned to Sydney as if his eyes were magnets and she a steel beam. She stood up from the table, carrying handfuls of dirty plates, and gifted him with her signature lip-press-into-smile.

  Tonight she wore light-colored jeans that turned her ass into a perfectly rounded heart and a loose, low-cut navy-blue blouse. Gold hoop earrings swung against the curve of her jaw as she moved past the tightly packed chairs into the kitchen.

  “You need help?” Sam asked, following her into the kitchen and reaching for the teetering stack of dishes in her left hand.

  She shook her head as she set the dishes into the sink without missing a beat. The kitchen only comfortably allowed four bodies at a time, and with Matt and Mr. McDonagh still arguing over the wishbone, Sam was forced to stand mere inches away from Sydney as she rinsed plates.

  “You’ll be glad to know I’m totally sober,” she said.

  “It’s seven o’clock at the McDonagh family Thanksgiving and you’re still standing and you’re sober? There’s no way you survived this thing without some kind of intoxicant. Tell me your secret.”

  She dried her hands on the dish towel and turned to face him, cocking her head to the side. “Okay, one glass of wine. But I’m nowhere near drunk, and I plan to drive my mother and me both home tonight. That night at Utz’s was a wake-up call. I don’t want to put myself in a dangerous situation.”

  He studied her face as something like pain flickered across her features. In an instant, she’d smoothed her brow and forced a tiny smile.

  “Dangerous?” he asked.

  “I don’t mean, like, men-with-knives dangerous.” The forced smile grew. “I’m being dramatic. I just don’t want to get like that again.”

  He nodded. Sometimes it proved difficult to keep up conversation when all he could focus on was the soft skin at the curve of her collarbone, her slightly crooked bottom teeth, and the subtle perfume that reminded him of an expensive hotel he’d stayed at once.

  “So,” she said, picking up the slack for both of them. “Your aunt’s was terrible?”

  “It was all my fault. I thought they’d be serving food on Thanksgiving, not potting soil and fiberglass insulation. Silly me.” A melodic laugh escaped her lips and she leaned in, a wave of her scent wafting over him. He breathed her in like the first inhale after a deep-water dive.

  “Well, there’s enough food here to feed an army,” she said. “You want me to make you a plate?”

  He blinked. No one had offered to take care of him in a very long time. “What? No, you don’t have to do that. I can make my own plate.”

  “Okay.” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I was going to steer you away from Cousin Mary’s weird potato thing. But go ahead. Live dangerously.”

  As she squeezed between him and the kitchen island, her breasts brushed against his chest, and he swore she looked up at him while she went, her eyes full of innuendo. She still didn’t know all the details of his situation with Liv, but maybe the whiff of another woman in his life kept her at arm’s length.

  There were nights in her store when the sexual tension was so thick, he could barely stand it. Nothing as brazen as the night at Taylor’s when she’d boldly asked him to kiss her, but something between them had grown and deepened since then. He almost wished now that he’d thrown caution to the wind that night and kissed her. At least that would’ve been only about lust.

  She walked away, the curve of her ass taunting him as she went. As he filled a plate with turkey, Mrs. McDonagh’s famous corn-bread stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans, and mashed potatoes, he considered, for the millionth time, what his life would be like without Liv.

  Beyond asking Sydney out on a proper date, he could take a long trip by himself, stay out late without the fear of someone in town tattling on him, or even sell the house and leave Pine Ridge altogether.

  But that was all a fantasyland, as real and accessible as Narnia. He’d made his bed a long time ago, and now he had to lie in it. He envisioned himself breaking their deal and walking away, the chorus of townspeople chanting after him: After all she’s done for you.

  He owed her. The way she’d taken care of his mother, well beyond the scope of her shift as hospice nurse, was invaluable. And how could he turn his back on Jay? If he had any part in that kid growing up without a mother or, worse, a kid who knew his mother had chosen alcohol over him, he’d never forgive himself. He wished he could shake the debt, the guilt, the promises he’d made. His heart wouldn’t let him.

  Sam took a seat at the dining table next to Karen Walsh and nudged her shoulder as he tucked into the heaping plate before him. He had a special place in his heart for the woman.

  The morning after his mother’s funeral, he woke to find that Karen Walsh had snuck in during the night to clean his house of old food and weeks of dust. Cinnamon buns and hot coffee waited for him on the kitchen table with a note that read, Don’t forget to feed yourself, Sammy. We love you.

  “I made those beans,” she said brightly. “Good, huh?”

  “Amazing,” he said, his mouth full to bursting with food.

  “So you think my daughter’s gonna pull off this romance-club shenanigan?” she asked. “Seems a little far-fetched to think we’re gonna be millionaires from a Pine Ridge book club.”

  He chewed thoughtfully as Karen picked at the half-eaten pumpkin pie on her plate. “I think Sydney’s really smart, and that it’s a good idea. Millionaires, though? No, probably not.”

  “I don’t want her to get her hopes up,” Karen said, and it was then that Sam noticed the hint of sadness in her voice. “She’s had enough heartache in her life. It would kill me if the shop closed and Syd thought she had anything to do with it. I tried all my life to shield her from my money troubles. Pretty ironic that at this age, she’s knee-deep in them.”

  “Give her some credit,” Sam said. “She was raised by a tough-as-nails, balls-out bitch. She comes from good stock.”

  Karen cackled and clutched Sam’s wrist. She nodded, gesturing toward the other end of the room. “Hey, let me ask you somethin’. How old is Jared?”

  “Twenty-five.” Sam shoveled more beans into his mouth. He had to hand it to Karen. They were the best green beans he’d ever had. “Are these real fried onions on here? Not
the ones from the can?”

  “Yeah, real onions,” she said in a faraway voice. “Say, what do you think about fixing Sydney up with Jared?”

  The food turned to dust in his mouth. He glanced up at Karen and then across the room to where Jared stood, stealing casual glances at Sydney as she crouched on the floor, cooing at the babies, completely unaware.

  “He’s way too young for her,” Sam said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled back in his chair. Why was Jared looking at her like that? “Why? She likes him?”

  Karen’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the fear of exposure crept along his skin. Had his voice been too desperate? Too invested? She ran a veiny hand across her chin and studied his face.

  “She hasn’t said one way or the other,” Karen said. “I just thought, he’s a nice kid, successful, and I’m startin’ to get worried about her. That jerk Connor’s been calling her a lot.”

  “Really?” The seething anger that always accompanied a mention of her ex rose up inside Sam. He and Sydney never spoke about the phone call she received at the shop, but he thought she’d told the guy to fuck off. Maybe he was wrong.

  Karen took a gulp of her coffee and shrugged. “I don’t know if she’d go back with him. But if she had somebody new to focus on, maybe she’d leave him in the dust, you know?”

  Sam took a deep breath. He wanted to shake Sydney. Anyone who treated her like she was disposable deserved a punch in the mouth. He certainly didn’t deserve a second shot.

  “Yeah, maybe,” he said.

  Sydney stood and looked up, surprised, as she noticed Jared. Sam watched as he gave her a tight-lipped smile and wrapped his arms around her in an awkward hug. Maybe she was interested in him after all.

  Sam ran his hands over his face. If they wanted to date, what could he do? They were consenting adults and he was an off-limits outsider with a complicated woman in his life. If they did get together, maybe he’d just burn his eyes with bleach so he’d never have to see them holding hands.

  “Jared’s an idiot, though,” Sam said. “He’s just a kid. Don’t fix her up with a kid.”