by Anthology
We said the same things at the same time, all the words sounding like noise salad to me.
“Hold on,” Darla insisted. “Sam,” she said with eyes that begged me to be reasonable. “Liam came up behind Amy and did that because Amy’s wearing Charlotte’s clothes.”
“Yeah. Right.” That was some bullshit. “Nice excuse.”
Charlotte appeared, red-faced and angry. Her finger got in my face and she too my hand, making me hold the rim of her shirt. “Look at me,” she said. Pointed to her shirt. “Amy’s.” pointed to her skirt. “Amy’s.” Pointed to her shoes. ‘Amy’s.”
Chuck Taylors.
Oh, shit.
“Why?” I barked. A techie wordlessly handed me my ukelele. I held it in my hand like it was a cocktail at a garden party.
“She wanted to look nice,” Darla explained.
“She already looked nice,” I answered.
“For…you know. The song.”
“The song? She knew about the song?” I thundered.
“And the ring,” Charlotte added.
My front pocket was the size of a football field. “THE RING? She knew about the ring?”
No one answered, but it was obvious.
“Fuck.” Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind I heard a tiny pop!, like someone had pulled the drain plug on my life. All my anger, rage, worry, fear, hope, anxiety—everything—circled in a watery whirlwind, disappearing with a gurgle.
I was empty.
Hollow.
Nothing.
“Where is she?” I whispered, assuming no one would hear me.
“On the roof,” Charlotte said.
Pulling my rag-doll body up to full height, I did the honorable thing.
Three things, actually.
First, I apologized to Liam, who just snorted and touched his face gingerly, lightly pressing a small bag with ice in it to the swollen spot that taunted me, a crystal-clear relic of my stupidity.
Second, I apologized to Darla, who mimicked Liam.
And third, I hauled my sorry ass toward the door to the roof, chagrined to find three sets of stairs to reach the top. If I could make it that far, maybe Amy and I had a chance.
Amy
If you stare at the stars long enough, you see that you’re really nothing in the grand scheme of the universe and the multiverse and all the cosmos.
You’re less than nothing.
I sat up and pondered this, pulling my legs up into a tight tuck, my stocking feet chilling in the night air. Charlotte’s heels were on the ground next to me, waiting. Just waiting.
So if I’m less than nothing, why do I feel like there’s no present, no future, and like the past is so confusing I don’t even want to think about it?
The music’s done. That means the band is breaking everything down, which means Sam will be done soon. The man I live with. The man who just decided not to sing me a song he wrote for me, not give me a ring he bought for me, not ask me the most important question in the world.
I flopped back down on my back. Staring at stars and feeling infinitesimal was so much easier than facing real life.
The bracing sound of metal crunching against metal made me sit up. And then:
Sam.
Carrying a tiny guitar case.
He didn’t say a word, which didn’t surprise me, because Sam’s attitude about life was that words just made everything harder. Quietly, he sat down on the chaise lounge across from me and stared up at the stars for longer than he had any right to.
After what felt like a decade in Hell, he turned to me with those soulful eyes and said, “I’m sorry.”
I winced. “For what? I’m not the one you punched.”
He let out a long, slow breath and rested his elbows on his knees, giving me a long look. “Then why do you look like I did?”
One breath. Two breaths. Three. Four. Each one made me feel closer to him and to the stars, the impossibility of being both a new reality I had to adjust to. “Why did you punch him?”
“Because he had his hands all over you. Like he owned you.”
“He made a mistake! He thought I was Charlotte. It’s understandable.”
“I know,” Sam said softly, but his voice was taut. “But I can’t erase the image of his hands all over you. Like he owned you.”
“No one owns me.”
A few heartbeats passed, the silence building between us, making my pulse race.
“Especially not him,” Sam finally said.
“Why are you so fixated on Liam?” I exploded, jumping to my feet, shocked by the cold concrete. “Because I slept with him all those years ago?”
Sam flinched but said nothing.
“That’s it? Any other guy could have grabbed me like that—Joe or Trevor—and you wouldn’t be so angry, would you?”
Sam just grunted.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Finally: “Yes.”
“Sam,” I groaned, marching to him and bending down, on my knees and looking into that face. My fingers traces the lines of his strong bones, the planes of his cheek, the stubble that sounded like sandpaper as I brushed against it. “He may have been my first, but you will be my last.”
Sam
My last.
Words. Too many words in my head, on my tongue, jumbled and frantic. Amy leaned over, her hand on my face, her cleavage on full display, breasts dangling in her bra cups like sweet berries begging to be picked.
With my mouth.
Damn it. Hard again. Why couldn’t I spend one second around her without being so incredibly aroused? When would I stop wanting her every second we were together, stop breathing her in like she was oxygen, stop being captivated by her smile, lured in by those eyes.
Never, a voice in my head said. How does never work for you, Sam?
“I—” The ukelele was in my hand, gripped unconsciously like a life raft. I peeled my aching fingers off it and stared dumbly. All those lyrics, the chords they guys taught me, my gnarled fingers struggling to move fast enough, timing my singing with my fingers. Playing drums was a fucking breeze compared to the damn ukelele, but you couldn’t get a good melody out of a high hat.
“What’s that?” Amy asked, one side of her mouth crooked up in a smile. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red, and my heart sank. She’d been crying. Of course she had.
Because of me.
“Ukelele.”
“I know what it is, Sam Hinton.” Her voice was filled with exasperation. “Why did you bring it up here?”
“To sing.”
Her eyes widened and I wanted to kiss her so much. Kiss the tears away, kiss my stupidity away, kiss her until she said yes, kiss her until she was mute and all I had to do was slip the ring on her finger and then—only then—did just one, single word matter at all.
Yes.
Carefully, with aching fingers, I opened the case. Her eyes shone so bright in the moonlight, the chunk of cheese in the sky blindingly white now that the clouds had stepped aside. A string of white Christmas lights dotted the edge of the rooftop garden and I took in the sight.
A fine place to say I’m sorry to the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with.
I pulled the ukelele out and got down on one knee, bent in supplication below, looking up into those big, brown eyes.
A few strums to find the right key, and then it was as if all I were was words. I became the lyrics. Her eyes became the notes.
And we became the space in between silence and love.
Amy
I’d heard Sam sing before. He filled in on backups when Liam couldn’t make it, but this was different. The words were for me.
Me.
And only me.
I used to think
That silence was my only hope
That if I stayed quiet I couldn’t break my heart
But then you came into my life
And words weren’t enough
Suddenly
You made me want yo
u more than—
The space in between
Silence and love is filled by you
You’re my bridge, my tightrope, my lifeline, my lifeboat
My heart out there
Yes, you….
The tears poured out of me, my heart unfolding like a rosebud blossoming. I wanted to touch him, hold his hand, fling myself into his arms and stay there forever, but I wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say even more.
Too many years
I left you in doubt
And pain and more
Now I’m here to tell you all the words you deserve
I love you, I need you, I want you, I feel you,
I—
Can’t fit them all in the space, the enormous space between
Silence and love…
The space in between
Silence and love is filled by you
You’re my bridge, my tightrope, my lifeline, my lifeboat
My heart out there
Yes, you….
As he strummed the last chord, head bent down, not looking at me, he set the ukelele aside, then tipped his face up.
He was crying, too.
I don’t know who kissed whom, but soon we were a tangle of hands and kisses and apologies and tongues, fingers frantic to connect and reunite. Whatever happened earlier in the night now seemed petty and silly, a misunderstanding that shouldn’t split us apart. We’d done that—let circumstance dictate too much silence, all those years ago.
No more.
“Amy.” Sam’s voice was husky and earnest in the night, a light breeze brushing his auburn hair forward, covering one eyebrow, making those eyes so mesmerizing.
“Yes?” He hadn’t asked a question. Yet.
He chuckled to himself. “Maybe this is for the best. Doing this on stage might have been a disaster after all. I’ll have to thank Liam later.”
“Liam?”
“His mistake—” Sam cocked an eyebrow and made a growling sound as he said the word, the gesture so alpha male, so possessive he seemed a bit dangerous, a little bit bad. Something inside me flared and tingled, thrilled and eager.
“His mistake,” Sam said again, “means I can do this in private. Should have done it that way all along.”
On one knee, he reached into his pocket. My hands flew to my mouth, the distant sound of car horns and chattering concertgoers a soundtrack to his proposal.
Moonlight gleamed off the diamond as he opened the flat little box. I gasped.
Sam looked like he was struggling with two different ideas he wanted to express. I only cared about one.
Mrs. Samuel Hinton.
“Amy.” His voice shook with determination. Not nerves. Eyes the green of lush moss on a rocky mountaintop, of fresh grass in a May meadow saw only me in the clear night sky. “I love you more than I know enough words to describe it. You are my lifeline. You are my everything. When I think I am whole I realize I’m actually half a person, a man missing half his heart. And you’re the other half.”
I couldn’t think. I was holding my breath. If I breathed, all the love would overwhelm us both.
“You fill the space between my silence and love, Amy. you really do.” Low and steady, his tone was rock-solid clear. He reached into the box and pulled out the ring, reaching for my trembling hand.
“Amy, will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest man on earth? I don’t have much to offer, and I know the ring isn’t as big as it should be, but—”
“Yes, oh, yes, Sam, oh, my God, I love you.” Electricity arced between us in a connection that charged the air, making me feel invincible. Real. Larger than life. Loved.
And then I tackled him with a great big whoof to give him a hug and the ring went flying in the air.
It sailed up into the sky, lopping in a perfect arc, the gleaming gold and prismed diamond aiding our eyes as we tracked it. Like an outfielder, I lunged for it, felt the cold metal in my palm, and like a group of Quidditch players getting their Golden Snitch, I held up my hand in victory.
My prize wrapped his hot body around mine, laughing.
“Let’s get that on your finger where it will be safe.” Sam’s kiss was lush and joyful, his hand commanding and a bit perfunctory as he found my ring finger and slid the perfectly-sized ring on, all while kissing me under the blanket of stars, dots of light that emerged in spite of the city lights now, as if they had been called by love to stand forward and act as witnesses.
He pulled back and admired the ring on my finger. I admired him.
“You two engaged yet?” shouted a voice from the rooftop door.
Huh?
Darla, Trevor, Joe, Liam and Charlotte emerged, clapping, Charlotte carrying a giant sheet cake with a picture of a frog playing ukelele on it. Was this a new engagement meme I’d missed?
“Hold up your hand!” Darla screamed, her fingers wrenching my arm as she grinned like a madwoman and examined the new rock on my hand.
“You said yes, right?” Joe asked, a wide smile making him look so relaxed and happy I wasn’t quite sure he was really Joe.
“Get out the ball and chain!” Trevor joked as he clapped Sam in a half-hug.
They rushed us, bottles of champagne and little plastic cups emerging, the pop! of opened bottles and the cheers of friends happy for us filling the air, blending with the traffic, the helicopters, the murmured voices below. Someone shoved a sweet cup of bubbly at me and Sam smiled, drinking the entire cup in one chug.
Darla produced a cake knife, plates, and forks out of thin air. “You had time to get a cake?” I marveled, giggling through happy tears.
“Always time for cake,” she and Charlotte said in unison, bursting into joyous laughter.
Sam turned to me, pulling me away from the group as they divvied up cake and champagne, making a fine noise that was the perfect soundtrack to our happily-ever-after. We looked out over the sea of lights that made up the dotted city, the view sharp and clear, life changed in the blink of an eye for me.
In the flash of light on diamond.
“Guess this wasn’t so private after all,” he whispered, arm around me, finger touching the ring.
“You planned this?”
He shook his head. “No. I think they planned it all, though.” And then he kissed me like he owned me.
And you know what?
He did.
THE END
Authors Note - Julia Kent
Thank you so much for reading Randomly Ever After: Sam and Amy.
Enjoyed this short story? Check out the entire Random Acts series, with four full-length novels.
Random Acts of Crazy is the New York Times bestseller that details how Darla, Trevor and Joe met.
Random Acts of Trust is Sam and Amy’s story, while Random Acts of Fantasy takes the band to a sex resort.
Random Acts of Hope is Liam and Charlotte’s tale.
Learn more at www.jkentauthor.com, and happy reading!
Random Acts of Crazy
Amazon
Thank you so much for reading! Join my newsletter email list at http://bit.ly/1pZ6BWb or sign up to receive a text message when I have a new release or sale by texting JKentBooks to 77948.
Happy reading!
Julia Kent
www.jkentauthor.com
Then We Kissed
Juliet Spenser
He stole her heart, and she stole his… clothes?
DESCRIPTION: When curvy, no-nonsense baker Charlotte Heatley wakes up with regrets over a drunken night with US Army Captain Bradley Ryder, all she wants is to avoid him and deliver a cake to her client’s wedding reception. But when a mixup puts the cake and reception in danger, Charlotte has to act quickly. Sometimes you have to get everything wrong before it goes right, especially when it comes to love and cake.
GENRE: Small-town contemporary romance. 13,800 words or approximately 46 pages. This is a stand-alone short story with a happy ending, set in Juliet Spenser’s Bliss Harbor series. You don’t need
to read her other Bliss Harbor romances to enjoy this story, but she hopes you’ll have such a blast reading it that you’ll want to read more in her world.
HEAT LEVEL: Sweet! Contains love and romance, but fade-to-black sex scenes.
Turn the page to begin reading THEN WE KISSED by Juliet Spenser, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.
Then We Kissed
Juliet Spenser
Chapter One
The moment Charlotte Heatley opened her eyes, three things hit her at once.
The first thing was the feeling that a sledgehammer kept smacking against her forehead; she hadn’t had a hangover like this since college.
The second thing was the fact that she could see trees straight ahead in the dim light of dawn, she could smell grass and leaves and dirt, she could hear the sound of gurgling water, and she was totally naked except for the blanket covering her.
The third thing was the realization that there were tanned, hard muscles and a lightly furred chest beneath her cheek. Those, her sleep-fogged brain finally suggested, probably belonged to a man.
It took her a second to connect the dots, but holy moly, had she actually hooked up in the woods last night with a sexy soldier?
She simply didn’t do things like that.
About the sexiest and most adventurous thing she’d ever done was name her bakery Hot Cakes, which was actually a nod to her last name.
She was competent and professional and no-nonsense, and she did not get drunk and have sex in public. But then, she’d never done a lot of things before she’d fallen in love.
And okay, maybe it wasn’t quite public. Unless you counted Pervert the Squirrel staring at her right now from a tree limb a few yards away.
Thinking over the events of last night—what she could remember of them, anyways—she couldn’t believe she’d had sex with Brad. And that she’d been the one to start it, insisting they go back to her place.
Mitchell had been tending bar last night at Tori’s Tavern, and he’d asked her to stop by for an I’m-glad-we’ll-still-be-friends drink. Charlotte wasn’t normally a drinker, but she’d felt bad that Mitchell was perfectly nice and perfectly funny, and after two months of perfectly casual dating, she’d been forced to admit he was not quite perfect for her.
That was usually the way of things when you were in love with another man.