Tuesdays at Six (Sunday Love Book 3)

by kj lewis

  “We are,” Sam answers coolly.

  “This is what? Date five?”

  “Six,” Sam corrects her.

  “Wow. That’s exciting. So, you won’t be coming home then?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” I ask Zinnie.

  “It’s the sixth date,” she says, like I am ridiculous for even asking. “The date you have sex on.”

  Everyone at the table either chokes on their food or looks like they just ate something sour.

  “Who told you that?” Samantha asks. She’s the only one slightly amused.

  “Kimmie. She read it in Cosmo.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read. There’s more to it than the number of dates. Like love, maturity, preparedness.”

  “How many dates have you been on with Darren?” Quade asks looking green.

  “Like a hundred,” she rolls her eyes, “but don’t worry. I promised my dad I wouldn’t have sex before I was twenty. I plan on honoring that promise. And even then, he has to check all the boxes my dad and I agreed upon. But I’m a girl and Sam is a woman and sometimes women just want to have down and dirty sex. She’s old enough to decide for herself.” Zinnie shrugs like this is the most natural conversation.

  “I appreciate the girl power,” Sam says, raising a fist in unity, “but I’m not sleeping with him on date six.”

  “What’s your number then?” Quade asks.

  “I don’t have a number.”

  “Bullshi…hockey,” Finn says.

  “It’s true. Just depends on the guy.”

  “I hardly think this conversation is appropriate for a fifteen-year-old,” I chastise.

  “You already slept with him,” Zinnie sings, proud of herself for figuring it out.

  “Oh my God.” Sam rolls her eyes. “Clean up. We need to get going. I’d rather her talk to us than Kimmie who gets her information from Cosmo.”

  She has a point.

  “If you don’t do it with Jason, you should go out with Colin.”

  “Colin?” Quade and I yelp together.

  “Yes, Colin,” Zinnie says dreamily.

  “It’s the man bun and beard, isn’t it?” Samantha winks at her in solidarity.

  “And the Scottish accent.”

  “I have a British accent. I don’t see you wanting to go out with me,” Finn says.

  “You’re gay, Finn.”

  “Thank you, Zinnie. I didn’t know that.” He winks at her.

  “Colin. Colin is…whew. Just…whew. You should totally sixth date, Colin,” Zinnie says.

  “Go get dressed,” Samantha laughs.

  “Jason. What, is she working her way through the J’s?” I ask under my breath while Sam loads the dishwasher.

  “A long way to go till she gets to the W’s,” Quade snickers.

  After lunch, Quade, Finn, and I attend our meeting about the project we are working on with the company in China. Right now our project lead is presenting via video conference, so I steal another look at my phone to see if Sam has posted any new pics of her outing with Zinnie yet.

  Finally. It’s of Zinnie studying a beautiful ball gown that looks to be from the late 18th century. The sunlight is at such an angle that Zinnie’s face looks angelic. The caption simply reads “Beauty”. And it is. My mom has commented with several faces that have heart eyes, which I take to mean she likes the picture.

  There’s a selfie of the two of them eating a large pretzel with the Plaza in the background, with the caption “Twisted up in knots over spending the day together”.

  A selfie of Zinnie with Emme and Jules Taylor in their design studio, and another of Zinnie, Sam, Jules, and Emme at a donut shop with an empty box on the table in front of them. The caption reads: Emme wanted donuts.

  “For someone who didn’t think the girls should be on Instagram, you sure have checked it all day,” Finn whispers.

  “I love it,” Quade whispers back.

  “You can stop whispering,” the project lead laughs. “The call ended.”

  “Thank Christ,” Colin says, entering the conference room. “I didn’t think it would ever be over.” He plops in the chair next to Finn.

  “What?” he asks when Quade and I greet him with a scowl.

  Zinnie’s door is still missing when I find her in her room Thursday night.

  “Quade and Finn are here,” I tell her, straightening my shirt collar. At least I don’t have to wear a tie and jacket to this thing tonight. I would rather just give the money and stay home with the girls, but Camilla insists we need to be seen.

  “I’ll be right there.” She types something into her laptop before slapping the top closed and then follows me to the main room where Camilla has arrived.

  “Darling.” She smiles at me. “Lipstick,” she adds when I move to kiss her. My cheek brushes hers, my kiss falling to the air. She’s dressed in jeans that fall just short of her ankles, heels and a simple short sleeve navy jumper, or sweater as Americans call it.

  “Mila!” Poppy screeches and runs to her for a hug. Camilla hasn’t seen the girls in a few weeks.

  “Ca-milla.” She sounds out the correction for Poppy, stopping her before she hugs her legs. “Sorry dear. We have a party we’re going to.” Her hand is wrapped around Poppy’s wrist, holding her at arm’s length.

  “Quade and Finn are going to take you out to have some fun tonight,” I remind Poppy.

  “Yay!” She jumps up and down clapping.

  If only life were always as easy as this.

  Sam glides into the main room obliterating that thought. She’s wearing a white dress that falls just above her knees. It has a simple crew-neck collar and her arms are completely covered. Is it wrong that I’m happy she is completely covered? Because she is stunning in white. Fucking glowing.

  “Sam!” Poppy shrieks and runs towards her. Sam squats, balancing on her six-inch heels, and when Poppy reaches her, she throws her arms around Sam’s neck.

  Sam stands, lifting Poppy with her.

  “I’m going with Finn and Quade,” Poppy whispers loudly and gleefully.

  “I heard,” Sam whispers gleefully back, and Poppy plants a loud wet kiss on her lips.

  “Thank you for your sweet kiss. But you are a sticky mess. Zinnie, would you mind taking her to change?”

  “Sure. Let’s go, Pops.” Zinnie holds out her hand, and when Sam sets Poppy down she runs into it.

  The lift dings and a man I’ve never seen before enters the living area. Sam clicks her way over to him and stands on the tips of her toes to let him kiss her. Her entire fucking back is exposed. Fuck me, dammit. There’s a slight sound of lips touching and when he pulls back he smiles.

  “Strawberry?”

  “Poppy just gave me a kiss.”

  “Aww,” he says and plants one more on her.

  She introduces Jason to everyone and then politely excuses herself. “I’m just gonna change,” she laughs, pointing to her dress. There’s a sticky, pink, glittery hand print on the sleeve and what looks like a red smudge of lipstick near her hip.

  She leaves everyone in an awkward silence. After a moment, I say to Finn, “Text me when you’re back here with the girls.”

  “I’m ready.” Samantha says brightly. She’s just as quickly changed into a pair of black leather shorts with gold buttons on the hip and a black shirt that is opened lower than necessary. She has a small, rectangle clutch balanced between her teeth, and she’s pulling her hair into a ponytail.

  Camilla offers to share our lift with her and Jason. “Talk about a one-eighty,” Jason says on our way down. His hand lands on the curve of her behind as his other takes her purse for her. She puts in gold hoop earrings before taking it back. “You look amazing.” He kisses her temple, and I fucking want to rip those lips off his face.

  “Where are you kids off to tonight?” Camilla asks with a fake smile. Kids? This tallywhacker can’t be more than a year or two younger than me.

  “A new art exhibit is opening at the Licht
erman Gallery,” Jason answers.

  I say a litany of gratitude to all that is holy when the doors open and we go our separate ways. Outside, I hold the car door open and watch Jason’s arm skate around Samantha’s waist as they walk in the opposite direction. Camilla calling my name snaps me back into the present and I slide in behind her.

  “Thank Christ this event is at least causal. Let’s get out of here as soon as possible,” I mumble.

  “Stop your whining. We need at least an hour to mingle, and it would be rude if we left before ten.”

  It’s seven now. “I am not staying three hours at some benefit I don’t even care about.”

  “Harriet and Charles are our friends,” she says from her side of the car. We’re not even touching. If it were Sam in her seat, I’d already have her back against the door, knickers slid to her ankles, eating her out like a man having his last meal…and now my dick could be used for batting practice.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I blurt out.

  “Fine. Two hours, but we’ll need an excuse,” she huffs.

  “No, this. Us.”

  “What are you saying?” For the first time in a long time I have her full attention.

  “I’m saying…I’m not happy. This is not what I want.”

  “Since when? We’ve always wanted the same things.”

  “Since the girls.” It’s a truthful answer. This is more than just Sam and what I’ve been feeling for her lately.

  “Oh, well. Just be patient, darling. It will be better once we have them enrolled at St. Mary’s.”

  “I’m not enrolling the girls in a boarding school.”

  “But we decided that was what was best for them.” She seems genuinely shocked by my announcement.

  “No, you decided that was what was best. For you. For us. And maybe it was at first, but not anymore. I’m not the same person I was five months ago. I don’t want the same things. I’m sorry. I truly am. You haven’t changed. I have.”

  “You’re giving me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech?” Her expression is stoic, but her tone is incredulous.

  “Appears so, but only because it applies. It really isn’t you. It really is me.” It’s true. Camilla has never misled me about what she wanted. But over these past few months, it seems I’ve been misleading her.

  Our car pulls to the curb in front of the townhouse, and we sit idle for a moment while Camilla opens a compact and checks her makeup. There’s a slight tremor in her fingers. It’s the only sign she gives that this is emotional for her.

  “We’ll be ready by ten,” she tells my driver then opens the door. “We’re going in here. We’ll put on the air of a couple in love, then we’ll part ways after. Remind me to give you the ring.”

  Does it make me a bastard to have expected a little resistance? I mean we were, after all, engaged to be married. Okay, yes, that makes me a dick, because even though I’m not ending this because of Sam and I haven’t acted on my feelings for her, they’re still there. But I’ve barely admitted them to myself, I’m not ready to admit them to Camilla. And I get the feeling they wouldn’t be appreciated. Camilla and I won’t be that couple you read about who broke up and remained friends. No. We will part ways after this and that will be it.

  “I don’t want the ring back,” I tell her.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Camilla,” I sigh. “I really don’t—”

  “You will do this, Walt.”

  And I do.

  Tossing the nine-carat diamond into the safe, it occurs to me that I never felt a connection to this ring. Telling, isn’t it? Something so beautiful, but not a feeling at all. To say the ring is ostentatious like Camilla wouldn’t be fair. I chose it because Camilla told me it was the one she wanted. In hindsight, I suppose that means I didn’t really choose it. Also telling.

  I have only myself to blame. Not once did Camilla misrepresent herself nor did she make any attempt to make me believe she was someone she wasn’t. I meant it when I told her that she didn’t change, I did. What made me think I could have a marriage like the one Camilla and I would have had and been happy? If I had remained that same selfish bastard, then maybe. But I’m not the same man I was almost six months ago. Zinnie and Poppy changed that. And I would be lying if I said the change was unwelcomed.

  A thousand pounds lighter, I change into sweats and grab a beer. Just as I enter into the living area, the elevator dings and Quade and Zinnie file out laughing about who knows what. Finn carries a passed out Poppy against his shoulder.

  “I can take her.” I make to get off the couch.

  “I got her. This is my favorite part,” Finn says, moving in the direction of her room. There’s an oversized foam hand with one pointed finger that says, “We’re #1” resting against his back, still attached to Pop’s hand. I have to give it to her, she can sleep anywhere.

  “We didn’t expect you home this early.” Zinnie says, plopping down on the couch next to me. She types something in her phone then giggles before setting it on the cushion and looking my direction.

  “I wasn’t in the mood for an outing. How was the game?”

  “Rad. We had great seats and we won. Think I’ll head to my room,” she says, phone in hand again, responding to a beep.

  “Thought you were waiting for Sam?” Finn asks her, walking into the room with two beers in his hand. He drops one into Quade’s waiting hand. “Pops is down,” he tells me.

  “I was, but when I texted her she said she wouldn’t be back until morning. So, I’m going to talk to Claire. Good night.”

  “What do you say?” I lean my head back against the couch and prompt her. She changes direction, coming back to the sitting area.

  “Thank you. I had a great time.” She kisses Quade and Finn on the cheek, then starts back towards her room. A beat later there’s a kiss to the top of my head from behind me. “Good night,” she says, almost bashfully.

  “Progress.” Quade tips his beer to me after Zinnie has rounded the corner.

  “What is this?” I ask, nose scrunched up, surveying the food being plated. I refrain from using colorful expletives because the girls are in the room.

  “Green eggs and ham!” Poppy exclaims in the kind of delight that I’m pretty sure she only reserves for glitter cannons or seeing a real-life unicorn.

  “Green eggs and ham?” I glance up to see that she’s wearing a tall red-and-white-striped hat.

  “Relax. It’s food coloring,” Sam whispers. She has on cutoff shorts and a T-shirt that’s not tight but fitted in just the right way to showcase her gorgeous tits, which I may or may not have jerked off to last night. “Sam I Am. I am Sam.” is printed in large red letters across her chest.

  “Do you like green eggs and ham?” Poppy asks me.

  “I do not like them, Sam-I-am. I do not like green eggs and ham,” I reply, snagging a biscuit off the counter.

  She giggles out loud and I swear it’s connected to strings wrapped around my heart. How did it happen? When did it happen? I’ve asked myself this a hundred times recently. Sam laughs at something Finn said and it reminds me, once again, how much I misjudged her before she became the girls’ nanny—er, our family manager. I’m a hundred and eighty days in, and more times than not that this still feels like complete chaos. She’s got one month behind her and already life feels like it’s balanced again. Like we’ve all been brought back to center.

  Poppy gets a mischievous look on her face, like she is about to test me. It’s clear she wants to see how far this can go. Her eyes narrow in challenge.

  “Would you like them here or there?” Her lips slowly spread into a sly smile.

  “Oh no you don’t.” I pick her up and swing her around. Her delight washes over the room. “We are not traveling down this street.”

  “Not even for a beat? Come on, Walt. It’s just meat,” Zinnie says with a raised brow and a grin and it knocks the breath out of me. Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound. I close the distance of the fe
w steps between us and kiss her on her temple.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. You look like your mom today.”

  She gives me a quick but heartfelt smile and her eyes glisten before she clears her throat and finishes setting the silverware on the table. Sam squeezes my arm in approval as I pass her on the way to the refrigerator. If I were the peacock type, I swear my tail feathers would be on full display.

  Finn is theatrically recollecting a story from our childhood when Sam halts the conversation in the room with her reproachful tone. “What did you just do?” she asks.

  I glance over my shoulder to see who has garnered her attention and am surprised to learn it’s me. I’m not the only one. We are all taken aback by her sudden seriousness.

  “Um…got the milk out of the fridge? I was going to pour everyone a glass,” I offer as atonement for whatever sin I committed.

  “You smelled it.” She accuses.

  “And?”

  “And now I can’t drink it.”

  “Are we in a different Dr. Seuss book I haven’t read yet?”

  “No. But it’s a rule. If you have to smell it, then I don’t eat or drink it.”

  There is a look of utter seriousness on her adorable face. Hair piled high on her head with a yellow ribbon tied into a bow around it.

  “I apologize,” I drawl like I’m addressing a cornered animal. The others are working to keep the smirks off their faces. And they’re not managing well, I might add. “I was taught you smell milk before you drink it.”

  “That’s what the date is for.” She reaches past me for the cranberry juice instead.

  “The date doesn’t…fine,” I relent when I register her frown. I put the milk back, letting the refrigerator door hide my grin. You know, I once, in the days of yore, was a feared hard arse. Now, I can be brought down by a tiny woman and a jug of milk.

  “You’re eating this,” Sam threatens, setting my plate in front of me. We’ve each taken our seats at the bar.

  “Sam, if you will let me be. I will try them. You will see.” I pick up my fork, encouraged by the laughter in the room.