by Patricia Kay
Heart thundering, she regretfully pulled away. "Sam, I'm sorry, but things are going too fast for me."
He looked as stunned as she felt. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and frowned in bewilderment. "Jesus, Amy," he muttered. "I never intended to hit on you."
"I know you didn't," she said softly.
They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, evading each other's eyes. Now that they were no longer kissing, Amy felt confused and embarrassed. Her actions tonight were so unlike her.
"I think I'd better go," Sam said. His voice sounded rough.
"Yes." Amy desperately wanted to see him again. She had to see him again. She slowly met his gaze. "Sam—"
"Amy—"
They spoke simultaneously. Both broke off and laughed self-consciously.
"You go first," he said.
"No. You go first," she said.
"Okay. I, uh, I had a great time tonight."
"Me, too."
He hesitated, and her heart fell. He wasn't going to say anything about seeing her again.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he finally said.
Her heart soared. "I'd like that."
Silence fell between them once more. Amy knew he wanted to kiss her again, but she was afraid if he did, he never would leave. She wasn't sure she had the strength to resist this powerful force a second time.
But he seemed to understand how she felt, or maybe he felt the same way. He leaned over, gave her a light kiss on her cheek, and said, "I'd better get going."
Amy walked outside with him and stood on the deck as he lightly ran down the stairs. There was a full moon, and it illuminated the grounds below, silvering everything it touched. Stars studded the navy night, and all around her, night creatures stirred while a chorus of cicadas provided background music. Amy breathed in the warm, scented air and thought about how even the most ordinary sounds and sights were magical tonight.
When Sam reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned and looked up. He raised his hand in farewell, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Amy smiled and raised her hand in return.
And then he did something that caused her to stop breathing. He began to whistle the opening lines to "Always," the notes pure and clear and completely unmistakable.
In that instant, Amy knew she'd been right. He might not know it yet, but this man was her destiny.
* * *
At midnight, Justin decided to call it a night. Although all of his friends, except for Sam, were at Jessie's party, Justin wasn't enjoying their company the way he normally would.
He felt restless and dissatisfied. He looked around. Everyone else seemed to be having a wonderful time. They were drinking and eating, laughing and talking, dancing and flirting. One couple was necking in the corner. Hootie and the Blowfish blared from Jessie's CD player. Yeah, everyone except him was having a blast.
Justin kept remembering the gleam in Sam's eye as he'd told him he'd met someone new. At this very moment, after a single date, Sam was probably in the woman's bed, having charmed the pants off of her in a matter of hours.
How did Sam do it? Okay, he was good-looking. And he could talk to women effortlessly. But he certainly didn't offer them what they all—Justin's sisters included—professed to want: a steady, stable, serious relationship that would lead to permanent commitment.
And yet any woman Sam had ever wanted he had easily conquered.
Justin couldn't understand it. He would never understand it. And for some reason, tonight he felt vaguely resentful of Sam's prowess.
"Hey, big brother, why so pensive?"
Justin turned, smiling down at Jessie. Of all his sisters, she was his favorite. She looked nice tonight—her short black tank dress complementing her dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. For probably the thousandth time, Justin wondered why some guy hadn't snapped Jessie up long before now. "I don't know. I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"Things. Sam."
At the mention of Sam, the brightness in her eyes dimmed slightly. "Where did the great adventurer go tonight?" she asked, her voice studiedly light and casual.
"He had a date."
Jessie nodded, looking away.
Silence fell between them.
"Jess . . . "
Slowly, her eyes met his.
"Sam's not the settling-down kind. He never will be."
Her smile was wry. "Don't you think I know that?"
"Then why . . . ?"
"Why?" She laughed, but the sound was hollow and forced. "Why does anyone fall for someone who doesn't know they're alive? Because we're idiots, that's why!"
She looked away again, but not before Justin caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.
He squeezed her shoulder. "Let's go outside. The noise in here is getting to me."
Wordlessly, they walked out to the front of her townhouse, which was one of sixteen that formed a U around a central parklike area studded with tall oaks and carefully-tended flower beds. The sweet smell of jasmine filled the humid air. They sat on her moonlit front stoop, and Justin put his arm around her.
"Sam's crazy," he said softly.
"Uh huh."
"He is. He'd be damned lucky to get you. Any man would be damned lucky to get you."
"Yeah, sure." She sniffled, brushing her hand against her eyes.
Justin could feel the tremor snaking through her. "C'mon, Jess. This isn't good. You've got to forget about him."
"I know, but saying it is easier than doing it. I just . . . I don't know . . . from the moment I met him, I couldn't seem to help myself." She bowed her head. "I'm okay when he's away. I hardly think about him, in fact. But then he comes home again, and I just fall apart. I-I'm so hopelessly in love with him."
At that moment, Justin wanted to strangle Sam. He knew it wasn't Sam's fault that he wasn't interested in Jessie, but it didn't make any difference. Jessie was hurting, big time, and Sam was the cause of that pain.
"I'm like you," she said. "Neither one of us gives our heart lightly. And when we do, it's tough to reclaim it."
She was referring to the one time he'd been seriously in love, his senior year in college. Marilyn had been everything he'd ever looked for in a woman: smart, pretty, generous, warm-hearted. After one date, he'd fallen hard.
Unfortunately, she hadn't returned his feelings. She'd tried, he knew she'd tried. But after they'd been seeing each other a couple of months, she told him she thought it would be better if they stopped. "I like you, Justin," she'd said gently. "I like you a lot, but I don't feel, you know, that way about you."
It had taken him nearly a year to get over her. It had been one of the bleakest years of his life. He had confided his feelings to no one except Jessie.
"My brain knows that until I let go of Sam, I'll never be able to fall in love with someone else, and I'm trying, I really am," she continued. "If only he would get serious about someone. If I knew for sure that he was not available—" She broke off, sat up a little, squared her shoulders. "Enough of this. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Wishing for something I can't have." She turned her gaze to him. "What about you? You dating anyone?"
"Nope." He chuckled. "I'm too picky, that's my problem. The women I meet, if they like me, I don't like them."
"It'll happen. Just be patient. The right person will come along."
"I hope she hurries. I'm not getting any younger."
"Oh, that's true, you're a real old fogey."
They both laughed, and Justin was relieved to see that Jessie had pulled herself together. "Listen, Jess, I think I'm going to take off. Do you mind?"
"No, you go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow. And Justin? Thanks for listening."
"Anytime," he said, kissing her cheek. "Anytime at all."
All the way home, Justin thought about his conversation with Jessie. He was still thinking about it when he unlocked his back door and walked into the kitchen. Major, who'd been sleeping right next to the door, stretched and gave Justin a
lazy "woof" in greeting.
Justin couldn't help comparing the almost-offhanded welcome to the wild joy the dog had exhibited earlier today when Sam had come.
He shook his head in half-amusement, half-annoyance. I've had the goddamned dog for nearly seven years, taken care of him when he was sick, fed him, petted him, been here through thick and thin, and he still likes Sam best!
There was a lesson there somewhere.
* * *
Amy couldn't sleep. She was dying to talk to her mother or Lark. But it was too late to call Lark, and she certainly wasn't going to call her mother in Brussels.
Yet she needed to talk. She needed to tell someone she trusted about the amazing thing that had happened to her today.
After tossing around for hours, she finally got up, showered and dressed, and headed for her easel. Although painting by artificial light wasn't nearly as satisfactory as painting by natural light, she could do it. Painting soothed her. When she felt stressed or worried about anything, picking up her paintbrush and losing herself in a painting would always calm her. She'd tried to describe the feeling to her mother once, but it was hard to put into words. The best she'd been able to come up with was, "It's like being enveloped in a soft, pink cloud. Everything else fades away, and I feel at peace."
Amy painted until six, then finally stood and stretched and touched her toes a few times to loosen her cramped muscles. She put on a pot of coffee and while it was brewing, changed into shorts and a T-shirt and her Reeboks. When the coffee was ready, she took a cup out to the deck and watched the sunrise and listened to the birds. By seven she had headed out for a walk.
As she walked the quiet, neighborhood streets, she thought about Sam and everything they'd said and done the previous night. Even the memory of the kisses they'd shared was enough to send a plume of heat curling into her belly. Maybe it would be safest if she didn't think about the kisses, especially since she knew it wouldn't be wise to rush into a sexual relationship with him. But, oh, she wanted to. She wanted to more than she'd wanted anything in a long, long time.
Still thinking about Sam, at eight o'clock, she turned toward home. As she climbed the steps to her apartment, she could hear the phone ringing. Maybe it was Sam. She raced up the remaining steps. "Oh, damn! Don't hang up!" Fumbling with her key, she finally got it inserted in the lock and opened the door.
Once she was inside, she made a final mad dash toward the phone and yanked up the receiver. "H'lo." She was breathing hard.
"Amy?"
"Mom!" You idiot. Of course, Sam wouldn't call you this early . . .
"Is something wrong? You sound funny."
"No, no. I'm just out of breath. I was out walking and ran up the steps when I heard the phone."
"Oh, good. For a minute there, I was worried."
Amy chuckled, mentally shaking her head at her mother's needless concern. "You don't have to worry. I'm fine. In fact, I'm great! And I'm so glad you called. I really wanted to talk to you."
"Something is wrong. I knew it!" Faith Carpenter declared.
"Mom! Nothing is wrong," Amy said emphatically. "I'm just excited because I've met this terrific guy and . . . well, I couldn't wait to tell you about him."
"Oh? Now that sounds important."
Amy smiled. "Yes. Very important."
"Well, come on, tell me. Who is he, and how did you meet him?"
Amy explained, ending with, "And it all happened just the way you said it had happened with you and Dad. I took one look and I just knew Sam was the one. I couldn't say this to many people, because it would sound silly, but I knew you'd understand."
"Well, yes, I do, but—"
"But what?"
Her mother sighed. "Just be careful, darling, won't you? Don't jump into anything. Give it some time. Get to know him before . . . well, you know . . . "
Amy frowned. "I'm not sure I understand. Haven't you been saying I'd know when I found the right man?"
"Yes, darling, but your father and I were introduced by mutual friends. I already knew about his family and his background. It was safe for me to fall in love so quickly. It's a little different in this case, don't you think? You really don't know this young man at all, and I don't want you to be hurt."
"There's no need to worry. Sam wouldn't hurt me."
Her mother sighed again. "I'm sorry, Amy. Perhaps he's every bit as wonderful as you think he is. Just promise me you'll be careful."
Amy started to say she wasn't a child. She started to say she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions and that she wasn't gullible or stupid. She was smarting from her mother's lack of confidence in her judgment and confused by Faith's about-face.
But she said none of these things. Her mother loved her. She had Amy's best interest at heart. Besides, said a tiny part of Amy's brain, she could be right. Pushing away the traitorous thought, Amy said, "Don't worry. I'll be careful. Now tell me about your trip. How's Brussels? Did Dad knock 'em dead?"
For the rest of the conversation, Faith recounted their itinerary of the past week, and Amy passed on several messages that she'd received on her parents' behalf. Just before they said good-bye, her mother said, "Are you seeing this young man again today?"
"I think so. He's going to call me later."
"And how long will he be in Houston?"
Her mother's question was sobering. Amy had been trying not to think about the fact that Sam would be leaving again, probably fairly soon, and might be gone for weeks or even months. She had no idea how long an assignment might take. He had talked a little about his work, but he hadn't described any specific assignment in detail. "I'm not sure," she finally said.
"I see," was all her mother said in return.
That I see said a lot, though, Amy mused as she hung up the phone. An awful lot.
She was still thinking about her mother's cryptic comment when she finally reached Lark later that morning. "You still mad at me?" she said after Lark gave her a sleepy 'hello.'
"Totally pissed," Lark mumbled.
Amy grimaced. "Seriously?"
Lark said something else unintelligible, then more succintly, "No, I'm not mad at you anymore. However, I do need a strong jolt of caffeine before I can talk with my usual scintillating wit and intelligence. So how 'bout if I go get some coffee, then call you back?"
Amy smiled. "Even better, why don't you roll out of bed and throw on some clothes and come over here? I'll have coffee and breakfast waiting for you."
"You got a deal."
Twenty-five minutes later, Lark's hot pink Amigo pulled into the driveway.
"So what's for breakfast?" she said as Amy greeted her from the top of the steps. "Sackcloth and ashes?"
Amy grinned. "Would you settle for French toast and bacon?"
"Honey, I'd kill for French toast and bacon!"
The two young women hugged as Lark reached the deck. Amy grinned again as she took in Lark's appearance. Her short, blunt cut blond hair looked like it had been struck by a tornado, and her white shorts and red T-shirt were so wrinkled, it was obvious she'd probably plucked them out of the laundry basket where they might have been sitting for days. She wore no makeup, and her feet were shoved into well-worn sandals.
Lark was a flight attendant for Continental, and on the job she was meticulously groomed, efficient, and organized. At home she was a complete and utter slob, the exact opposite of Amy. She was proud of being a slob, too. She reveled in it. Once, when Amy had asked her how she could stand living in such clutter, she'd said, "It's friendlier that way," and oddly, Amy had understood what she meant.
They went inside, and Amy poured Lark a mugful of coffee while she cut up fresh strawberries and put the French toast in the skillet. The smell of bacon, cooked and being kept warm in the microwave, permeated the kitchen.
"C'mon, tell me about him," Lark said, perching on one of Amy's barstools. Her large gray eyes were bright with curiosity. "He must be something to make you forget about me."
"He's
wonderful," Amy said softly.
Lark raised her eyebrows. "Wonderful, eh? Wow. Tell me more. How'd you meet him, and what does he look like? Spare no details." Lark grinned, the tiny gap between her two front teeth giving her an impish look.
So for the second time that morning, Amy talked about Sam. By the time she'd finished, breakfast was ready, and they sat down at Amy's round dinette table and began to eat. "I know it sounds corny," Amy finished, meeting Lark's gaze and gearing herself for her friend's teasing, "but it . . . it was love at first sight. He's the one, Lark. I just know it."
But Lark didn't return her smile, and for a long moment, she didn't answer, either. She took another bite of her French toast, chewed it slowly, and thoughtfully studied Amy's face. "Did you sleep with him?"
"Lark!"
"Well, did you?"
"No."
"Good."
Amy shook her head. "You know, even though we've been friends forever, and I think I know you better than anyone, you continually surprise me."
Lark paused with her fork in midair. "What? You thought I would've encouraged you to have sex with some guy you'd just met?"
"Well, you're always telling me what I need is a good, you know . . . "
"Fuck, Amy. The word is fuck," Lark said dryly. "And the fires of hell will not leap out to get you if you say it." Lark put down her fork. "And, yeah, I do think you need to get laid, but that doesn't mean I think you should do something stupid."
"You've gone to bed with a guy on a first date," Amy pointed out.
"Yeah, but I'm different. I'm tough, and you're not. I don't expect hearts and flowers and engagement rings, and you do. I go into things with my eyes open, and you wear rose-colored glasses."
Amy had no answer for Lark's logic, because she knew her friend was right.
"You see things the way you think they should be," Lark continued softly, "the way you want them to be, and I see things the way they are."
"Maybe that's true, but sometimes you just have to trust your heart."
"Amy, listen to me. What do you know about this guy, anyway? Just what he told you, right? Well, maybe he's the slickest con artist on the face of the earth."
"He's not!" Amy protested. "I know he's not."