Sam hovered near the door, waiting for her to tell him how this was going to go.
“I…um…I’m leaving for school in August.” She shut the door and turned toward him, leaning against the fridge. She folded her arms across her chest.
“I know. Me, too.” A lump formed in his throat. This was it. This was the end.
“I can’t…” She pointed to herself and then to him. “I’m a mess. I told you that. You know that.”
He was as much a mess as she was. And he knew he’d be even more of a mess if she ran out of here tonight and refused to see him because of one tiny, overzealous kiss.
Sam couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let her start ignoring him again. This week had been torture without her. The wedding stuff was starting to overwhelm him, and she was the only one he could talk to about it. He’d told himself that he didn’t want to get attached to anyone right now, but too late. He had a few precious weeks left here in North Pole, and he wanted to spend all of them with Tinka, whatever that meant.
It was his turn to convince her of something. He wanted her in his arms again, sure, but he was fighting for survival here. Keeping her in his life in any capacity was all that mattered now. He prepared himself for the performance of his lifetime. Sam cocked his head for a moment, staring at her in confusion. Then he shook his head and laughed. “Wait a minute. You don’t…?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Wow. I’m a better kisser than I thought.” His theatre teacher better not have been lying when she’d said Sam was one of the best actors she’d ever had in class.
Tinka was staring at Sam like he’d told her the sky was plaid. It was working.
He laughed again, channeling his inner Daniel Day-Lewis. “Tinka. That was, um, a nice kiss and all, but it was basically like me kissing Harper.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh.” Then they narrowed, and she scanned the room, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh.”
“I guess I really sold it, huh?” Sam stepped over to the fridge, and Tinka scurried out of the way as he opened the door and grabbed a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. He had actually thrown her off her game. Not bad.
“Very convincing.” Her hands clutched the lip of the counter behind her.
Sam pretended to brush a bit of dirt off his shoulders. “I’ve always wanted to write or direct movies, but maybe I should think about acting instead. Apparently, I’m quite good at it.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Tinka straightened her spine and looked him square in the eye. “Wait. Did you think I was going to tell you that I felt something during that kiss?” She giggled. “Oh my God.”
Sam played with the label on his bottle. “I kind of did, yeah. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”
Tinka stepped over, grabbed his water bottle, and took her own sip like it was nothing, like he was nothing. Or not “nothing.” But he was definitely just a friend to her, and nothing more. “See, I only brought it up because I thought maybe you had enjoyed it too much.” She screwed the cap on and off a few times.
“No way. Not at all.”
“Phew.” Tinka, an agonizing six inches away from him, wiped her forehead. “Wow. Good thing we’re on the same page.” She stepped back, a big smile on her face, and Sam felt the void as the space between them grew.
He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d calmed the situation and stopped her from leaving him because things had gotten weird. But this wasn’t how his mind had storyboarded the scene. She was supposed to call his bluff. She was supposed to tell him, no, the kiss was real, they were real.
He gave her a moment to change her mind. When she didn’t, he jumped right back into his role, for the sake of self-preservation. “We are the king and queen of fake kissing, bro.”
“Yeah, we sure are, bud.” She leaned in and lightly punched him on the shoulder. Sam caught her scent of orange and vanilla.
He snatched his water bottle back from her and hopped up on the counter, killing any remaining tension. He’d performed triage and stopped the bleeding, which had to be enough. Tonight had been an anomaly, a blip, and it was time for them to go back to the way things were.
“You mind if I make brownies?” she asked.
“You have to ask?”
Grinning, she turned her back on Sam, squatted down, and started rummaging through a bottom cabinet. He tried hard not to stare at her backside in her tight jeans. If he managed to keep up this charade for the rest of the summer, he really would deserve an Oscar.
Chapter Nine
Jane held up an emerald green, ombré-patterned dress. “I’m telling you, Tinka, that was the hottest kiss I’ve ever seen. You two.” She touched Tinka’s shoulder and yanked her hand back quickly. “Scorching.” She blew on her burned finger.
“Mmm-hmm.” Tinka was rummaging through another rack at Mrs. Claus’s Closet, the premier dress emporium in North Pole, Minnesota. Not all of the dresses were Christmas themed, thank goodness, but none of them registered in Tinka’s brain either. They were all amorphous blocks of color after color with no shape or style.
Jane put the green dress back. “To have a guy look at me the way Sam looks at you, that’s my life goal.”
Tinka blushed and focused hard on the dresses in front of her. The kiss had been hot. Sam was hot. It was way more than that, though. When she was with Sam, it was like the first time Tinka’d ever baked a batch of cookies. There was a moment of calm and a feeling of “This. This is why I’ve been put on the planet.” At least that’s how it had been for Tinka. Sam had been putting on a show, and he’d fooled Tinka—worldly, experienced Tinka.
Karen stepped out of the dressing room, wearing a flowing blue maxi dress with an empire waist. She spun around, her shoulders hunched up to her ears.
“You look amazing.” Jane pushed down Karen’s shoulders. “Own it.”
“Whatever.” But Karen tried to shimmy herself into a more relaxed position.
“Tell me about your night,” Tinka said. Anything to move the subject away from Sam Anderson and the way he turned her into a blubbering mess. “You’ve both been suspiciously quiet.”
The two girls shared a glance.
“What happened?” This wasn’t good.
“Nothing.” Karen shrugged and stepped over to the shoe and accessories wall.
Tinka shifted focus to Jane.
“Like Karen said.” Jane, too, shrugged and shook her head.
“I’m going to need more information.”
“It was fun,” Karen said. “We ended up watching movies with people in the cabana.”
“Okay.” Tinka narrowed her eyes. They weren’t telling her the whole story. “I guess what I want to know is whether or not you had the fun you’d been expecting to have.”
“Yeah, sure,” Karen said.
“So, you two had your flings.”
“Yup.”
Jane pulled out the green dress again and examined it.
“Who’d you hook up with, Jane?” Tinka asked. “Brian from the cafe?”
Jane shook her head.
“Someone else?”
Jane shoved the dress back on the rack and turned toward Tinka. Tears flooded her eyes.
Tinka shouldn’t have left them down by the cabana. She shouldn’t have ditched them to hide out in Sam’s house. She’d abandoned her friends and they’d gotten hurt. “Obviously something happened. Tell me.” She put her hand on Jane’s shoulder and glanced over at Karen, who was about to chew her lower lip off.
Jane snuck a look at Karen, then she turned to Tinka. “Literally nothing happened.”
Tinka opened her mouth to protest.
“Jane isn’t kidding,” Karen said. “Nothing happened.”
“I’d been chatting with this guy down by the pier,” Jane said.
“And I was talking to this dude who liked Christmas sweaters way too much.” Karen shook her head.
“The guy I was with—Kevin—he went to make a move, and I started bawling. Liter
ally, yes. A guy tried to kiss me, and I turned into a sobbing mess.”
“Why?” Tinka frowned.
“Because I miss Colin,” Jane said.
“I had my eye on Jane the whole time,” Karen said. “She left Kevin on the pier and started walking by herself along the beach. She had her phone out.”
“I was drunk-texting Colin.”
“Oh, Jane.” Tinka’s shoulders were up by her ears again. Jane needed to stop texting Colin, for her own sake as well as Tinka’s. Everyone needed to forget about him. It’s what Tinka had been trying to do for weeks. Colin was not worth the brain cells or the data charges.
“I know. Pathetic.”
“It happens.” Tinka waved her off. “So you didn’t experience the glory and shame of a regrettable random romance, but you did partake in one of drinking’s other wonderful side effects—embarrassing phone-facilitated communication with an ex. Congratulations!”
Jane grumbled, shaking her head. “Colin never even responded.”
Karen put her arm around Jane. “Jane and I sat on the beach for a while, talking through stuff.”
“That’s good.” But Tinka should’ve been there. She’d turned tail right after the Spin-the-Bottle incident and had hid out in Sam’s house for the rest of the night. They’d laughed and joked and watched movies while eating her brownies. Then they’d gone upstairs together and said good night—no hugs, not even a handshake—before she disappeared into his sister’s bedroom to crash (the prospect of sleeping alone and on a real bed for one night was too good to pass up). Tinka hadn’t meant to abandon her friends in their time of need, but that’s what she’d done. “I wish you’d have come to me. I would’ve listened.”
“Tinka, please.” Karen crossed her arms.
“We didn’t want to disturb you,” Jane said. “You were with Sam.”
“So? I would’ve ditched him for you. You’re my friends.” And so was Sam. Nothing more.
“You wouldn’t have left him for us,” Karen said. “You don’t bother with other people when you have your own stuff going on. It’s kind of your thing. Tinka’s a decent friend, when it’s convenient for her.”
Tinka touched her cheek like she’d been slapped. “That’s not fair.”
“Yes, it is.” Karen plucked a pair of earrings from the rack and held them up to her lobe. “You kept me around while you were living in Minnesota, because, I don’t know, you didn’t have another friend or something. As soon as you got to South Carolina, you cut me out, basically. You stopped replying to my texts.”
“Not on purpose,” Tinka said. “I had nothing to say. We were living different lives. I was different.”
“You were drinking and hooking up with guys.”
“And you would’ve judged me for it.” Tinka would not take all the blame here.
“That is not fair,” Karen said.
“You always liked that we were on the same level. Other girls were doing things we weren’t, and you…had very strong opinions about that.” Tinka truly didn’t believe this was something Karen did consciously, but it was what she did. Tinka knew it had more to do with Karen’s own insecurities than the other girls’ actions, but still. “I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of your sanctimony.”
Karen’s smug expression faltered for a moment before she put the heat back on Tinka. “My parents’ marriage was ending and you had no idea. You never once asked me how I was doing.” She wrapped a long string of pearls around her neck
“And I’m sorry. I’ve told you that. I mean it.”
“Talk is cheap, Tinka,” Karen said. “You’re selfish. You only worry about yourself and what makes you feel happy and comfortable. You never go out of your way for someone else.”
“I don’t think Tinka’s selfish.” Jane pulled on a pair of tan pumps.
“When has she ever done anything for you?” Karen asked.
Standing up straight, Jane grinned. Tinka’s heart swelled. Jane. Jane saw the good in her. Of course, she saw the good in everyone. “She made me cookies all year long.”
“That was for her.” Karen pointed at Tinka. “She bakes because she likes to bake, not because it makes other people happy. She even hurt her hand for a selfish reason—working on the kitchen, even though her parents had told her to wait.”
“You know how much pressure my parents put on me,” Tinka said.
“I do,” Karen said. “And I also know that you treat other people the way your mom and dad treat you. You expect everyone to forgive you no matter what, no matter how shitty you behave, because why? Because your parents are overbearing? Because your brother died and you don’t even remember him?”
Jane was now giving Tinka the frowny-face head tilt. She’d managed to keep her brother a secret in South Carolina and escape the thing that had weighed her down back in Minneapolis.
“You think no one else’s problems compare to yours,” Karen said.
“I don’t think that.” Though, maybe she did. Tinka’d never really thought about it before. Maybe she did act like she deserved a pass because of Jake and her overbearing parents.
Karen turned toward Jane. “Tell me. What did she do to make you feel better after your boyfriend dumped you?”
Jane glanced at Tinka. “She baked me cookies.” Jane’s face fell as she now understood the meaning behind the cookies.
“Anything else?” Karen asked. “Did she stay up late with you, commiserating? Did she put her life on hold to take care of you?”
Jane clamped her mouth shut.
Karen had sunk the putt. She and Tinka knew each other too well. It was like they were in a bad marriage, only able to see the other’s faults—Karen was insecure and judgmental, and Tinka was selfish and closed off. They used to have such fun together. They’d been each other’s cheerleaders. Karen would trade her pudding for Tinka’s carrots at lunch every single day. Tinka used to read through every one of Karen’s newspaper articles before she’d hand it in to her editor. They used to be a team.
Tinka’s eyes watered. “I honestly didn’t realize. No one’s ever said what you just said to me, Karen. That doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I hope it explains it.”
Jane stepped over and enveloped Tinka in a big hug. “Let’s all lighten up!” She pulled Karen over and draped her arms around both girls’ shoulders. Tinka relaxed against Jane’s side. “We’re on vacation. You both hurt each other, but that stops now. We’re spending the rest of the day together, having fun and acting like friends. Let’s start by getting food, because I’m starved.”
On the way out, Tinka’s phone buzzed. Jane and Karen held the door open as Tinka checked the text. It was from Colin, at this moment, of all people. “Tinka, get Jane to stop texting me, or I’m going to tell her everything.”
Tinka’s whole body stiffened. Yeah, Jane was on her side now, but that could all change in the time it took Colin to press “send.”
…
Harper leaned on the counter next to Sam. “Why’s Dottie so pissy at you?” She nodded toward the back room, where Dottie was currently grabbing a form for the pies Sam and Harper were ordering for the rehearsal dinner.
“You,” Sam hissed. “You’re why she’s pissy. Because you made her think I was interested, when I was not.”
“Sure, you weren’t interested.” Harper had come back into town for her last dress fitting, which had been a surprise to Sam. He’d been in the process of removing the alcohol evidence from their house when she’d shown up. Harper, however, didn’t chastise him or threaten to tell their dad. She’d jumped in and started scanning the house and yard for any hidden bottles or cans. Sometimes Sam’s sister had the capacity to be awesome. It was easy to forget that when she spent so much time poking fun at him. “I guess it’s moot, anyway.” Harper glanced toward the front door. “When am I going to meet this girlfriend, Sammy? Elena tells me she’s gorgeous.”
“She’s…yeah, she is.” Sam blushed. He’d barely slept last night knowing that Tinka
was on the other side of his wall. He’d longed to go next door and tell her that he’d been lying, the kiss had meant everything to him, but he kept picturing her running away in terror, so he’d stayed put.
Dottie emerged from the back room and slammed the order form down on the counter. “What do you need?” Dottie glared at both Andersons.
Sam cleared his throat. “We need to order some pies for Matthew and Hakeem’s rehearsal dinner. They want one citrus pie, a chocolate one, and some kind of berry…”
“Strawberry?” Dottie scowled at Sam.
“Strawberry is fine,” Harper said. “Strawberry would be fabulous.”
Dottie scribble notes on the paper, muttering under her breath, “Strawberry would be fabulous.”
“You got all that?” he asked.
She nodded.
“And the date? The Fourth of July?” Sam tried to catch a glimpse of the order form, but Dottie blocked it with her arm like she was shielding a test from cheating eyes.
“I’ve got it, Sam.” She shoved the form under the counter and the pen into one of her blue buns.
Something about this conversation didn’t sit right. Maybe he should ask to see the order form. But no. Sam couldn’t let on that he didn’t trust her. She thrived on conflict. He’d have to keep his fear hidden. “You sure?” he asked.
Dottie huffed. “I am capable of taking an order.”
“Thanks, Dottie.” Harper waved as Sam dragged her, stumbling, out of the bakery. “What the hell, Sam?” she asked, brushing herself off.
“She’s more than pissy, right?” He eyed the bakery window, hunting for a clue, some evidence that Dottie was going to ruin everything. “She’s going to mess up the cake. I can feel it.”
Harper glanced back at the bakery. “What? No. I was exaggerating her pissy attitude. She seemed fine.”
“Did she?” Sam asked. “Did she really?”
“Well, she was a little flat and unfriendly, so totally normal for Dottie.”
“You didn’t get the sense that she wanted to murder us?” Again he peered into the store. Dottie had vacated the counter.
“Not any more than usual.”
Artificial Sweethearts (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 12