Maybe he was being paranoid. That was probably the case. He had been so worried about staying on Dottie’s good side, making sure that the wedding went off without a hitch, he was seeing things that weren’t there. “Maybe I’m stressed about the wedding stuff, getting it all done.”
“It’s gonna be great.” Harper patted his arm.
“It’d be greater if you or Matthew or, hell, Dad were here to help me.”
“Eh.” Harper grinned. “We’d only get in your way.”
Sam opened his mouth to tell her, no, her help would actually be quite appreciated, but he was cut off by his own name.
“Sam!”
He and Harper spun around to see who was calling him from all the way down Main Street. Jane was running toward him, shopping bags slapping against her legs, while Tinka and Karen followed behind. From about a half block away, Sam’s eyes met Tinka’s. She gave him a subtle, shy wave, and he returned it, his cheeks warming.
“That’s Tinka,” Sam whispered. “The blonde.”
“Ooh, she is hot, Sam. Nicely done.” His sister squinted her eyes at him, like she was seeing him in a new light. “I’m impressed, brother. Look at you.” She nudged him in the side.
Jane skidded to a stop in front of them and pulled both Andersons into one of her customary hugs.
As Jane released her from her clutches, Harper eyed Tinka. “So, you and my brother.”
Blushing, Sam glanced at Tinka, who was the same amount of flushed. Sam suppressed the grin that threatened his cool demeanor. He was still playing a part. He was still trying to convince her—and himself—that the kiss last night had meant nothing.
“Yeah. He’s a really great guy.” She shot him a sheepish look, and he nodded nonchalantly, barely acknowledging her existence, though his insides were bursting with glee. Fake or whatever, this relationship was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he almost didn’t care how foolish that sounded.
“What are you girls up to?” Harper asked.
Jane held up a shopping bag from Mrs. Claus’s Closet. “Dress hunting. For your brother’s wedding. Sam invited us.”
“Fabulous,” Harper said. “I’m headed there in a bit for my fitting, but we were about to get lunch.” She elbowed Sam in the ribs. “You girls want to come?”
“Sure,” Jane said. “We’d love—”
Sam jumped in. “They’re probably too busy.” Dining with Tinka would be too much to handle right now. He needed a minute away from this playacting.
“We really are.” Tinka was quick on the trigger. “We’re having a girls’ day out. You two go ahead.” Sure, Sam had been the first to put the kibosh on lunch, but he still wished Tinka had looked more bummed about the situation.
Harper waved to the girls. “You ladies have fun. I’ll be in town soon for the wedding. We should all hang out.”
“Okay.” Tinka and her friends took off down the street.
“We should invite them over to play games or something,” said Harper.
“Maybe,” Sam said.
Harper peered at him, squinting. “Everything okay?”
Was everything okay? That was a loaded question. He’d broken down crying yesterday because he’d gone to check on the flower order for the wedding, and Matthew had picked hydrangeas, because of course he had. They were Mom’s favorite. But the smell took Sam back to when he was a kid and his mom used to help him hold the shears while they cut the stems on the hydrangea bushes together, which then made him think about how he was able to hold the shears just fine on his own now, which naturally spiraled into a whole thing about the passage of time and Matthew getting married and how the two of them used to get into these heated one-on-one basketball games when Sam was a kid, but they hadn’t done that in years, and maybe they’d never do it again. Oh, and he was falling for his fake girlfriend, on top of all that. But Sam plastered on a grin and shook his head. “Everything’s fine. Couldn’t be better.”
Chapter Ten
A few days after the party, Tinka was back on the putting green for a golf lesson with Dylan.
“May I?” Dylan asked.
Tinka rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
Dylan stepped behind her, pressed his chest against her back, wrapped his arms around her torso, and placed his hands on top of hers.
“I really don’t think you need to be that close.” She squirmed away.
He backed off slightly, placed the putter in her hand, and wrapped her fingers around the handle in the correct position. “This grip will change your life.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
She glanced back at the pro shop. Her dad was inside working on his laptop, missing Dylan’s whole display, not that he’d be bothered by it. He was rooting for Tinka and Dylan to pair up, after all.
“I’ve seen you help my dad.” Tinka lined up her putt all by herself. “Somehow you manage to keep a six-inch-plus buffer zone between your groin and his ass.”
Dylan laughed. “That obvious?”
“Very, very obvious.” Tinka gave him the stink eye. “So, stop. Thanks.”
He held up his hands and backed even farther away, giving Tinka plenty of space.
With a deep breath, Tinka swung the putter like a pendulum and sank the putt from twenty feet away.
“Nice.” Dylan nodded like he was surveying his own work of art.
“I was using my old grip there, by the way.” Tinka tucked the putter under her arm and adjusted the glove on her left hand.
He grinned. “I know. I only taught you the new grip so you’d have more confidence in your old one.” He glanced back at the pro shop. “Your dad doesn’t realize how much you hate this, does he?” He waved his hand to indicate the golf course.
She glowered at him.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know the whole story. I was talking to your friend Jane at your little party the other night. ‘Tinka hates golf. She wants to quit, but doesn’t know how to tell her dad. She wants to be a baker.’” Dylan raised an eyebrow. “A baker?”
“And?” she asked.
“I thought you might want someone to talk to, because I understand what you’re going through.”
“Oh, you understand me, do you, Duke boy?” Talking to him was exhausting. He was like a persistent gnat she couldn’t swat away.
“More than you know.” He grinned. “You think you had me pegged since the second we met, but you and I are in the same boat. I want to keep doing the golf thing full-time, maybe move down south after graduation. But my mom and dad expect me to go to law school and take over the family firm here when they retire. I don’t want that, and I’m having trouble telling them the truth, like you with your dad. You and I, we’re not that different.”
Tinka bit the inside of her cheek. Maybe he had a point, but she wouldn’t let him know that. “I really don’t think that’s true. We are not even remotely in the same situation.”
“I beg to differ,” Dylan said. “Our parents expect certain things from us. There’s an obligation. My parents’ firm is their legacy. And you’re expected to fill your brother’s shoes.”
Screw this guy. He barely knew her, and he was bringing her dead brother into the conversation. If he thought that was the way to get her on his side, he was very, very wrong. “You know absolutely nothing about anything.”
He rubbed the head of his putter with a towel. “I know you see me as a sleazy jerk, but I’m seriously offering myself up as a friend. That’s it. I’m someone who gets what you’re going through. You and I have never had it easy. Not like your boyfriend.”
Okay, really. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Tinka touched her cheeks, which had warmed at the mention of Sam. Their kiss had been running through her mind for days. Back at Florian’s, she never thought about a hook-up after the fact (okay, except Colin, but that was a completely different situation). Come morning, that stuff was all in the past. But the thing that happened between her and Sam Friday night? She couldn’t shake it. “What
does Sam have to do with this? Sam doesn’t have it easy.” Yes, she made sure to say his name twice. She liked the way it felt in her mouth. Sam.
“Sure he does,” Dylan said. “He’s got the big house and the gobs of money. He can do whatever he wants with his life. He’s going to film school in L.A. I mean, come on, Mr. Silver Spoon. Must be nice.”
“You don’t know him at all. He’s not like that.”
“But he doesn’t get you, does he?” Dylan said. “He probably sees you as this perfect girl—the pretty baker who’s tons of fun. He’s all happiness and joy. You need someone more experienced, more realistic. I’m saying, if you ever get tired of him, come find me.”
“I won’t get tired of him,” Tinka said. “And Sam’s not the bubbly doormat you seem to think he is. He knows I’m not perfect, and he doesn’t judge me for it. He’s loyal. He’s wonderful. He’s one of the nicest, most caring—” She stopped, when she heard an “a-hem” from behind her.
She spun around, and there was Sam, drinking a lemonade.
Tinka’s jaw dropped and she blushed to the roots of her hair, but Sam grinned. “Do go on.” His brow was cocked as if he was challenging her, but his face had gone pink, too.
She couldn’t help laughing, mostly from nerves. The situation was so absurd. It shouldn’t have mattered that Sam had heard her saying those things. So what? Her fake boyfriend had caught her in the act of defending him. Though, no matter what she’d told him in the kitchen after the kiss, there was nothing fake about her feelings for him. She couldn’t deny it, not with the way her skin tingled when she saw him standing there in a Kill Bill T-shirt and his omnipresent basketball shorts. She’d barely seen him since Friday night—he’d been busy with wedding stuff, and she’d been trying to keep herself busy tearing up the shag carpeting in her parents’ basement—and it had been like a piece of her was missing. But for some reason she couldn’t tell him all that. Why not? What was she more scared of—rejection or acceptance?
She ripped off her glove and shoved it into her golf bag, which she swung over her shoulder. “I think I’ve had enough for one day.” She stepped over to Sam, hooked her arm in his, and dragged him toward the clubhouse.
“What are you even doing here?” she asked once they were far enough away from Dylan.
“Rehearsal dinner stuff. We’re having it here at the club.”
“Well, thank you for rescuing me,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder, as if it fully belonged there. Waves of heat pulsed through her body. He smelled like summer and sunscreen and she wanted to eat him, which was definitely not part of their deal.
Tinka lifted her head and dropped his arm. She’d taken things too far. “Your timing is impeccable, fake boyfriend.” She jabbed him in the arm. “Dylan was all over me back there.”
“Just doing my job.” Sam sped up, leaving Tinka in his wake. He shouted over his shoulder. “Dylan can’t see us anymore. We’re safe, dude.”
Tinka stayed a few steps behind him as tears stung her eyes.
Yeah, she’d started it. She was the one who’d called him her “fake boyfriend,” but she almost started bawling right there in the parking lot, telling him everything—that she’d meant what she’d said to Dylan, that she’d never get tired of him. Sam had called her “dude,” and it had broken her heart.
But she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best. He was doing his job, sticking to the party line, the one they’d agreed to Friday night. This was what they both wanted. No strings, no mess. She’d keep up her end of the bargain. “Thanks, pal.” She tossed her clubs into the back of his truck.
…
“Finally!” Craig slammed a five-dollar bill down on the counter at Maurice’s video store. “After weeks and weeks of you showing terrible movie after terrible movie—”
“Your opinion,” Sam muttered, grabbing Craig’s complimentary can of Mellow Yellow from the fridge under the counter.
“—you’re finally showing something decent.” Craig gestured toward the poster on the wall outside the screening room.
“You’re a big fan of Girls Just Want to Have Fun?”
“I am, Samuel,” Craig said. “This film marries absurdity with real emotion. Helen Hunt is a revelation. She wears gigantic dinosaur barrettes. A dude somersaults through a window into a party. This film has something for everyone.”
“Well, good,” Sam said. “We aim to please.”
“No, you don’t.”
“That’s true. We don’t.” Sam handed Craig his popcorn.
As Craig headed into the screening room, Sam kept an eye on the door. Tinka had promised last night, when she and the girls had come over to make cookies, that she’d be here tonight. She was the reason Maurice was showing Girls Just Want to Have Fun, actually, because Sam had suggested the film. It had been Tinka and Karen’s favorite movie growing up. They used to watch it at least once a month.
Maybe he’d done too good a job convincing Tinka that their kiss last Friday night had meant nothing. He’d fretted for days about pushing her away, that he’d been too persuasive about his feelings for her being only platonic.
But when he’d shown up outside the pro shop on Tuesday and heard her saying those really nice things about him, he’d hoped maybe they were about to admit their feelings to each other. Then she’d made it a point to drop his arm and call him her “fake boyfriend,” which told him for sure where he stood. He was a tool to keep Dylan at bay, nothing more. It was the part he’d agreed to play, and he’d continue doing it, no matter how much it hurt.
Maybe he was a fool, but the agony was worth it, if it meant keeping Tinka in his life.
The door to Maurice’s opened and a herd of girls pushed in—Dottie and her friends. She was once again in her movie ticket dress and the expression on her face suggested vengeance. “Where’s your girlfriend?” she asked as Sam gathered the group’s popcorn and beverages.
“She’ll be here,” Sam said.
“Whatever.” Dottie pressed her lips closed as her friends marched to the back of the store. Then she said, “You’re like all the rest of them—picking style over substance.”
He hadn’t picked style over substance, though. Tinka had both of those things. Dottie, on the other hand, well, if she thought Sam had rejected her based on her looks, that wasn’t the truth at all. He’d rejected her based on her personality. Totally justified.
“Your girlfriend likes style, too, you know. I saw her flirting with Dylan Greene at the golf course the other day. I was delivering cookies for an event, and there he was, fondling her.” Dottie mimed squeezing a set of boobs. “And she liked it.”
Sam’s stomach plummeted, but he shook his head. “He wasn’t fondling her. He’s her golf coach.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.” Dottie snatched up her popcorn and headed into the screening room.
Minutes before movie time, Tinka rushed in with Jane and Karen. Tinka beamed at him, but he couldn’t return the gesture. Fabricated Dottie story or not, he couldn’t stop picturing Dylan Greene with his hands all over Tinka. What game were they playing? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Obviously, Tinka had been trying to thwart Dylan’s advances earlier in the week, but maybe she’d changed her mind about him. Maybe she’d decided she was okay with Dylan—Prince Eric in the flesh—running his hands all over her. Sam couldn’t be mad about it. He and Tinka weren’t actually together. She could do whatever she wanted with whomever she pleased. But, in that case, she should let Sam off the hook and allow him to get on with his life.
Tinka rested her elbow on the counter. “Sorry we’re late. My parents took us out for dinner and it ran long.” She glared at the front door, through which Dylan was now entering. “And my dad’s BFF followed us here.”
“I told you guys to wait for me.” Panting, Dylan sidled up to Tinka, who shifted away, but not too far. Dylan feigned surprise at seeing Sam. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” Sam busied himself with the popcorn machine. His br
ain kept insisting all of this was totally normal, but his heart burned with jealousy, anger, sadness, and several other emotions that science had yet to identify.
Dylan grabbed his stuff and headed into the back room with Karen and Jane, but Tinka hung back, waiting for Sam, who was still avoiding her eyes.
“You know, you can sit with him if you want,” Sam said. Thank God he hadn’t told her his real feelings at the party. He’d be at least ten times more embarrassed now if he had.
“I don’t want,” Tinka said. “Ignore Dylan. He was just being an ass.”
“I mean, you’re under no obligation to sit with me.” He glanced around the empty room. “It’s not like we’re really together,” he whispered.
She furrowed her brow. “Are you trying to get out of sitting with me?”
“No. We’re supposed to sit together, right? To keep up the ruse.” Also, there was nothing he wanted more in life than to share one of Maurice’s make-out couches with Tinka. It may have been a recurring dream since he’d met her, no big deal. “But I want to let you off the hook, if you feel like doing something else.”
She reached across the counter like she was about to grab his arm, but instead she grabbed the salt shaker and traced its pattern of raised squares with her finger. “I have no desire whatsoever to sit with Dylan, or anyone else for that matter. I want to sit with you.” Her wide eyes locked on his.
He tapped his molars against each other in a quick rhythm. He had to keep his cool and remember his motivation. Tinka would run away fast if she knew how he really felt. Sam shrugged. “Fine. We can sit together, if you want.”
The movie was starting when they entered the back room. There was an empty couch on the right side, near Jane and Karen, who were sitting with Eric Joyce and his brother, Ken. Sam plopped down on the empty love seat, right next to one armrest, and Tinka hugged the other one. Their containers of popcorn sat between them as a barrier. But a few minutes into the movie, when Sam reached for some kernels, his hand brushed Tinka’s and his breath caught in his chest. She tickled his fingers.
He should’ve pulled away, but he didn’t. He let her fingers dance across his. He was prepared to let them dance for as long as they wanted.
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