Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3)

by Rachael Anderson

  Flight #4563, Denver to NYC

  Time: 10:45AM—8:23PM

  Note: Confirmation #7C14X210 (Dreams really come true!!!)

  But did dreams really come true? When August twenty-fourth arrived, what would Sam be doing? Would the flight be cancelled and the job turned down? Or would she be shoving the last of her toiletries into a travel bag, tucking that into one of her suitcases, and sitting shotgun while her mother or father drove her to the airport?

  Sam dropped the phone on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She thought of what her dad told her, about New York just being a detour, and wondered if maybe she could still have both. But was she willing to risk losing Colton to find out? What if she loved the job at Brecken Design so much that she wanted to stay? What if Colton met someone else while she was away?

  What if? What if? What if?

  What Sam wouldn’t give for a crystal ball right now.

  If only Colton could uproot his life and come with her. Then all those what ifs would go away. But he couldn’t exactly tie millions of helium balloons to the ranch, carry it to New York and set it down in Central Park. Nor could he leave it behind and start over. What would a cowboy do in Manhattan anyway? Colton would go crazy in a place as congested as New York City. He loved the wide-openness of his ranch too much.

  Blowing a few strands of ticklish hair from her face, Sam rolled off her bed and plodded toward her bathroom, stopping next to her dresser. The wooden sign she’d designed over a month ago had finally arrived, and here it sat, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be given to Colton.

  Should she give it to him tonight?

  As Sam reapplied her mascara, she heard a tap on her bedroom door, followed by her mother’s voice. “Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?” Sam watched through the mirror as her mom let herself in.

  “Becky.”

  “Becky who?”

  “Becky, the mom who never sees her daughter anymore.”

  Sam leaned in to touch up her eye shadow. “Have you already forgotten we went out to lunch the other day?”

  “If by ‘other day’ you mean last week, you’re right. We did. But that café was too loud to hear myself think, and every day since it’s been more of a hi and goodbye.”

  Sam set down her makeup and met her mother’s gaze through the mirror. “I’m sorry. Between you, Adi, the twins, Kajsa, and Colton, I’m feeling a little stretched.”

  A pensive look appeared in her mother’s eyes. “Is that all you’re feeling stretched about?”

  Sam fiddled with the black mascara tube, thinking how easy inanimate objects had it. They had no minds to think, no questions to ask, no decisions to make. Everything was done for them.

  “I wish you could make my decision for me.”

  Her mom leaned against the counter and cocked her head to the side. “I wouldn’t know what to tell you if I could. What feels right?”

  “They both do and they both don’t. That’s the problem. How can two rights make me feel so wrong and confused? Sometimes I wish I’d never gotten the job offer.”

  Her mom moved behind Sam and combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Normally, Sam loved it when she did that. It relaxed and soothed her. But today it didn’t do any of that. It only frizzed her curls.

  “Do you sometimes wish you’d never met Colton too?” her mother asked softly.

  “No, I’d never wish that. I’d take him over the job any day of any week of any month. But an amazing opportunity has landed in my lap, and I just can’t…” Sam’s voice trailed off as the inky blackness of indecision and possible regret created a churning mass in her stomach.

  “You want both,” said her mother.

  Sam nodded.

  “Have you talked to Colton about it?”

  “No. Things are going so well. I don’t want to stir the pot.”

  “Well, honey, the pot is going to need to be stirred sooner or later.”

  “I’d prefer it be later.”

  Her mother’s hands settled on Sam’s shoulders, and she gave them a squeeze. “Things are going to work out no matter what you decide.”

  It was true. Things always had a way of working out in the long run, but not always without regret. And Sam didn’t want any regrets—not major ones anyway. She didn’t want to run into a closed door that would have been open if she’d only taken the job. And she really didn’t want to step aside while someone else walked down the aisle toward Colton. That would be the worst regret of all.

  Sam dropped her head, feeling like her thoughts were too heavy to hold any longer. “I need a Magic 8 Ball,” she said. “Those things are never wrong, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  “Dang.”

  Her mother’s laugh accompanied the faint sound of the doorbell chiming. “Sounds like Colton is here. What are your plans for tonight?”

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Just the usual, I guess. Dinner and hanging out and trying to avoid thinking about the future.”

  “The usual?” Her mother’s eyebrow lifted. “The Sam I know would never fill her summer days with ‘dinner and hanging out.’ She’d fill them with the stuff good memories are made of, don’t you think?”

  Her mom left to answer the door. Sam, on the other hand, stayed in her bathroom, watching her reflection in the mirror without really seeing it. Her mother was right. She’d let the worry of indecision overshadow her usual enthusiasm and creativity. She’d become a hum-drum, weighted down person who was allowing precious time to pass her by. This wasn’t her. She didn’t want this to be her.

  Sam gave herself a hard look. “You are a spunky, vivacious woman. Don’t forget it,” she said out loud. Someday soon, she’d figure out what to do with Thursday, August twenty-fourth. In the meantime, she’d make the rest of the days ones to remember.

  Sam slipped on her white, strappy sandals, shoved her phone into her large purse, grabbed two beach towels from the hall closet, and trotted down the stairs, leaving the foil-wrapped gift on top of her dresser. She found Colton in the kitchen with her father, tossing some chocolate-covered almonds into his mouth. When he saw her, he smiled.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Long time no see.”

  Sam didn’t bother reminding him she’d seen him only that morning. “There’s been a change of plans. Instead of going to Drifters for burgers tonight, we’re going shopping.”

  Her father tried to cover up a laugh with a cough while Colton frowned. “Shopping?”

  Sam nodded. “You are in some serious need of some non-cowboy clothes. Do you even own sandals?”

  He glanced at his jeans and boots. “What’s wrong with these?”

  Sam exchanged a look with her mother before tugging on Colton’s arm. “You can’t go fountain hopping wearing that,” she said as she pulled him toward the door.

  “I’m sorry. Did you just say fountain hopping?”

  “Yes.”

  Her excitement was soon deflated when they arrived at the store, and Colton shot down everything she pulled off the rack or pointed out to him.

  “Plaid belongs on shirts, not shorts—unless you’re a golfer, which I’m not.”

  A quick look around the store, and Sam spotted a man wearing black plaid shorts and a green t-shirt. “Look.” She pointed. “He’s wearing plaid, and I guarantee he’s not a golfer.”

  “Excuse me, sir.” Colton raised his voice, and the man glanced his way.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you golf?”

  “When I get the chance.”

  “Thank you.” Colton looked back at Sam. “See?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s not golfing now.”

  “Maybe he just left the course and hasn’t had time to change.”

  “Why don’t you ask him and find out?” she muttered, placing the shorts back on the rack. She moved on to t-shirts and pulled out a royal blue athletic shirt with a Nike swoosh across the front. “What about this?”

  He took the shirt from her hands, a
nd Sam held her breath, hoping she’d finally found something he’d at least be willing to consider. But he promptly hung it back on the rack. “Sorry, but cowboys don’t wear silk.”

  “It’s not silk,” she said. “It’s a combination of spandex, rayon, and polyester. It’s an athletic shirt. Lightweight, dries easily, and what most guys love about it: doesn’t wrinkle.”

  “It feels like silk. And it’s shiny.” He lifted an orange cotton t-shirt from another rack and held it up for her inspection. The Denver Bronco’s logo stared back. “Now this is a shirt I’ll consider.”

  “It’s exactly like every other t-shirt in your closet.”

  “No. This is orange. I don’t have an orange shirt.”

  “You already have two Bronco shirts that I’ve seen.”

  “I actually have three. But this one is orange.”

  She let out a breath of frustration before dragging him over to the shoe department. “What about these?” She pulled a pair of Teva’s off the shelf and held them up for his inspection.

  He didn’t even give them a second look. “Those would be filled with dirt the second I walked out my front door.”

  Sam replaced them without argument and gestured to his jeans. “Are you really going to wear denim and boots fountain hopping? They’ll never dry.”

  He gnawed on his lower lip before tipping his head to the side. “About this fountain hopping thing… have you ever done it before?”

  “Yeah. Once or twice with some friends in college.”

  “And they were all willing participants?” He looked skeptical.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s fun. And because it doesn’t involve getting drunk.”

  Colton chuckled. “See, that’s where we’re different because I would have to be completely slammed to ever agree to hop through a fountain.”

  “You don’t actually hop. You just splash each other and get wet. You have fun.”

  His head shook again. “I can’t believe you ever convinced other people to do that with you. Are you sure they didn’t sneak a few drinks beforehand?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Sam. “That was the whole point of our Virgin Adventures.”

  “Whoa. What did you just say?”

  Sam rested her elbow on a rack and sighed. “My mom always joked that if I ever started drinking, it would be the equivalent of a manic person taking Prozac. That was her way of warning me away from alcohol, which she didn’t really need to do because I’ve seen too many friends get drunk and do stupid things to ever want to go there. But when I got to college, it seemed like the thing to do was hang out at bars or dance clubs. Since I didn’t want to sit home alone every weekend, it was either become the designated driver or come up with something else.

  “I called them Virgin Adventures, and we’d do things like scavenger hunts, skateboard races, or watch movies like Jaws in someone’s swimming pool. At first, it was just a few of us, but then word got out and more people started joining us. By the end of my first year, we usually had at least fifty people show.”

  Colton looked impressed. “And you came up with all those ideas?”

  “Most of the time. I found a lot online, and every now and then, someone else would have a different idea, so we’d give it a try. Which is a good point to make.” She tapped him on the chest with her finger. “We always gave every idea, no matter how dumb it sounded, a try. And most of the time, it turned out pretty fun.”

  Colton slung an arm around her back and guided her toward the front door. “What about a compromise?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I was thinking I could take you through one of those really cool car washes instead. It’ll sort of be like fountain hopping with an umbrella.”

  Sam had to smile at that. Although his compromising skills needed a little work, in his defense, she’d sprung this whole shopping/fountain thing on him with no warning. Maybe if she’d asked his opinion from the get-go, they could have come up with a real compromise.

  True to his word, Colton took her through a long and interesting car wash that felt more like a ride at an amusement park. High powered rotating jets blasted the truck, creating thunderish sounds in the cab. Then large, brightly-colored brushes spun around the truck in various shapes and patterns, beating away every speck of dirt. More jets were followed by powerful dryers that scattered thousands of tiny droplets from the windows. They finished the ride by going through a long wall of mirrors that showcased the shiny clean truck. Pretty impressive.

  Sam had been raised as a do-it-yourself girl and had never been through a car wash of quite this caliber.

  Afterwards, Colton drove to her favorite café for takeout and they ended up at a large park.

  “I was thinking we could put those towels to good use and have a picnic right there.” He pointed to a shady spot on the grass, next to a large, circular fountain that sprouted a lovely waterfall. “That’s as close as you’re going to get me to fountain hopping, I’m afraid.”

  It wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned for the night, but the date had involved water, towels, and a fountain and they hadn’t gone anywhere near a burger joint. Colton had at least tried to compromise, she had to give him that.

  She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love picnics.”

  “I know, right? We get to eat great food, hang out on two towels under that big tree over there, and stay warm and dry and adult.”

  Sam laughed. “Adulthood is overrated.”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you.”

  “But not today?”

  “Not today.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  A smile spread across his face. “Is this how it’s going to be from here on out?”

  She scooted closer and rested her head against his shoulder. “I just want to make each day from now until the end of summer one to remember.”

  She felt his shoulder stiffen and the humor left his voice. “What about after this summer?” he said quietly.

  The question was so loaded and weighted down that Sam found it hard to pick up. She lifted her head and gazed at him, not liking the clouds she saw in his eyes. She put her hand on his and threaded her fingers in between. “I think every day should be worth remembering. Don’t you?”

  “Yes.” He lifted her fingers and kissed them, though lines of worry were etched in his forehead.

  They left the conversation behind, spread out the towels to make a large square, and plopped down to enjoy dinner. The sky was clear, the temperature a tad on the warm side, and the park abuzz with people. Arm in arm, an elderly couple strolled by, not speaking, just enjoying the ambiance. A small group of kids played tag while parents chatted at a nearby picnic table. Other kids played on a playground not far away, and a father threw a football back and forth with his son.

  Sam breathed in the fresh, summer air and silently applauded all the people who’d ventured outside their house to experience life. Because of them, the park pulsated with a strong and positive energy.

  “How about we flip the town tomorrow night?” she said.

  He paused with his sandwich part way into his mouth then took a deliberate bite, chewing slowly. “I know you don’t mean what it sounds like you mean, but I can’t come up with anything else it could mean, so… you’re going to have to explain.”

  “It’ll be fun. We’ll drive to the center of town and flip a coin. Heads, we go right. Tails, left. If there’s something to do at the next intersection, that’s what we do. If not, we keep flipping and driving until we find something else. The last time I did it with a group of people, we ended up singing karaoke, bowling, and eating Indian food. What do you say?”

  “What if we toss heads all night and end up driving in circles?”

  “Then we potentially sing lots of songs, knock over lots of pins, or eat lots of food.”

  “Sounds… interesting.” From the look on his face, “interesting” meant “totall
y lame.”

  “Will you at least try it? Please? For me?”

  Colton lay down on his back and folded his arms behind his head. “Fine. But if we end up at a karaoke place, I refuse to sing.”

  “Not even if it’s a Garth Brooks song? I thought you were a cowboy.”

  “Not all cowboys sing.”

  “What about ‘Red Solo Cup’? There’s no singing involved in that song. You could totally pull it off.”

  “There’s no brains involved either.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Still think I can pull it off?”

  She cocked her head to the side as though mulling it over, and he immediately poked her lightly in the ribs. It tickled, and she squirmed away.

  His lips lifted into a smile. “Are you ticklish?”

  “No.”

  He executed an effortless sit-up and towered over her, trapping her shoulders between his hands. “I think you are.”

  “If you tickle me, I’ll scream. Loudly. As in, the-police-will-come-running-with-taser-guns loudly. I really, really hate being tickled.”

  He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “And I really, really hate karaoke. So… compromise number two for tonight: If you don’t give me any guff about never singing in front of a crowd, I won’t tickle you.”

  His close proximity made her stomach twist and turn. Unable to resist, she pushed the hat off his head and dragged her fingers through his short, thick hair. “Will you at least swing dance or two-step with me while someone else sings?”

  “You might talk me into that.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sam’s fingers stilled at the nape of his neck, and she lifted an eyebrow. “Ma’am?”

  “Would you rather I call you muffin?”

  “No.”

  “Pumpkin?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Darlin’?” His head inched closer with every attempted endearment, and Sam felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek and saw each line and contour of his face. Dang, he was handsome.

  “What about just plain old ordinary Samantha?” she said.

  “Because there’s nothing plain or ordinary about you, Samantha.”

  One short sentence, nine simple words, and the world shifted. Sam suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her pounding heart thudded in her ears, and all the background noises of water, squeals, and chirping birds faded away as Colton closed the distance between them. Slowly and methodically, she kissed him, feeling each sensation, each nerve, each shiver of delight. Her hands palmed his freshly shaved face, following the movements of his jaw. Everything about him felt so right, so strong, so good. He was someone she needed to throw her arms around, hold on tight, and never let go.