by Robin Huber
I smile at his sweet offer, but the thought of him spending his money on me so freely makes me uncomfortable. “What makes you think he would sell it to you?”
He moves closer to me on the couch, until our legs are touching. “Then I’ll buy the whole damn building.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me into his lap.
I lean against his chest and breathe in his clean scent. “You’re so warm,” I say, shoving my cold hands under his arms. He reaches between us and pulls the bottom of his oversized hoodie up, capturing me in it, and tugging it down over my shoulders and arms so that I’m pressed against him inside of it.
I giggle and peek up at him and he kisses my forehead. I press my cheek to his neck. “How did you get here so quick?”
“I drove…fast,” he admits.
“I know you want to protect me, but it won’t do me any good if you kill yourself in the process.”
“It was reckless, I know.”
I wrap my arms around him inside his sweatshirt, and he shivers when I press my cold hands to his back. “Sorry,” I say, but I don’t move my hands. He’s so damn warm.
He holds me tighter and rubs my back for a long silent minute.
“Was it awful?” I ask softly against his neck.
“What?”
“Prison,” I say tentatively.
“Yes,” he answers quietly without elaborating. I don’t push him, but after a few silent seconds, he sighs and says, “Not all the time. Boxing was always good. And school helped keep my mind off it. But it’s not a place I ever want to go back to.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Lamb. You’re what got me through it.”
I close my eyes and try to hide from the guilt.
“You gave me a reason to go on. A reason to get into the boxing program. A reason to take classes. I could hear your voice in my head telling me to study.” He laughs softly. “You always did know how to get me to.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come,” I whisper, remembering the betrayal I felt that kept me away and the subsequent sorrow that nearly destroyed me.
“There’s nothing either of us can do to change the way things happened. Our paths went in different directions, but they were always meant to cross again.”
I nuzzle his neck. “I really don’t know how I would have made it through the rest of my life without you.”
“Me neither.”
I reluctantly shrug out of his sweatshirt and get up from the couch before my eager lips find their way to his. “We should probably thank Sebastian. He convinced me to go with him and Paul to New York to watch you fight Mario Sanchez.”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “You needed convincing, huh?”
I stand in front of him, looking down at his amused face. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Because there was a chance that you’d see me and do one of two things: devastate my heart or devastate my life.” I run my fingers through his hair, and he gazes up at me. “Thank you for not devastating my heart. My life will recover.”
He reaches for my hand and rubs his thumb over the inside of my wrist. Then he stands up and looks into my eyes. “Thank you for not devastating mine.”
My heart takes off in a wild sprint, and I have to bite my lip to keep from kissing him.
He drops his forehead to mine and exhales a warm breath against my cheek. “I thought you wanted to paint.”
I press my burning lips together. “I did. But I guess I just needed to see you. I feel better now.”
He holds his head back and looks at me. “Were you upset?”
I realize I never explained why I wanted to paint in the middle of the night. “No, I was really more irritated than upset.”
“About what?”
I let out a small sigh and roll my eyes, feeling my irritation return. “About this stupid dinner that Janice arranged.” I cross my arms. “It’s tomorrow at eight, by the way. Consider that your formal invitation.”
He pushes his lips together over a smile, but his dimples give away his amusement.
“Why is everyone so gung ho about having this dinner? It’s ridiculous.”
He laughs at me.
“I think you two just want to size each other up.”
“I guess that means you told him about me.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “I did. He’s quite keen on meeting my pro boxer ex-boyfriend.”
“Then I’d say your assumption is right.” He grins.
“Sam, please, nothing good could come of it.”
“I have to wait until after the exhibit to have you…fine, I’ll wait. But I’m going to meet the guy you spent the last two years with.”
My shoulders slump. I lost this battle before it even began. “Okay,” I say, defeated.
“It’s not only that.”
I look up at him curiously.
“I’m really proud of you, Lucy.”
“What?” My heart swells inside my chest.
“When I went to prison, you could have given up, but you didn’t. You made something of yourself. You did that. No one else did it for you. I want to see the life you’ve built, even if it was with the wrong guy.” He smirks.
I bob my head and smile softly. “Okay.”
Chapter 15
Lucy
“Andrew, that smells amazing,” Janice says, sipping her glass of prosecco. She leans against the kitchen counter, beaming with pride at her son’s ability to make a perfect braised lamb shank. She’s the picture of elegance in her ivory wrap top and matching ivory pants. She flips her shiny silver hair, showing off her sparkly diamond earrings.
I wonder if Sam even likes lamb. I giggle quietly to myself, just now realizing the irony of the dish.
“It really does smell fantastic,” Paul says. “I think we need to come over for dinner more often.” He smiles at Sebastian, who glances at me with apologetic eyes. As agreed, Bas hasn’t yet filled him in on my predicament.
I busy myself wiping plates with a dish cloth and stacking them on the counter. I collect them in my hands. “You want to help me set the table?” I ask Sebastian, hoping for a few minutes alone with him.
“Sure.” He grabs a pile of silverware off the counter and follows me.
“Anything I can do?” Janice asks, but I just smile and shake my head.
“I think we’ve got it.”
“You sure?” Paul offers.
“Yep. Just enjoy yourselves.”
Sebastian and I carry our tableware to the dining room and deposit it on the farmhouse table that Drew recently purchased.
“You have to admit, he’s got great taste,” Sebastian says, eyeing the table.
“Yes,” I say, setting a plate in front of each tufted button chair.
He follows me around the table, carefully placing the silverware on either side of the plates. “Are you nervous?” he asks softly.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you think Drew has any idea?”
I pause and look at him. “No,” I say surely, which makes me feel even shittier about having Sam over for dinner. “What is wrong with me, Bas? How could I let this happen?”
“You didn’t exactly have a lot of say in the matter.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t know how I’m going to be the person that Drew knows and the person that Sam knows at the same time.”
“Just be yourself, Luc. It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t understand. I’m different with Sam. Drew’s going to notice. And if he doesn’t, Sam’s going to notice that I’m different around Drew.”
“How are you different?”
“It’s like my volume is set on low with Drew. But with Sam, it’s all the way up. It always has been.”
“So then find the remote and get somewhere in the middle.”
I sigh and smile at Sebastian, not for his sage advice, but because he always gets my weird metaphors. “I need your help tonight, okay?”
/> “You don’t have to ask. I’ve got you.” He winks.
“You always do.”
“Hey, who do you think will throw the first swing? My money is on Sam, broken hand and all.”
“Bas! That’s not funny.”
“What’s not funny?” Paul, asks, joining us. But before Sebastian can make up an answer, Paul holds one of Drew’s goat-cheese-stuffed, bacon-wrapped figs to his mouth. “You have to try this.”
Sebastian opens his mouth and closes it around the decadent appetizer. “Uh-muh-gawd,” he mumbles as he chews. “Is it too late to change my bet?” he asks me.
I purse my lips and narrow my eyes.
“What bet?” Paul asks, but Bas just shakes his head and laughs.
“I need another one of those,” he says, leading us back into the kitchen.
“Lucy, why don’t you turn some music on,” Drew suggests, mincing a garlic clove.
“Okay, what do you want to listen to?” I ask him.
Before Drew can answer, Sebastian says, “Why don’t you put on that playlist you were listening to at the studio the other day? It was great.”
“Okay.”
“And make sure to turn the volume up,” he says, smiling.
“Got it.” I grab my phone and pull up the playlist Sebastian was referring to. I press play and a leisurely cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” begins to play through the kitchen speakers.
“Why would anyone mess with a nineties classic?” Drew asks, keeping his eyes on his task.
“I think her voice is beautiful,” Sebastian says, regarding the soft female voice that’s crooning the lyrics to the somewhat dark song.
When it ends and James Arthur’s “Always” begins to play, Drew glances up at me and grins. “I like this one,” he says, seasoning the lamb shanks and sprinkling my heart with a pinch of salt. It shrivels as I listen to the song we danced to at Janice’s charity ball two years ago.
The doorbell rings and my breath catches in my throat.
Drew remains focused on his task, Janice casually sips her sparkling wine, Paul looks at me excitedly, and Sebastian looks at me expectantly. But I’m frozen knowing that Sam is standing on the other side of the front door, waiting for me to invite him in to have dinner with my fiancé.
This is my punishment.
“You’ve got to answer it,” Drew says, holding up his rosemary-and-olive-oil-covered hands.
“Okay.” I inhale a quiet breath and force a smile to hide my apprehension.
Janice puts her glass down. “I’ll get it,” she says, giving me the push I need.
“No,” I say, stepping in front of her. “I’ve got it.”
I leave everyone in the kitchen and hurry to the foyer, glancing at my reflection in the large mahogany floor mirror that’s leaning against the wall by the front door. I straighten my short floral-print skirt and run my hands over my waist where my black scoop neck sweater tucks into it. Then I smooth my hair, take a deep breath, and open the door to find Sam standing on my front porch against a suburban backdrop of two-story houses and well-established trees that line the dimly lit street. I see his shiny black car parked against the curb next to the mailbox, and it ties my stomach into knots. Nothing about this feels right.
His eyes trace me, from my high heels up to my face. “Relax, Lamb,” he whispers, reading me like a book he memorized long ago.
I smile softly and inhale another quiet breath.
He crinkles his eyes. “Hi,” he says, showing me his dimples, and my heart falls lazily into a hammock and swings back and forth to the tune of James Arthur’s “Certain Things,” which my playlist shuffled to just in the nick of time.
“Hi.” I press my lips together, and the corners of my mouth turn up. “Come in.” I hold the door open for him.
He walks inside and glances up at the crystal drop chandelier that’s lighting the foyer.
“Drew picked it,” I say, feeling compelled to explain away the lavish lifestyle I’ve been privy to since I moved in with him.
He nods and glances around the open space. “It’s a nice house.”
I shrug, unsure what to say.
“This is for you.” He hands me a bottle of wine.
“Why thank you, sir. How very kind of you,” I say in my best proper voice, trying to make light of the situation.
“It’s a fairly customary gesture.” He laughs softly and so do I.
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
He looks at me with his unusual eyes and whispers, “Wait until you see where I’m going to take you.”
My breath escapes between my parted lips as James Arthur croons the perfectly timed lyrics “I’m certain that I’m yours” through the house speakers.
I bite my lip and inhale a slow breath. Be still my heart.
“Should we go in?” he asks, glancing in the direction of the voices coming from the kitchen.
I bob my head apprehensively and eye the wine label on the bottle in my hands. Château Margaux. “Sam.” I look up at him. “You didn’t have to—”
“Sam, dear, I’m so glad you could make it,” Janice says, joining us in the foyer, her heels tip-tapping on the marble floor.
“This is a four-thousand-dollar bottle of wine,” I say quietly through my teeth. I recognize it from my days waitressing at La Pêche.
“Just take the wine,” he urges, and steps around me. “Mrs. Christiansen. You look lovely,” he says, charming her with his dimples.
She smiles and wraps her hand around his arm, pausing to feel his bicep. “Oh, wow, you are strong, aren’t you?”
I give him apologetic eyes, but he just grins and obliges her.
“I have to be. It’s kind of a requirement of the job.”
“Yes, you must.” She pats his arm and grins. “Come on, I want you to meet my son, Drew. He’s making us an incredible dinner.”
“Can’t wait.”
Neither can I…
I follow them to the kitchen, watching Sam walk with confidence in his tailored navy slacks and brown leather dress shoes. His fitted white button-down is tucked neatly into his belted pants, but his sleeves are rolled up casually, showing the tattoos on his forearm. If he’s uneasy at all, you’d never know it.
“Drew, this is Lucy’s friend, Sam,” Janice says, before I have a chance introduce him.
Drew is standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel.
I hold my breath and brace myself for the showdown. Just seeing the two of them in the same space is unnerving. Drew is handsome in his black slacks and blue button-down, but he pales in comparison to Sam, who is about the same height, but much bigger. Where Drew is trim and lean, Sam is chiseled and strong.
Sebastian stands beside me and puts his hand on my back. “Breathe,” he whispers in my ear.
I inhale quietly and relax my shoulders.
Drew reaches out to shake Sam’s hand. “Hi, I’m Drew, Lucy’s fiancé,” he says confidently. “It’s great to meet you.”
Sam wraps his hand around Drew’s and they share a sturdy shake. “Sam Cole.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” Drew grins and glances up at me. “Lucy’s a big fan.”
Sam ignores Drew’s tone, but it unsettles me.
“Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re great. I just don’t have as much time to watch all the matches,” he says, tightening the knot in my stomach.
Sam shakes his head and shrugs. “You either love boxing or you don’t.”
“Or you know the boxer,” Drew says, glancing at me again. “I have to tell you, I was pretty shocked when Lucy told me she knew you.”
“I just figured you wouldn’t believe me,” I say, eager to change the inevitable subject. I know there’s no way around it, but I can at least try to steer the conversation in a more comfortable direction.
“I suppose you’re right. I mean, it’s not like you know that many people to begin with, Luc. Let alone a world champion boxer.” He grins and shakes his head.
“Well, she knows me,” Sam says flatly, changing the atmosphere in the room with the disparaging look on his face.
Drew gauges him and says, “So it seems.”
“Sam, you remember Sebastian,” I say, searching for the pressure valve.
Sam turns toward him and smiles, and his dimples light up Sebastian’s face.
I know the feeling.
“Good to see you again, Sebastian,” Sam says warmly, like they’re old friends.
Sebastian beams. “Good to see you too, Sam.” He puts his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “This my husband, Paul.”
Paul smiles and shakes Sam’s hand. “It’s great to meet you, Sam. I’m a huge fan. I watch all your matches. Seeing you fight Sanchez at the Garden was incredible.”
“Thanks,” Sam says humbly. “That was a memorable fight, for sure.” He gives me a knowing look that calls the blood to my cheeks.
“I hope everyone’s hungry. Dinner’s almost ready,” Drew says, inserting himself into the conversation again. “You like lamb, right?” he asks Sam.
“Actually, I love lamb,” he says, flashing his beautiful eyes at me again.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Drew asks him, pulling the refrigerator door open. “I’m guessing you’re a beer guy.”
“Actually, Sam brought us a bottle of Château Margaux,” I say, handing him the bottle.
He eyes the label, and the corners of his mouth turn down. “Well, that’s one hell of a gesture.”
“I thought a man of your tastes would appreciate it,” Sam says.
“You’ve been to one of my restaurants.”
“No.” Sam shakes his head. “Haven’t had the time.”
Drew eyes him carefully. “Should I pour you a glass then?”
Sam stares at Drew and Drew stares back, and they engage in some silent exchange that dates back to the Paleolithic era. The growing tension between them is only intensified by everyone’s watchful silence.
Where’s that freaking pressure valve?
“No, I’ll take a beer,” Sam finally says.
Sebastian coughs and my eyes flash to him. He’s trying, unconvincingly, to hide a smile.
Oh good, this is fun for him. I give him a sideways glance.
“Well, if you’re going to open the Château Margaux, I’d love a glass,” Bas says.