by Diana Currie
I continue to giggle walking into the dining room and taking a seat in front of my oatmeal. He follows me, walking and inspecting the hole at the same time.
"Damn, I love this shirt," he exclaims with a frown on his face.
"Don't worry. I can sew it for you," I offer as he sits down beside me.
"Really? Thanks. I've had this shirt since high school. It's priceless. My father took me and Alexander to the Bears/Saints game when I was 18. They won the division at that game."
I pour some orange juice into each of our glasses. "Oh, I see now. You didn't trust me to wash the priceless Bears shirt," I tease, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
"No, I trust you, I swear. I really didn't want you to come over this morning to find three garbage bags full of clothes that need washing. Honestly."
"That's sweet of you, Adam."
He blushes a little with his eyes focused on the plates in front of us. There is warm oatmeal, brown sugar, a bowl of mixed berries, and a plate of breakfast sausage. I swear I can hear his stomach growl as he reaches for the sausage. He puts one link on my plate before taking two for himself.
"So what are you doing today?" he asks conversationally.
I sigh. "Oh, big day ahead of me. The usual chores, lunch, and I have to prep one of the rooms for a check-in on Monday. Tommy's coming to pick up the kids in a little while and I have plans to have dinner with Rebecca."
”Another girls' night out?" he asks in between bites.
"Kind of. Really I just hate eating alone when Tommy has the kids. All day long I pray for a few minutes of peace and quiet, but then when they're gone to their father's place..." I look up to see Adams green eyes on my face. "It just reminds me of what I did to our family," I finish quietly.
Adam must sense the sadness in my voice because he quickly turns the topic of conversation to something neutral and safe. I'm thankful he doesn't try to convince me what I did to Tommy and the kids wasn't selfish like Brett and Rachel try to do. There's no use lying to myself, I know what I did hurt the people I love most.
We talk easily through breakfast and I notice neither of us mention the notes we left each other the day before. When everyone is done eating Adam helps carry the empty plates into the kitchen. Tyler and Gabby continue watching television waiting for Tommy to arrive.
While I wash the dishes Adam wanders into the living room to see the kids. I hear him asking Gabby how her hand is feeling. "All better. See?" she says.
"Yes, you're right. I bet it doesn't hurt anymore, does it?" Adam replies.
"Nope."
A grin spreads across my face as I listen to Adam talking to my kids. They are so enamored with him and if he is bored by their conversation you'd never know. When the kitchen is clean I go join the three of them on the couch. Gabby scrambles into my lap and we watch the end of Sophia the First. Tyler is not so much a fan of the princess show so he takes Adam's attention away from the TV to play with his action figures.
Ten o'clock on the dot Tommy walks through the front door. The kids run to him immediately and Tyler gets there first. Tommy picks him up easily and gives him a "monster" hug as they call it. When Gabby catches up she tugs on Tommy's pant leg until he looks down to acknowledge her. Shifting Tyler to one hip he reaches down and scoops Gabby up into his other arm. Adam very subtly shifts further away from me on the couch to the far end where before we were only separated by one cushion.
"How are you guys?" Tommy asks the kids. He kisses each of their cheeks as he walks into the living room and smiles at me. "Hey, Mandy."
"Hey," I reply casually.
Gabby holds up her hand; no longer bandaged and looking close to normal again. Tommy pretends to be shocked by the injury even though I called him yesterday to let him know what happened. "That's gruesome, baby! Does it hurt a lot?" he asks her.
"I was brave, Daddy. Dr. Adam fixed me," she says happily.
Tommy suddenly notices Adam's presence and gives him the typical cool guy head nod. "Thanks, man."
Adam smiles and twists his fingers together in his lap nervously. "You’re welcome. Just doing my job. Gabby was a great patient." My daughter beams proudly at her father and then kicks her legs furiously trying to get down from his arms. Tommy lets both kids down and they run to get their toys packed into their book bags.
The house phone rings and I excuse myself to answer it. The caller is someone interested in possibly staying with us and has a number of questions about Thatcher's and the town in general. I can see into the living room from the reservation desk and while I answer this caller's questions Adam and Tommy engage in small talk. I can't hear their conversation but it makes me nervous, like my two worlds are colliding. I turn away, attempting to concentrate on doing my job. It seems like tourist season has officially begun.
"Yes, we have a vacancy that week, Sir. Yes, that's correct. We do have some tackle and poles available for guests. Absolutely. Mmm hmmm. Okay, wonderful, just call back when you're ready to make your reservation. Thank you, and have a nice day. Good bye."
Adam is absent when I reenter the living room and I try not to make it obvious that I've noticed. Tommy is helping the kids with their bags and I walk over to hug them both goodbye. I hate this part. I don't know which is worse, the days Gabby cries when she leaves me, or the days when she willingly accepts that it's become her routine to leave one parent and go with the other. Today there are no tears. Tommy is taking them over to his parents' house and has promised they can swim in the pool, so I think that helps.
After they leave I wander around the downstairs picking up odds and ends, take out the trash, and do a little dusting. I was hoping Adam would magically reappear when Tommy left but so far he's stayed put in his room. We never talked about what his plans for today were; his note said he had none. As I sweep the kitchen and hall floors I ponder inviting him out with Rebecca and me tonight. It might be a little awkward for me but I don't want to be rude and I feel the need to prove to both Adam and myself that we can be friends outside the B&B.
An hour or so after Tommy left the house Adam finally comes back downstairs. I look over my shoulder while wiping down the dining room table as the steps creak behind me. He's changed his shirt, now wearing a light blue short sleeved button down. His Bears t-shirt is in his right hand.
"Look who's back," I joke.
He smiles sheepishly and pulls a chair out from the table. "Sorry, I thought I should give you some family time."
"Is that your beloved shirt?" I ask changing the subject.
"You promised to fix it, which is only fair, I think, since I fixed Gabby the other day."
His teasing tone makes me chuckle and I roll my eyes. "Turn it inside out. I'll go get my sewing kit."
Without over thinking it I pat his shoulder as I pass him and hurry down the steps to the basement. It feels good to touch him, even in an innocent place like the shoulder. Maybe the six months of being separated has left me longing for a little more human companionship than I'd realized up to now. I try to stop thinking about all the other ways I could get away with touching him casually and seek out the sewing kit on a shelf above the washer. Hand, forearm, maybe his back if I need to squeeze past him in the hall... Stop it, Amanda.
I can see now what Adam was talking about with the laundry. There are loads and loads lying in heaps all around the machines. Men. They are so helpless. I quickly fold one pile that is obviously clean and then transfer another load from the washer to the dryer and set the timer. Coming up the stairs I hear music and realize Adam's turned on the radio in the living room. He looks so cute sitting at the dining room table smiling proudly at his work. There are two glasses of water on the table and his damaged t-shirt.
"I’m picturing you as a Top Forty kind of girl," he says.
"I like this music, but I grew up listening to Motown, the oldies but goodies."
"You surprise me once again, Miss Sommerer," he replies happily.
I sit down in the chair nearest
him and reach for his shirt. Inspecting the soft cotton makes my head swim. It smells like him with a touch of clean laundry still lingering in the fabric too. It's divine and it takes a lot of self control not to huff it like a drug. Everything about Adam Brickman is addictive to me though. His face, his voice, his laugh. I'm drawn to him because of other little minute details too. Like the way he prefers to read in his spare time rather than watch television. The way he speaks to my children like they are small people instead of nuisances. I'm drawn in by his manners and respect for everyone he meets. I've never encountered anyone like him.
"This is very fixable," I say decisively. "Scissors," I add holding out my hands as if I'd asked for a scalpel.
Adam reaches into my open sewing kit and hands me the scissors. I measure out a length of navy blue thread and cut it off the spool. "Needle," I say in the same manner I asked for the scissors.
"Here you go, Dr. Sommerer," he says playing along. "You've never lost a patient, have you?"
I chuckle under my breath. "No, my success rate is quite high. I've had a few dresses come out looking worse than they started but they certainly didn't perish. Have some faith."
Adam watches intently while I thread the needle and tie a knot at the end of the string. "Didn't you cover stitches in med school? If you can mend living flesh I'd think you could mend cotton."
"Yes, I did, but I assure you humans and Division Championship tees are different," he replies.
"Well, the nice thing about cotton is if you screw up then the stitches can just come right out and you start over. No bleeding or anything messy like with people," I explain as I begin to pass the thread through his precious shirt closing the hole stitch by stitch.
"So, the oldies, huh?" he asks getting up to change the radio station.
"Yep. The Four Tops, the Beatles, Temptations. Those were my father's favorites. I was partial to Dion and the Belmonts."
"What did they sing?" he asks while fiddling with the tuning dial. Mr. Thatcher put an old radio in the living room to go along with the house's old fashioned theme.
"Lots of songs you'd probably recognize. Teenager in Love was my favorite," I respond thinking back to my high school days.
Adam finds the only station in central Georgia that plays 50's and 60's rock and then returns to the table. You Can't Hurry Love by the Supreme's is playing and I begin to hum along while I sew.
At the chorus I can't help singing along quietly with the song. "I remember mama said. You can't hurry love; no you'll just have to wait. She said love don't come easy. It's a game of give and take."
"You sing terribly out of tune," he teases, poking me in the side gently.
"Drown me out then, Andrea Bocelli. I know you know the words," I quip. He laughs but then complies with my request.
"How long must I wait. How much more must I take. Before loneliness will cause my heart, heart to break?" he croons. His voice sounds divine but I can't give him the satisfaction of hearing me say so.
"I think your pitch is off. Definitely needs a little work."
He smirks at me and we both listen while Diana Ross takes over again, "No, I can’t bear... to live my life alone. I grow impatient for a love to call my own. But when I feel that I, I can't go on, well these precious words keep me hanging on, I remember mama said, you can't hurry love."
I look at him as the meaning of those words sink in. Crap. My cheeks are blushing. Adam looks away and clears his throat. I prick my finger on the needle.
"Ouch!"
Adam shakes his head, chuckling nervously. We look at each other again, me sucking my sore pricked thumb and him biting his lower lip. Then he starts humming, and just like that the awkward moment passes. We finish out the song together; out of tune and without pitch, but happy.
“There you go," I say a few minutes later when the last bit of the hole is closed up and I cut away the excess thread. I turn the shirt right side out so Adam can see the finished product.
"Wow, good job, Amanda. Thank you so much," he says appreciatively.
"You're very welcome, Adam."
He's about to say something else when my cell phone rings. "Hold that thought," I say jumping up to retrieve my phone from the kitchen counter. "Hi, Rebecca." My eyes meet Adam's and he smiles happily.
Rebecca proceeds to tell me that she admitted her strong, more than friends, feelings to Eric. I'm so thrilled for her, listening intently as she tells me how it happened. She explains how they were having lunch together and she just blurted it out, right there over two tuna melts and ice teas.
"So he responded positively I take it?" I ask when she finally stops to take a breath. Rebecca sounds so excited that I'm already one hundred percent sure of her answer to that question.
"Mmm, that's the real reason for my call actually. Do you mind if I bail tonight? Eric wants to take me to dinner at Stefano's so we can talk about us."
I groan in a way she'll know I'm not upset. "You owe me, missy. Have a great time, and don't get nervous. I told you everything was going to be okay."
"Thank you, Mandy. I'll call you tomorrow and give you all the juicy details!" she says.
I laugh. "Okay, you better. Bye!"
Ending the phone call I look back to Adam and shrug. "That was Rebecca. She's blowing me off for a date tonight."
Adam sits up straight and if I didn't know better I'd say he was pleased to hear this news. "Eric?" he asks.
As far as I know Adam doesn't know much about the Rebecca, Eric drama that has been playing out for the past six years. "Yes. It's been a very long time coming. She sounds happy."
"So what are you going to do tonight then?" he wonders.
"Well, I suppose I should get a head start on my chores around here. We have a new woman checking in on Monday. Her name's Heidi; I need to prepare a room for her."
"I meant what you’re doing for dinner," Adam clarifies.
"Don't worry; I'll still cook for you. Even before Rebecca cancelled our plans I still anticipated making you dinner," I say rolling my eyes at him. Men and their stomachs.
Adam smirks and shakes his head at me deliberately. "No, I'm wondering if you'd let me take you out to eat since your friend is unavailable."
My hands nervously turn the cell phone over and over as I contemplate Adam's offer. Dinner. With Adam. I'm hesitating, not knowing in what context he's asking me out.
"No pressure. You're just substituting one friend for another. I'll keep my hands to myself," he promises holding them up innocently.
I deliberate a minute longer and then finally nod, unable to resist those green eyes and that sweet smile. "Alright, fine. We'll go to Sarah's?"
"Sounds like a plan," he replies happily.
"It's lunchtime," I notice as the coo coo clock chimes behind us.
"I actually have a few errands to run around town. I'll pick you up from your house tonight. What time?"
I frown. I'm not sure I want Adam coming to my home. I like keeping my infatuation with him contained within the walls of Thatcher's. Letting him inside my own home is going to make it harder to separate the part of me that just wants to be a devoted mom from the part of me that wants Adam naked in my bed. Hmm, what a pleasant thought that is...
"Amanda? What's your address?"
"What? Oh, 821 Pine St. How about seven," I mutter. Why does my brain take a vacation whenever I start fantasizing about Adam like that? He has the ability to dazzle me so easily. He could make a fortune moonlighting as a hypnotist.
"See you at seven," he says and ruffles my hair as he heads upstairs, probably fleeing from sight before the spell he just put on me wears off.
Chores. Yes, I have chores to do. I try to forget about the impending non-date while I gobble down a granola bar from the kitchen. Adam leaves a little while later for the errands he'd mentioned and I busy myself getting Heidi's room ready for a Monday arrival. I check on the mountain of laundry in the basement and bring up the clean clothes to Adam's room. He still hasn't returned by
the time I decide to leave.
At home I shower and change my clothes, trying to select something to wear that is nice but not dressy. Summer dresses are out; too date-like, but I want something more appealing than blue jeans. It's late June and the warmth of the day usually lingers into the evenings. A skirt and tank top seem like my best option. I have exactly two skirts, and I opt for the pleated red one that falls just above the knee. I haven't worn this in years. I match it with a cream color tank top that has a v neck and makes my boobs look good. Red heels would look great with the outfit but I'm a mom not a runway model, so flip flops it is.
The doorbell rings while I'm brushing out my hair. Friends my hiney... this feels distinctly like a D-A-T-E. I grab my purse and house key on the way to the front door and open it just enough to squeeze through to the outside. I don't want Adam in my messy house. Not tonight. He looks good, not that I'm surprised by that fact. Dressed in a black knit short sleeved shirt and khakis I wonder again what he sees in me. He could go to Sarah's alone and leave with absolutely any woman in there.
"Amanda, you look... great," he greets me on the porch.
"I thought you were my Rebecca replacement for this evening? Becca wouldn't comment on my clothes. Okay, she might but she wouldn't be staring at my chest as she does it," I chastise him, pushing my hand playfully against his chest. No, no, bad Amanda. Chest is not a "friend zone."
Adam looks embarrassed for having been caught checking out my cleavage. "I'm sorry. You're right. Best behavior from now on."
He gives me the Scouts Honor hand signal and I can't help laughing. "Come on, Eagle Scout," I tease as I walk past him down the driveway to his car.
At the bar we pick a booth along the wall furthest from the speakers so we might actually be able to have a conversation without shouting. Adam orders Cokes for us from the waiter and an order of fried raviolis. Before there is a chance for the situation to become awkward Adam starts talking like we've been friends for years instead of weeks.
