by Cari Quinn
Like magic, the steel beam inside his jeans shot up to regulation height. At least this time he didn’t beg her to follow him home. But he did have a trusty back room…
“What do you mean that’s not your name?”
“My name’s Samson.” He shrugged and flipped over the rag. “Mom went Biblical.”
“So she’s where you got the Bible.”
“It’s sure as hell not mine.” He swung a glance upward and said a quick mental apology while she stifled a laugh.
“Well, excuse me then, Samson. Online you were listed as Samuel Miller.”
“Yeah. Helps avoid the telemarketers.”
It wasn’t true. The phone book people had just made a simple clerical error, one he hadn’t bothered getting fixed. But she smiled and he sent up another prayer of thanks. He was managing to talk to her without getting all red-faced and flustered.
“Does it also help you avoid women wanting to get their car fixed?”
“I gave you my card.”
“You did. Without your home number.”
“So you looked me up,” he said, hoping his pleasure at that fact didn’t show in his voice.
He’d fallen out of practice at anything even resembling flirting. Not that he’d call this flirting per se. More of a flirtatious conversation. Hard for it to be anything but when Rory looked so damn teeth-achingly gorgeous and had such a sparkle in her eyes.
He felt like a guy who’d been on a diet for years when finally confronted by the all-you-can-eat buffet. There wasn’t one particular food—or part of her—he wanted to sample first. He’d prefer to swallow her whole.
Not that he intended to do anything about that. Yesterday’s colossal screwup had proven he wasn’t ready to hop back on the saddle or in the sack just yet. But he couldn’t help angling just a little closer to smell the sweet, toasted marshmallow scent of her hair.
“Yes. I considered calling you at home. Then I decided you hadn’t given me your number so you must not want me to call you there.”
“Didn’t stop me,” he said, moving around to buff the other side of the car.
She whisked her fingertips over the hood and let out a sigh. “Nice ride,” she said, conveniently letting the subject of the phone call drop.
In all likelihood, she felt sorry for him after reading the letters. Pity usually wasn’t the stuff eager phone calls were made of. Or else she’d gotten bored while reading them. Other people’s trauma couldn’t be that interesting.
He should let it go. She didn’t have to respond to them. He’d done what he felt he needed to for reasons he didn’t understand so now he had to relax and stop wondering what she thought.
“Did you read them?” he blurted, scrubbing a hand over his head.
Rory’s gaze snapped up from her perusal of the car. “Just one.”
That was it? She wasn’t going to say anything else? What had happened to women chattering a guy’s ear off? Maybe things had changed since he’d been an active member of the dating scene.
Well, too bad. She wouldn’t dissuade him with silence.
“And?”
She reached up to toy with one of her hair clips. “I didn’t realize you’d lost a baby.”
Shit, that first letter had gotten down to the nuts and bolts. He hadn’t really remembered all the details. “Two babies actually.” His voice didn’t waver. “Both right around five months.”
Her sharp intake of breath seemed to echo in the small parking lot in front of his shop. “God, Sam, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Five months is so late in the pregnancy. Your wife must’ve been devastated.”
An extreme understatement but what words were adequate? “Yes. I was too.”
Her face paled. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“I know, Rory.”
When she stared at the ground, he fought back a groan. Why hadn’t he just agreed?
“I never say the right thing. Never. I’m the girl who, at ten, asked her friend’s dad if he was going to get his dog stuffed when it got run over by a car. He was a hunter and had all these heads on the wall…” She trailed off when he laughed. “It was horrible. My friend started crying.”
“Did she stop being friends with you immediately?”
“No. We’re still friends to this day.” Her lips trembled into a smile. “I’ve said worse things than that. When my aunt told me she was getting a divorce, I asked if it was because she was such a bitch.”
“Were you ten then too?”
“No. Twenty-six.”
He laughed again and went back to polishing the car. Being with her felt too easy. Like sliding into a favorite pair of shoes or drinking out of his favorite mug.
The feel of her mouth wrapped around his cock flashed into his mind. Yeah, not always so easy.
“You might be surprised to find out I’m the same as you. Open mouth, insert size-thirteen shoe.”
“Thirteen?” Her eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Wanna check the tag?”
Her gaze zoomed downward then back up to his face with a flicker of her eyelashes. “So what they say is true. Always thought it was an old wives’ tale. Or maybe a new boyfriend’s.”
It actually took him a minute to get what she meant. Then he blushed. Obviously seduction and banter were skills that needed frequent practice to keep sharp.
“So, ah, you came by for me to fix your car?”
Her slow smile simultaneously left him feeling as if she understood and at the same time wishing that she didn’t, that she’d pushed for more. “Just the scratches. I don’t even care if they get fixed, like I told you. Mostly I just wanted an excuse to come see you.”
“Oh.” Oh. “So you weren’t repulsed by the letter you read?”
“Repulsed? It was beautiful. Moving. Embarrassing.”
“Huh?” How was his letter to his dead wife embarrassing to her?
“It’s so intimate. I felt like a peeping Thomasina, nose pressed against the window.”
“She never saw those letters.”
“I know. That makes it even worse. It’s weird being privy to something she wasn’t. A really uncomfortable threesome.” At his flinch, she pressed both hands over her mouth so fast that her purse strap drooped toward the crook of her elbow. “Oh my God. I need to superglue my lips shut.”
“It’s okay. Believe me, I’m way worse than you.”
“Not possible. I’m like a bag of potato chips. I never stop at just one awkward comment. They just keep coming and coming.”
“Constant coming doesn’t sound so bad to me,” he said with a hint of a smile, resting his palm against the frame of the vehicle. If the car wasn’t so gorgeous he would’ve gone into full-on flirt mode and leaned back casually but he couldn’t do that with his buddy Josh’s prime Trans Am. Even slouching near it showed disrespect.
“I think I’m taking a little hiatus from that.” She shored her purse up on her shoulder and gave him what he figured was her serious face. “Sometimes sex gets in the way of stuff.”
Since he hadn’t figured out how to do “it” post-Dani yet, her declaration didn’t faze him too badly. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Relationships. Meaningful interactions with men that don’t include ripping down their pants and sucking them off without any meager attempts at conversation first.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “That kind of thing.”
Sam twisted the rag between his hands. “Some guys probably like being sucked off without talking first.”
She snorted. “Yeah, probably. But I’m trying something new. So, ah, you wanna go to that car show in November?”
He knew the surprise had to telegraph across his face. “You’re asking me out?”
“Not necessarily. As friends. Friendly people who like cars.” Now she was twisting her fingers together. A lot of twisting going on with them today. Nice to know he wasn’t the only nervous one. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I was just thinking—”
“I like when you think.” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Smooth, Miller. See? We’ll get along just fine.”
Her laughter bubbled up and washed over him, as airy as the breeze that skittered the newly fallen autumn leaves across the parking lot. “So?”
“It’s the fourth and fifth, right?” A little more than five weeks from now. A long-ass time. Not so long considering he’d never even laid eyes on her before yesterday and had erroneously believed for almost two years that she was a man. But still. After what had happened between them, he didn’t know if he was ready to let her disappear from his view so fast.
Especially not with his letters.
“Yes. In Shalesville. Have you ever been?”
Only every year. “Yeah, a few times. You?”
“I’ve been to a few shows over the years but not that particular one.”
“Developing an interest in classic cars?”
“I always had one but I never spent much time pursuing it. Now I am. Besides,” she jerked her chin at her raggedy sedan, “that baby’ll be snapped up in a hot minute if I bring her around. I’ll probably leave the fairgrounds with an offer in my pocket.”
“Probably.” He ducked his head and grinned. “I’ll go to the car show with you on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He didn’t fully know what his condition would be until the words were out of his mouth. All he knew was he liked the way he felt when he was around her. Something about her smile, about the way she looked directly into his eyes, made him feel less like a grief-stricken shell and more like a man. Someone not fundamentally broken.
Someone who could start living again. Who even wanted to.
“Go to Loki’s with me next Saturday.”
“Deal.” Her rapid agreement made his grin deepen. “Busy this Saturday?”
“Yeah.” He’d promised his mom he’d help her clean out her spare room. He needed the time with his family. His little brothers, two still at home, were always good for his mood. “Family thing.”
“Ah.”
“But next week, I’m all yours.”
“Sounds like a plan. Just be prepared.”
“For what?”
“Loki’s gets a little loud.”
Yeah, she’d need help seeing him as other than the widowed spouse. Giving her his letters to Dani probably hadn’t been the smartest move but he’d felt compelled. Much as he felt compelled to keep her in his sights just a little longer. “I’ve been to sports bars before.”
“My friends are kinda insane.”
“I’ll bring my body armor and earplugs.”
“Okay.” She smiled and turned to go, her long gold sphere earrings swinging.
“Wait.”
She looked back and raised a brow. “Yeah?”
He fumbled a business card and stubby pencil out of the breast pocket of his Miller’s Classics work shirt. After scrawling his number on the back, he handed her the card, barely resisting a shudder when the tips of their fingers touched.
Had she felt that? Pure electrical energy, shooting from her body to his. Judging from her rapid blinking, she had.
Shit, he was surprised the concrete hadn’t cracked at his feet.
“You’re going to call me, right?” he asked, his voice lower and hoarser than he’d expected. One brush of fingertips and his cock threatened to bust right through his pants.
“Yes. I will.” She swallowed hard and tucked the card in her purse. “Bye, Sam.”
“Bye.”
She climbed into her car and gave him a wave before pulling away from the curb. He watched her small sedan disappear around the corner, a smile playing around his lips.
Somehow he knew Rory Fowler would either rock his world or chip off more pieces of it. There could be no middle ground. Not with her or with them.
* * * * *
The day dragged for Rory, to the point that the lunch meet she’d had with Sam was the highlight. Work wasn’t any more boring than usual but she had stuff waiting for her at home.
Namely Sam’s letters.
By eight p.m., her dinner of takeout vegetable beef stew and garlic bread sticks had been consumed and she’d already dug into her bottle of wine. Halfway through the second glass, she felt ready to tackle her reading assignment.
He hadn’t insisted she read them and if she’d picked up his vibes correctly today, wasn’t even sure he wanted her to. But she had to know. Beyond being simply curious, she cared. She probably wouldn’t become lifelong buddies with Sam—or anything else—but right now he was her friend. Maybe she could become a sounding board for him, something she thought he probably desperately needed.
And yes, she was fascinated. She’d believed for so long that he and Dani lived a fantasy, turning a blind eye to anything that indicated otherwise. Even when the message had been contained in his words, she hadn’t wanted to see them as anything but the perfect couple. It had given her hope. If there were people out there who could fall so deeply in love, she could too. She could live that dream someday herself.
Now she’d discovered the dream hadn’t existed, at least not her conception of it. She still hadn’t lost the hope. Or her insatiable curiosity when it came to Samson Miller.
She opened the second letter from the bottom of the stack and began to read.
Dear Dani,
Here I am again. Another sleepless night, another night where I reach for you and find the other side of the bed cold. I bought a full bed for the house I’m staying in but I don’t sleep in the middle. I still stay to the left side and always hope that sometime during the night you’ll appear where you’re supposed to be.
I never expected to turn into “that” guy. Me, broken-hearted? Never. Only wusses broke down. Guys work through stuff. They get their hands dirty and fucking pound the shit out of their problems. That’s why I bought the punching bag. Catharsis through beating. Hell, it works for some people. But it hasn’t worked for me. I whaled on that damn bag today until my knuckles were bleeding, until my hand’s so sore that even holding this pen right now hurts like a motherfucker. Nothing changed. You didn’t call me and ask me to come home. I didn’t stop looking in the mirror and seeing a fraud.
Rory reached for her glass of wine and used the cool, fruity liquid to dissolve the lump in her throat. Reading Sam’s words rubbed her raw. She hurt for him, yes, but she also hurt for herself. The parallels between them were eerie.
How many times had she written herself off as a fake? She enjoyed her life and she had fun, no doubt about it. That didn’t mean she didn’t cry herself to sleep sometimes. She wanted to have someone to love, someone who loved her back.
She’d once had someone who cared. But she hadn’t been ready and she’d squandered that love, not realizing that maybe it was a finite thing and she’d already used up her quotient for a lifetime. Second chances were all well and good. Too bad not everyone got a crack at them.
She hadn’t. The ex who’d broken up with her in college after she’d admitted she liked the captain of the football team had refused to speak to her again. Kyle hadn’t understood that she’d been too bowled over by the popular jock’s attention to realize she was being used. The night she’d spent with the campus stud had been the first time she’d felt truly sexy. Completely capable of making a man beg.
After Mr. Big Man On Campus had swaggered back to his friends, she’d been the one begging. It hadn’t helped one iota. Kyle hadn’t wanted her anymore. What had started out as a way to have fun and boost her nonexistent self-confidence had turned into a mistake that had dogged her for years.
She’d finally moved on. Even if her friends said she was too picky, that there were nice guys all over and she needed to stop setting unattainable goals. But she wanted that zap of heat, that jolt of awareness. Of recognition.
What she’d found, no matter how much it scared her, with Sam.
The more she read, the more certain she became that he would get it. Her
. He wouldn’t vilify her for the things she’d done wrong. Of all people, he understood how important it was to forgive and go forward.
She’d forgiven herself for her youthful transgression years ago. Sam hadn’t forgiven himself yet. Guilt dripped from every cobweb strung up in the corners of his apartment. Her gut told her that he believed if he let go of those feelings he’d be releasing his wife, something he wasn’t ready to do. Whether that was because he loved her too much to move on or because he didn’t know his next step was anyone’s guess.
She took the last sip of wine and set the glass aside. Tonight she wouldn’t be getting toasted while she read. His pain demanded more respect.
My buddies think I’m doing better than I am. They still invite me over to watch the game and I just know that one of them will suggest we hit up a bar one of these nights. They’d never tell me to sleep with another woman to get over you but that’s how it’s done. Let go of one woman, grab the next…but that’s a game I won’t play. Though I know you’re doing enough hurting for us both, suffering the way I am makes me feel like I’m doing my part. Sharing the burden I made you carry.
Maybe one day I’ll get used to sleeping alone again. I think what scares me most is that you’ll get used to it first.
Rory let out a long breath and tucked the letter back in its envelope before she moved on to the next. This one had been written a couple weeks later. The tone hadn’t changed. Despair and more despair. The next three letters were more of the same. He seemed to become more comfortable with his feelings, almost resigned to them.
Then she noticed the four envelopes in the center of the stack encircled with three yellow rubber bands. These must be different.
Dear Brandy,
Since I write love letters to your mom, who doesn’t want to see me anymore and seems pretty resistant to changing her mind, it only makes sense I’d write to you and your sister too. I think about you girls all the time. You’d be a toddler now, running around causing mischief, and I’d be the dad who followed you around and asked you to tidy up your toy box but who never yelled because you didn’t. I think I’d be so awed by you, by knowing that some weird alchemy of your mom’s traits and mine had made you into the perfect little creature you’d have to be, that I wouldn’t be able to yell ever. Or spank. Back when I was growing up my dad always told me I’d discover what it was like to have a crazy son of my own one day. Well, that hasn’t happened yet. I’ve only ever been a dad to daughters, two beautiful, precious little girls that I never got to hear cry or laugh or watch take their first clumsy steps. I never got to hear them call me daddy.
