Just Three Words

by Melissa Brayden

  Her mom paused in defeat, not taking the bait. “It matters to me that you’re there. I want all three of my children present together when our friends and family come out to celebrate. You’re coming. You’ll find a reasonable flight. I’m your mama, and that’s what I say.”

  What could she do here? Feeling as though her hands were tied and wanting to do whatever she could for her mother, she blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

  “I love you, Hunter. Be good.”

  “I love you, too, Mama. I will.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sam arrived at the Balmy Days Senior Center ten minutes late. She’d hopped the L train to Queens, but due to maintenance on the track, they’d been delayed and forced to transfer at the last minute. When she’d arrived, she was met by the usual suspects, all concerned she wasn’t going to make it for their scheduled scrapbooking class.

  Samantha had begun volunteering at the retirement home three years prior, and since that time, had developed a steady following of residents who looked forward to their time together. While she tried to work up a variety of activities for them to participate in during her time with them, scrapbooking quickly emerged as their clear favorite. If there was one thing elderly people seemed to like to do, it was reminisce about the past, and organizing their old photos seemed to serve that purpose nicely.

  “Sorry I’m late, everybody,” Sam said, sliding her bag off her shoulder. “Subway trouble.”

  Mr. Turner nodded gruffly, but unfolded his arms. That was a start.

  Mrs. Linehart clapped. “Well, at least we can get started now.”

  “Thank God you’re all right,” Mrs. Swientek said, patting her shoulder. The others headed off to the recreation room, ready to get moving.

  An hour later, with remnants of a glue stick all over her fingers, she moved about the room helping each resident as best she could. She looked forward to the time she spent at the senior center and loved her little group, even if they did bicker with each other incessantly over who was dating whom, or what the cafeteria should really look into serving. But one thing was clear: They all seemed to adore Sam—even Mr. Turner, who’d rather eat paper than admit it. Regardless of his stern demeanor, he showed up voluntarily each week, and quietly assembled his own scrapbook of mementos from his life.

  “Samantha dear, do you have any glitter? I’d like to add some glitter to my single girl page. Make me a little bit of a rock star.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Guaducci. What color would you like?” Mrs. Guaducci had recently added a pink streak to her white updo, in response to Mrs. Potter asking Mr. Glenville to sit with her in the dining hall. It was all a very big deal and still a bit touchy.

  “Well, since I’m going for more of a hussy vibe with this page, to accentuate my swinging single years, what would you recommend?”

  Swallowing her smile, Samantha selected a deep purple and handed it off.

  “Samantha, dear, have I ever showed you a photo of my sweet Martha and me on our honeymoon?” Mr. Earnhardt asked.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Earnhardt.” She crossed the distance to his workstation and stared at the black-and-white photo of the young, happy couple standing next to a sand castle on the beach. Mr. Earnhardt had lost her five years ago to cancer. “Oh my. She’s beautiful.”

  Mr. Earnhardt beamed at her words and looked back at the photo. “She was the prettiest girl in all of time. I think I’m going to give this photo its own page. Spotlight it some.”

  Samantha smiled. “That sounds like the perfect idea to me. How about some beach die cuts? I have some in my supply bin.”

  “It would be nice if you had one of the sun shining brightly.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  The two-hour session seemed to fly by, but by the end of it, each of the residents had made much progress on their project. As Sam packed up all of the scrapbooking paraphernalia, her most dedicated gang of troublemakers hung close.

  “When are we going to get to meet your girlfriend, Sam? You told us you’d bring her with you one day soon.”

  Samantha hesitated, closing her eyes briefly at the still-painful Libby reminder. “I did say that. But unfortunately, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up.”

  “Tramp,” sweet Mrs. Swientek shot. Sam’s eyebrows rose in response to the otherwise grandmotherly woman. “You’re better off without her, then. Burn her stuff.”

  “Oh, wow. Thanks, but it’s not her fault. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

  “You’ll find someone better,” Mr. Earnhardt said.

  Sam sighed and fastened the lid on the box of supplies she stored in the closet. “Maybe someday.”

  “Well, if she can’t visit, maybe you could bring back those friends you work with sometime. They were very nice girls.”

  Samantha smiled. The residents craved visitors, and she did what she could to bring folks in to see them. Mallory, Brooklyn, and Hunter had been great about stopping in every now and then, sitting in on her classes and helping as best they could.

  “Now that is a definite possibility.”

  “I like the blond one. She’s the most fun,” Mrs. Guaducci said.

  Mr. Glenville raised a finger. “I think the dark-haired, exotic one should come back.”

  Mrs. Guaducci scoffed and muttered under her breath. “Babelicious.”

  “Excuse me?” Sam said, looking in question from Mrs. Guaducci to the others. “What does ‘babelicious’ mean?”

  “It’s what these men call your friend. Downright disturbing if you ask me,” she grumbled. “Bunch of old men chasing after a girl her age.”

  “We’re not chasing after her,” Mr. Earnhardt corrected. “That would be impolite. We just like it when she’s here. And we can see her.”

  Sam couldn’t hold back the smile. “You call Hunter babelicious?”

  Mr. Glenville shrugged sheepishly.

  Sam laughed. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

  *

  “Can I order you another?” Hunter asked April, gesturing to her dwindling glass of Merlot. Not feeling wine herself, she’d gone with a vodka tonic and could already feel the day slide off her. She was relaxed, at ease with April, and feeling like herself again. It had been a good idea, this little late-night get-together.

  They’d met at a tiny little French bistro in the Meatpacking District, not too far from the gym where April had just finished with work. They were the only table in the place, but then again it was after ten on a weeknight.

  “Oh, no thanks,” April said, holding up the glass. “One is my limit during the week. Trying to stay on the fitness train as best I can. I’m happy you called. I don’t know if I said that already, but it’s true.”

  Hunter smiled. April had a tendency to repeat things. It was kind of endearing. “Me too. I needed to get out tonight. This is perfect.”

  April tilted her head to the side and studied her. “So what’s your story?”

  “My story? Well, I work in advertising. Graphic art, more specifically. Recently moved from just down the street here to Soho. It’s an artist’s loft, so I can live and work in the same building due to zoning allowances. I have a dog, I’m into yoga, and work with my three best friends.”

  “And date a lot of girls along the way.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Just a hunch. You’re way smooth.”

  “Thank you for catching that.”

  It was light, their banter. They’d settled further into the place and traded stories about their days. April was funny and good looking and seemed to have a head on her shoulders. But she was nervous, that much Hunter picked up on. Luckily, she knew how to help. She dipped her head and met April’s eyes. “You’re very pretty, you know that?” It wasn’t a lie.

  April’s gaze fell to the table before it bounced back up. “Thank you, but you don’t have to say that.”

  “I don’t. And wouldn’t, in fact, except that you are.”

&nb
sp; April placed her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her hands. “This is our third encounter, you know.”

  Hunter hadn’t been counting. She sipped her drink casually. “Is it?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Class, the park, and now drinks.”

  “Three’s a good number.”

  April glanced at the bartender and offered him a head nod. Hunter saw where this was going. “I live just around the corner. Do you want to walk me to my door?”

  “I was just about to offer.” They were definitely on the same page.

  Twenty minutes later and Hunter was taking in the small but cozy one-bedroom apartment April had off Twenty-first. It seemed they’d been practically neighbors until Hunter moved to the loft. The compact living room was simple, a no-frills kind of place. Comfy beige sofa, red chenille blanket, some rather awesome art above the small dining table. “Is that one of Jon Allen’s?” she asked, admiring the wall-mounted metal sculpture.

  “It is. An original I was lucky enough to snag before he blew up. Right place, right time kind of thing.”

  “I don’t know anyone who knows Allen’s work. Your cool points just increased exponentially.”

  “I live for cool points,” April said in her ear from behind. “And now you do know someone familiar with Allen.”

  “That makes you awesome. You realize this.”

  “I’ll have to find a way to live up to awesome. Oh, hey, I have an idea.” Her arms slid around Hunter’s waist and she pressed her body to Hunter’s tightly. Hunter turned and traced the outline of April’s cheek with one finger. She’d always been one for a little buildup before going in for more. April not so much, apparently. She caught Hunter’s mouth and kissed her hungrily, no preamble needed. Well, to each her own. April’s hands were on Hunter’s waist and moving up her rib cage, clearly on a mission. Hunter smiled into the kiss at April’s tenacity. It had been a while since Hunter had had sex. Well, a while for her anyway. She was ready to put an end to that streak.

  She took control, moving them down the hall to where she imagined she’d find the bedroom, all the while checking in with herself, taking stock. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly on fire, but maybe she just needed time. April halted their progress and without breaking the kiss, backed Hunter up against the wall just outside of the bedroom with a thud. It should have been hot, except it wasn’t. It had been a little painful.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” April murmured against her skin, as she transitioned her attention from Hunter’s lips to her neck, placing hot kisses there as her hands wandered lower. Hunter exhaled slowly and gave her head a little shake in an effort to focus on the action, lose herself in the sensations that should be overtaking her body soon.

  Yep.

  Any second now.

  But nope.

  Not a go.

  Maybe if she closed her eyes, stopped trying so hard. April slipped her hands underneath the back of Hunter’s shirt and cascaded fingers across her skin at the small of her back. But the contact had little effect on her. In fact, she felt altogether removed from the encounter. She just couldn’t seem to get there. Never one to give up, she reached down and brought April’s lips back up to hers and reversed their positions in a move that should make the difference. She liked being in charge, so why not capitalize on that? As she kissed April, she used every technique in her arsenal, and it seemed to be working…on April, who let out a quiet murmur of appreciation. Hunter smiled at the encouragement, but with her eyes still closed, another image slipped into the mix. It was Sam sitting at her desk. Serious money glasses on, ponytail in place, smiling at her, those green eyes dancing.

  And that was it.

  Fuck. She blinked to clear her head, released April, and took a step back.

  April touched her lips at the loss and studied her curiously. “You okay? You look a little pale.” Hunter didn’t answer right off, unsure of what had just happened. Why she was so totally thrown. Her mind and body were refusing to engage when there was a gorgeous woman, who she liked very much, ready to rip her clothes off.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but my head is in a weird space tonight.”

  April looked sympathetic. “Yeah? Well, I think I can help. Maybe you just need to relax.” She stepped into Hunter’s space and kissed her jaw. “Take a break from the rest of the world.”

  Yes. God, that was exactly what she needed. April was right. And she wanted this to happen. She did. Her refocused lips were on April’s and they were back in business. But no sooner had she congratulated herself than she flashed on Sam laughing as she had earlier that night at dinner.

  Yeah, this wasn’t going to happen.

  She pulled her lips from April’s and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me, but I think I’m going to have to take a rain check on tonight.” The look of rejection on April’s face caused her stomach to drop. “It has nothing to do with you. You’re the coolest, sexiest girl I’ve met in a long time. I mean that. I’m just not feeling great.”

  April nodded and offered a halfhearted smile. “It’s okay. I understand.” And then changed modes, eager to help. “Can I get you an aspirin or some water? Do you want to sit down?”

  Hunter straightened the items of clothing that had been unstraightened in their make out session. “No. You’ve been more than great. I think I should just head home. I’ll be fine.” Hunter made a move for the door, eager for fresh air, anything to help her rebound emotionally, but turned back at the last minute. “April?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re great. I just want you to know that.”

  April blew out a breath and smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

  As Hunter waited for the train, the series of events played again in her mind, and the more she went over them, the angrier she became. It wasn’t cool how she’d walked out on April, and it wasn’t okay the way she’d let herself be so overtly affected by Samantha. And what the hell was that anyway? Since when had one woman been able to influence her time with another? By the time she arrived back at the loft, her coping skills were at an all-time low, and she felt like she was in a fucking tailspin.

  “Hey, you’re home,” Sam said from the living room chair. She was watching some sort of show from the 1960s, which was such typical Sam behavior. With a flick of the remote, Sam turned off the TV and centered her attention on Hunter. “How was your night?”

  Her smile was bright and friendly, which Hunter, given her evening, found selfishly annoying. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. Not with anyone and especially not Sam. “Fine.”

  “Oh. Well, good, I guess. Mine was fun. My gang at the senior center was so sweet tonight, Hunter. Mr. Earnhardt started working on a scrapbook page for his honeymoon. You should have seen how he lit up when he talked about his wife.”

  “Sounds awesome.” It was all Hunter could give because the obstacle to her evening was sitting on the couch looking rather beautiful and unaffected. And whether any of that was Samantha’s fault or not, Hunter was beyond frustrated. And done with it.

  Sam sat forward. “Want some ice cream? I bought coffee flavored at the deli on the way home. I remembered it’s one we both liked.”

  Oh, how wonderful. She’d been extra thoughtful, too. Hunter’s anger only escalated. This girl was too much. “Nope. I’m not hungry.”

  “Another night, then.” Hunter made a beeline for her bedroom, but Samantha was still talking. “You know what else was funny tonight? You have to hear this. Apparently some of the guys at the center came up with a nickname for—”

  “Can you stop?” Hunter whirled around, making no attempt to mask her anger. “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to hear about your good-hearted volunteer job right now. I just can’t.”

  Sam shifted. “Whoa. What’s with the attitude?”

  “I don’t have an attitude,” she said louder than was probably warranted. “I just can’t listen to you do the adorable thing tonight, okay? The adorable thing ca
uses problems, and while we’re at it, no more of the sexy thing either. That means sexy glasses are off the table.” Hunter slammed her door before opening it one last time. “And I’ll unload the dishwasher from now on, got it? Because it’s not fair!”

  Samantha stared at her wide eyed and held up her palms. “Be my guest, crazytown. Just remember when you’re unloading that the big knives go—”

  “I know where the damn big knives go. God. I’m tired of the big knives.” And with that, she slammed the door again, leaving Samantha wondering what the hell had just happened. Moments later, the door flew open again and Hunter stalked to the bathroom. “And if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a shower. At night. Which is totally off schedule. Outrageous, right? I hope you’ll find a way to live.”

  Bang went the bathroom door. Sam jumped as it echoed through the loft.

  Okay, so Hunter angry was a new experience for Samantha. In fact, she’d never known a more laid-back, easygoing person in her life. But something had Hunter’s ire up in a big way, and she hadn’t a clue what it was. What she was aware of, however, was how unexpectedly hot it was. Angry Hunter was a whole new kind of intriguing that she felt the effects of, well…all over. She heard the water flash on and, once again, pushed herself not to imagine Hunter in the shower, standing under its stream, the water rolling down her skin. Hot, wet, and soapy. God, there was a time not so long ago when showers were merely a method to get clean. Could she go back to that, please? Trade in the lust-induced visions, which were now even more blatant following the amazing kitchen kissing. It was as if the night before had unleashed a whole new kind of longing. Damn rebound mode. She couldn’t wait for it to pass.

  Raising her hands in the air and dropping them helplessly, she decided to escape the situation to her room and busy herself with getting ready for bed. But her skin was extra sensitive as she slipped into a T-shirt, the weight of it noticeable as she slid beneath the cool covers. It wasn’t long before she heard the shower switch off. She knew from experience that in a few moments, Hunter would travel from the bathroom to her bedroom wrapped in a towel. She also knew that if she timed her totally necessary trip to the kitchen for a glass of water just right, she’d steal a glimpse. She threw the covers off and walked confidently to the kitchen. Because water had restorative powers and she should be drinking more of it.