by Ann Roth
This friendship thing was a good idea.
“I told you that my parents are retired and living in Florida,” she said as she quickly affixed a handful of straw “thatch” to the glue. “What about yours? Do they still live on the edge of town?”
Sam jerked his attention from his work. “Not since the divorce. Mom bought a condo in California, where she has family. Pop lives in a cabin at the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, about seventy-five miles from here.”
Amy’s eyes widened at the surprising news. “I hadn’t heard about their divorce. I’m sorry.”
“When it happened seven years ago, I was, too,” he said, with a regretful expression. “You know how it was. Mom ran the house, but Pop ran her. Turns out, he was too demanding. She couldn’t take it anymore.” He paused, his paintbrush swish-swishing over the particleboard.
“I never realized any of that,” Amy said. “I thought they were happy.”
But suddenly things fell into place. Sam had admired his father and had idealized his parents’ marriage. He’d always talked about it. It made sense that he’d model his behavior as a husband on his father’s actions—behavior that had rankled Amy no end.
The insight stunned her. How had she missed something so huge? She thought about commenting on her sudden revelation, but refrained. She and Sam were getting along so well, and she didn’t want to jinx that.
“It’s funny,” Sam said without a trace of humor.
She checked to make sure the glue had set, then pivoted in her chair to face him. “What?”
“I always thought they had the perfect arrangement.” He set aside one brush and picked up another, dipping it into a can of black paint.
When she remained silent, his attention returned to his painting. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” he said. “That I wanted our marriage to work the same as my folks.” He paused and met her eye. “That was a mistake.”
The frank admission—that he was wrong—stunned her. Another new facet to the man. “Wow.” She arched and lowered her eyebrows. “Who are you, and what have you done with Sam?”
Her question garnered a shrug and a self-deprecating smirk. “You’re not the same, either. What happened to that career-driven woman?”
“Oh, I still love dance. I always will. But my priorities have shifted. I want a family now, a husband, kids and the white picket fence.”
“So you said a while back.” His mouth set as he painted black spots on a red mushroom cap. “I think you could do both very well,” he said. His gaze raised to hers. “If you can find the right man.”
His eyes issued a challenge that maybe she couldn’t, but Amy chose to ignore that and focus on the positive. “Oh, I’ll find him,” she stated.
His expression neutral, Sam nodded thoughtfully. Amy noted the slight tensing of his jaw and the sudden compression of his mouth. That puzzled her. Was he upset that she wanted to settle down? No, she decided. Why should he be? She was letting their rocky past interfere with their new relationship. She continued. “I appreciate your vote of confidence that I can successfully combine a family and my career.”
Sam shrugged a thank-you. Not an ounce of tension, either. Amy released a breath of relief. She’d definitely imagined that he was upset. She smiled at him. “What about you, Sam? How come you never got married again?”
He shot her an incredulous frown. “Do I look like an idiot?” he asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.
Obviously she’d said the wrong thing. Amy sniffed. “You don’t have to get hostile about it.”
“Well, it was a ridiculous question. Being married to you was no picnic, honey. One ride through hell is enough for me.” He snorted. “More than enough.”
Things between them had been bad, even miserable at times. But hell? She’d made his life hell? As if he hadn’t contributed a big chunk of misery himself. Insulted and stung, she bristled. Then she glared at him. He glared back and just like that, the tension returned, crackling uncomfortably between them.
“You make it sound as if I’m responsible for our bad marriage,” she accused. Sam’s eyes narrowed a fraction, the way they did when he was spoiling for an argument.
She knew she should stop right there, but couldn’t seem to restrain herself. Crossing her arms over her chest, she eyed him. “Well, it wasn’t exactly paradise for me, either. What you just said about me making your life hell was plain-out spiteful. Is it that you’re insensitive, or do you have some other agenda?” Her voice shook and she realized she was quaking with emotion.
“Agenda?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing black paint on his chin. A look of astonishment filled his face, as if he truly hadn’t realized that his words had stung. “I’m not insensitive. You’re just too damn sensitive. Always were.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, but her lips started to tremble, and thick tears gathered behind her eyes. After Sam’s comment, there was no way she would cry in front of him. There was nothing to cry over, anyway. He was right, she was too sensitive. She blinked furiously.
“Here we go again,” he muttered, tossing aside the paintbrush. “So much for trying to be friends.”
Amy dropped her shaking hands to her lap and locked them together. “That’s one point we definitely agree on.”
Suddenly the cell phone she had placed on the worktable rang. This was her personal line, the one only family and friends used. Thankful for the interruption, she snatched it up. “Hello?” she said as she pivoted on the stool, turning her back to Sam.
“It’s me,” said Nina.
“And me,” Dani chimed in. “We’re using the three-way line. Are you still at the studio?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But I’ve had more than enough. I’m leaving shortly,” she announced for Sam’s benefit.
Behind her she heard paintbrushes plop into a can of water.
“How many parents showed up?”
“Not a single one.”
“You’re alone?” Nina asked, her tone curious. “I didn’t expect—”
“Sam’s here,” Amy interrupted, not bothering to hide her unhappiness. “Listening to my every word.”
She heard his snort of annoyance, could feel his eyes on her. Let him stare. She stiffened her spine and lifted her head so that her braid brushed across her back reassuringly.
“Ah,” Dani said. “Isn’t that interesting?”
“No, it is not,” Amy snapped.
“So you’re not getting along?” Nina asked with what sounded like regret.
Why did she sound like that? The days for despair over what could have been between her and Sam were long gone. “Definitely not.” She frowned at a bare spot on the cottage roof. It needed more straw. Cupping the receiver between her ear and shoulder she grabbed the glue gun. “What’s up?”
“Bad news,” Dani said. “Neither Nina nor I can make it tonight.”
“Oh.” Amy couldn’t stifle her disappointment. She squirted two lines of glue over the empty spots on the roof, then added the straw, pressing until the glue set. “Why not?”
“My future in-laws invited us over tonight,” Nina sighed. “I can’t believe I forgot that. This wedding has wiped out my memory.”
“Russ’s brother and wife just called,” Dani said. “Remember how I told you they were driving over from Seattle tomorrow morning? Well, they surprised us by pulling into town a few minutes ago—with ribs and homemade barbecue sauce for dinner. I am so sorry.”
“We both are,” Nina said.
Amy was, too, but this was nobody’s fault. She forced nonchalance. “Things happen,” she said quoting Sam.
She sensed his reaction—curiosity and surprise.
“I hate for you to spend the evening alone,” Nina added. “With the moon in Cancer, that’s not a good idea. You need company, especially during dinner. Is there someone you could eat with?”
Sam came to mind. Half an hour ago, Amy would have considered inviting him over, two friends sharing dinner. She wasn�
��t about to do that now. She sighed. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No one.”
HEADED ACROSS THE STAGE Sam had to move fast to keep pace with Amy. Tight-lipped, head high and attention straight ahead, she was clearly mad as she clipped toward the exit. Well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t suffered through her anger before. Suffer being the key word.
Back when they were married, their arguments had turned his world dark and miserable. Sam could never breathe normally until he’d smoothed things over, usually with great sex. He glanced sideways at Amy, who stiffened as if she sensed his gaze. No chance of fixing things with sex now. Not that he wanted to make love with Amy. At that lie, his lip curled in self-derision. Sure, he desired her, but he didn’t intend to act on his need.
He wanted the friendship, though, and had actually imagined they could be friends. He’d enjoyed working alongside her this afternoon. She’d seemed to share the sentiment. Until he’d screwed up things.
Without a word, Amy suddenly veered into her small office, where she retrieved her purse. Sam waited, shifting uncomfortably. With his sarcastic comment equating their marriage with hell and blaming her, he’d wrecked the fragile, easygoing relationship they’d started to forge. But when she’d talked about settling down with some guy and starting a family… He’d hated that. His strong feelings bothered him. Frowning, he ground the toe of his sneaker against the wood floor. So what if she wanted to get married again? That was no concern of his. He felt like a total jerk deliberately upsetting her.
Amy swished past him, leaving behind a faint scent of vanilla. Without a backward glance, she marched to the exit. Sam swore under his breath. He would apologize and try to smooth the way toward friendship. He lengthened his stride, and they reached the exit at the same time. Amy grabbed the doorknob.
“Wait.” Sam laid his hand over hers. Quickly she jerked away, but not before he’d felt the fine tremors that shook her. He knew what that meant: she still was upset. “Please,” he added.
She huffed an irritated breath. To his relief she finally looked at him, though warily. “What?”
Apologies didn’t come easily, and he rubbed his neck as he searched for a way to make things right. “I meant what I said about being friends,” he said at last.
Amy’s brows arched in wry surprise, but her eyes were cool and unforgiving. “Could have fooled me.”
She wasn’t making this easy. Sam groaned. “Give me a break, Amy. I’m trying to apologize.” He tensed as she absorbed his statement and considered it, relaxed when she nodded.
“Just why is being friends so important to you?” she asked, tilting her face toward him.
With her eyes large and searching, and her lower lip pinned by her teeth, she was incredibly attractive. The strong urge to nibble that lower lip himself, then kiss her senseless grabbed hold of Sam. Yeah, right. That hadn’t exactly solved their problems in the past, and it was the wrong solution to this mess. He curled his hands at his sides. “To prove we can do it. Not just to ourselves, but to everybody in town. Also because we should have been friends before, and we never were.” They’d been too busy with fighting and making up to cultivate a real relationship. “Besides, I enjoyed this afternoon. Admit it, you did, too.”
“Most of it,” she conceded.
“Then we’re back on track?”
“If it’s that important to you, why not?” She threw up her hands, but the soft light in her eyes belied her tone. She wanted this friendship as much as he did.
Sam grinned. He didn’t understand his euphoric relief any more than the words that slipped from his mouth. “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll cook.”
Her mouth twitched in amusement. “Define cook.”
At least she hadn’t turned him down. “I’m talking about a genuine, home-cooked meal. From scratch.” It wouldn’t be fancy, but he could make salad, bake two potatoes and grill a couple of steaks. “I’ve been staying at my sister’s, so that’s where we’ll eat.” He could have taken her to his place, but that was his private refuge. Except for family, he didn’t bring women there. “I’ll drive, and drop you back here after dinner.” Hands low on his hips he studied her. “You game?”
“Let me get this straight,” she said, fiddling with her braid. “You, Sam Cutter, are going to cook, without Cutter’s takeout, pizza or TV dinners.” Her brows arched. He nodded, and she almost smiled. “This I have to see.”
“Great, but we’ll need to stop at the grocery first.”
“I wouldn’t miss that for the world. I’ll drive my own car, though. That way, this will feel more like dinner between friends and less like a date.”
His sister lived a good ten miles from the studio, and it seemed silly to take two cars. But the last thing he wanted was a date. He nodded. “Agreed.” He pushed open the door, ushering Amy out.
As she locked the studio door, she frowned. “This is a small town. Someone we know is bound to see us together. Think of the gossip and speculation that will cause.”
Sam imagined people talking, then shrugged. “They’re already talking, right? If we act like friends, they’ll see that we are. That’ll put an end to the rumors.”
“I hope you’re right.”
FOR A SATURDAY AFTERNOON the Forest Hills Grocery Store was packed. Wouldn’t you know it, Amy thought. Any moment now, someone would spot her and Sam. Then the rumors would fly. How to explain—that Nina had cautioned her not to eat alone because the moon was in Cancer? That sounded totally wacky.
So what was she doing in the grocery store with her ex-husband? There was no simple answer to that, and this was no time to analyze her decision. Biting her lip she shot a brief, surreptitious glance at Sam. Darned if he didn’t sense her gaze. He caught her eye and grinned. “Nervous?”
“A little,” she admitted. Her heart tripped and pounded as it always did when he looked at her with that warm, you’re-special expression. Lust, she told herself, and nothing more. He was not the right man for her. He never had been. And she wished she’d turned him down about dinner. You still can, a voice in her head said. “Maybe we should just go our separate ways.”
“Look, we’re friends on a mission to get what we need for dinner. That’s nobody’s business but ours,” he said firmly. “So relax.”
His conviction mollified her, at least enough to stay. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s start in the meat department and work our way back.” He grabbed a cart and aimed it at the meat and poultry section, the farthest aisle away.
Amy followed alongside. Despite Sam’s admonishment to relax, she couldn’t help feeling on edge. As they wheeled forward she glanced at the men, women and children clogging the aisles. Not a single familiar face—so far. She released a tight breath, knowing she would not breathe freely until they drove off.
At last they reached the meats. “Do you have any preference on the steaks?” Sam asked.
Amy shook her head. He conferred with the butcher, who seemed to know him, then selected two large T-bones. Once they were wrapped and priced, he dropped them into the cart. “Next, salad fixings and potatoes,” he said, aiming his cart toward the produce section.
The man certainly knew his way around the store. Amy shook her head in wonder. “Do you realize we’ve never grocery-shopped together? It was what you called, ‘the wife’s job.’”
He gave a sheepish shrug as they rounded the corner. “I didn’t realize—”
“Sam,” she interrupted in a low voice, grabbing his arm. “There’s Molly Andrews, one of my Rubies, and her mom, over by the lettuce.” She didn’t want them to see her, and she tried to pull Sam toward another aisle. “Why don’t we get a bottle of wine first?”
But he planted his feet, and she couldn’t budge him. “Amy, Amy,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re friends. That’s nothing to hide.”
It was too late, anyway, for Molly and her mother had spotted them. Molly, a slender, ponytailed blonde with long thin legs and naturally wide eyes
gaped openly. Her mother, a plumper, darker-haired version, was more circumspect. Her jaw didn’t drop but an interested gleam flashed in her eyes. She said something to her daughter and without taking their gazes from Amy and Sam, they steered their cart forward like detectives on a case.
As Sam took in the scene he inched fractionally closer to Amy. “Uh-oh, looks like trouble,” he muttered.
“Told you so,” Amy replied under her breath.
“Hi, Miss Parker,” Molly said brightly. Tittering, she covered her mouth with her hand and glanced at Sam. “Hello, Mr. Cutter.”
Sam nodded soberly, and Amy managed a tight smile. “Hello. Mrs. Andrews, have you and Mr. Cutter met?”
“No.” Molly’s mother smoothed her hair. Offering her hand, she shot him a warm, flirtatious smile. “Susan Andrews. Pleased to meet you.”
“Sam Cutter,” he said, seeming oblivious to her flustered reaction. Either he was unaware or so used to it he didn’t notice.
The woman’s speculative gaze darted from him to Amy, and Amy could practically read her mind: Amy and that gorgeous hunk, Sam Cutter, are together at the grocery. What a scoop! They must be dating. She cringed at the thought. If people thought she and Sam were dating, who would ever ask her out? If she didn’t date, she’d never meet the right man for her, the one who wanted to settle down and start a family. Which needed to happen fairly soon. She hastily sidestepped, putting a foot of space between her and Sam.
Mrs. Andrews took note, but the smug expression remained. “I am so sorry I had to reschedule this afternoon,” she said without sounding one bit contrite.
“You weren’t the only one,” Amy replied. “In fact, only Sam showed up.”
“Oh? That’s odd.” Mrs. Andrews suddenly grew interested in rearranging the contents of her cart. “Were you and Sam able to get anything done?”
Besides fight? Amy glanced at Sam, but his face was unreadable. She shrugged. “We managed.”
“Actually, we finished a fair amount,” he said.
